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Reboot: "The Night the Lights Went Out"

Sammi Evans and Nicky Long (OOC thread):

Eugene, Oregon
9 pm, local time (20 hours after TLWO):

(OOC: Continues from here.)

(OOC: If it helps you to imagine Sammi exposing herself, this is pretty close.)

Sammi realized that she was trembling with excitement at exposing her naked body to Nicky. She'd never done anything like this before, at least not with a man she barely knew. She'd flirted with, made out with, and groped and grinded with Vince for weeks before she finally stripped down to her panties with him in the backseat of his father's sedan. Sammi had known Nicky for less than a day, and here she was opening her robe to flash her otherwise naked body to him in the hopes that he would fully and unquestionably understand her feelings for him.

As she watched him watch her, the most amazing thing happened: he grabbed his cock. Sammi didn't immediately understand what he was doing, but quickly she realized that his right hand was shifting about and manipulating his crotch area. She smiled wide, even giggling; he was touching himself, presumably with thoughts of her touching him or him touching her or both or whatever!

She laid a hand upon her belly and was contemplating caressing it down to her neatly trimmed, triangular patch of kinky red curls when suddenly she heard the same squeaking sound that alerted Nicky to her father's presence on the back porch. Sammi immediately backed into her room away from the window, pulling the robe tightly around her. Then, again, she giggled; her father couldn't possibly see her, a floor above and around the corner of the house. And yet she'd panicked about him and ended her fun with Nicky.

She edged back over to the window to see what was happening down below, but Nicky was gone and -- thankfully -- her father had returned to the home's interior. She laughed as she threw herself onto her bed, again opening the robe and immediately finding her clit and sensitive nipples with her fingertips, getting immediately to work pleasuring herself toward orgasm. Having seen Nicky grasp himself filled her mind with new fantasies, and even after she'd exploded in one delicious orgasm and then lay there in the afterglow, picturing the man naked between her thighs, Sammi went back to work to drive herself to yet another climax before rolling up in the blankets and falling into a deep, satisfying sleep.

(OOC: Okay, this interaction is ready for the next day. We've almost got everyone to Day 2. ;))
 
Hannah Wilson and Peter Phillips

Almost 5:00 pm, local time, (Almost 15 hours after TLWO)
Sunday, 19 January 2025
Peter's childhood home, Baywood-Los Osos, California
North of Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant
The Pacific Coast, 200+ miles northwest of Los Angeles):

(Continued from here.)

Hannah had worked her mouth and fingers upon Peter's cock longer than she ever had any man's organ before. It didn't surprise her that it took that long to get him off, despite her skill at sucking cock; she'd already made him cum four times earlier in the day, which had initially told her that she wouldn't in a million years get him off yet another time. Even if he didn't cum, the joy she was causing him was too great to stop, even when she told herself YOU can still come, Hannah, just mount him and grind away.

But lo and behold, the man's moans and soft, sincere compliments of how good she was making him feel suddenly became, "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, oh, Jesus Christ, Hannah, I'M ... GONNA ... CUM!"

In anticipation, she pulled back far enough to only keep his cock's bulbous head between her lips, and as the tip of her tongue played at the opening from which he'd earlier graced her with so many shots of thick goo, she grasped his shaft tightly and stroked him hard and fast until finally his balls jumped and the taste of his seed began filling her mouth. Hannah was happily surprised to see and feel how many times he was able to ejaculate; Does Peter's 'peter' ever run out of juice? she wondered.

When finally, the last drops of cum escaped his cock, Hannah released her lips' hold on him, swallowed, and -- still stroking him to lengthen his joy -- moved up to lay close to him. She cleaned out her mouth with her tongue, swallowed again, then gave Peter an erotic kiss. She whispered, "I hope you enjoyed that."

Eventually, she pulled the bedding up over them, saying, "I know that we should be traveling north ... increasing out distance from Diablo ... but when I got up earlier to pee, I looked out the window. There's a strong wind to the southwest. The trees are blowing hard. I think we're okay for now. Whaddaya say we just curl up here for the night. We can get on the road at sunrise if we still think going north is the answer."
 
Emily Hahn and Glenn Harrington (OOC thread)

10 am, local time, 8 hours after TLWO
Sunday, 19 January 2025
East of San Diego, California

(Glenn's last post here. Roxie's here.)

Emily didn't know what the hell was happening. Glenn was packing a big bag full of heroine -- she knew the difference between it and cocaine -- as well as a shotgun and assault rifle. Why? Why did he take them from the car? Why didn't he just leave them for the smuggler who'd been so stupid to leave them behind?

But she fell in behind him, because she didn't know what other choice she had. She was wearing some other woman's clothes while she walked up a deserted freeway toward a neighborhood she didn't know and in which she had no friends. What other choice did she have? She trusted Glenn with her life; after the night they'd had in bed and then fleeing San Diego to get this far, Emily didn't see how she couldn't trust him.

They left the freeway, which she'd initially thought was a good idea, too. But their new route wasn't the nearly straight as an hour freeway from which they'd come, but was instead twisting, turning roads up and down small hills through neighborhoods that were being looted uncontrollably in some places and guarded by heaving armed men and women in others.

Several times it looked as though some of the armed hoodlum types might stop Glenn and Emily, and yet they continued onward. Emily wondered whether she was judging the men with guns as more gangsta than they actually were, or whether they let the pair past because they saw the heavy arms in Glenn's hands and thought it better not to engage.

They continued onward, stopping to buy bottled water and homemade food from regular old folk selling those and more on the sidewalks out in front of their homes and mostly shutdown businesses. Emily was tiring out, and by the time they reached the point at which Campo Road passed between two tall bluffs to continue onward toward Indian Springs and, ultimately, the Harrington Hills Estate Vineyard and Winery, she was out of energy and overheating. It wasn't really that hot out, maybe compared to April or July or early October, but the endless walking was simply too much for her.

Emily sat on the opened tailgate of an abandoned pickup truck, calling to Glenn, "Stop!" He'd gotten ten or fifteen yards ahead of her by now, and when he turned to look her way, she informed him, "I can't go any farther. Not now. Not without resting."

She put the bag of clothes and ammo that she'd earlier offered to carry behind her in the truck bed and laid back. She was spent, and this was all the farther she was going right now. Glenn could go ahead on his own if he wanted -- if he needed to get home to Roxie -- but Emily was finished!
 
Nicky Long, with Sammi Evans (OOC thread):

Eugene, Oregon
9 pm, local time (20 hours after TLWO):

(OOC: Continues from here. Oh, and I've decided to shorten Nicky's name to Nick. If Sammi's going to call him that, I will, too. Besides, Nicky sounds like a teenage girl.)

Nick stripped, washed the grime of the day from his body, and slipped into bed. He pictured Sammi's naked form in his mind as he grasped and stroked his cock until it shot wads of thick cum onto his belly and fingers.

He lay there the longest time, simply enjoying the aftermath. He'd planned on cleaning up the mess before falling asleep. That hadn't happened, though. The exhausting day and sexual release sent him off into dreamland. With the exception of unconsciously pulling the bedding over him, Nick was done for the night.

(OOC: Okay, day two. :))
 
Peter Phillips, with Hannah Wilson

5:00 pm, local time, (15 hours after TLWO)
Sunday, 19 January 2025

Peter's childhood home, Baywood-Los Osos, California
North of Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant
The Pacific Coast, 200+ miles northwest of Los Angeles):

(Continued from here.)

"I hope you enjoyed that," Hannah said when she came up from Peter's groin.

He laughed, telling her, "It was incredible. I am amazed, truly."

She kissed him. He could taste the cum on her tongue, despite Hannah trying to rid her mouth of his seed. He didn't mind that much. Peter had never understood how women (or gay men) swallowed entire loads of semen. He'd once tasted his own cum, just to know what it was all about. He hadn't liked the taste or texture. The aftertaste. Ick.

Hannah talked about the need to continue northward. Then she spoke of resting up. Peter was enjoying his current situation too much. The last thing he wanted to do right now was dress and hit the road now. He pulled her closer, saying, "We'll sleep until dawn. Then, we can take off. Okay?"

He wanted to fuck Hannah one more time before they got going. But that would have to wait for when they awoke next. Peter was simply spent.

(OOC: Day two here, also.)
 
Emily Hahn and Glenn Harrington (OOC thread)

10 am, local time, 8 hours after TLWO
Sunday, 19 January 2025
East of San Diego, California

(Continues from here.)

"Stop!" Emily called out from farther behind than Glenn realized she'd fallen. He turned. She told him, "I can't go any farther. Not now. Not without resting."

She collapsed into the bed of a pickup. Glenn wanted to tell her that she needed to get to her feet. They needed to keep moving. But he was beginning to tire as well. He hadn't slept in more than 24 hours, had biked two dozen miles, and then walked another two. It was time to take a break.

"C'mon," he told Emily. He grabbed her by the hand and lifted her to her feet. "There's a motel right there. We'll get a room."

He took back the second bag, held the woman's hand, and led her across the street toward the establishment's office. He stopped short, next to a cinderblock wall covered by peeling paint. He set the bags on the ground and handed Emily the assault rifle. "Stay out of sight. We don't want to scare anyone."

He held the shotgun behind him out of sight, turned the corner, and pressed his face to the glass. The office was dark inside, with no candles or lamps. Only the late morning sunlight filtered in. There was a man inside, though, asleep in an armchair. He was a tiny, dark-skinned man with Southeast Asian features. He looked 90 years old but could very well have been 40. There was a baseball bat in the man's lap.

Glenn knocked on the glass, startling the man, who popped immediately to his feet. Seeing Glenn, he called out, "We closed! No power! Go away! I call cops!"

Glenn couldn't help but smile. He looked around, then back to the man. Loud enough to be heard through the glass, he said, "Maybe you didn't notice. There are no cops. You're on your own."

He let the shotgun shift into view. With the other hand, Glenn pressed a hundred-dollar bill to the window. "I need a room. One night. That's all I want."

Glenn slipped one end of the currency slip through the gap between the door and frame. He waggled it for emphasis. "One night"

The motel operator only stood there. Glenn tapped the end of the shotgun's barrel against the glass. "Or I can kill you and take a key."

He didn't know whether or not the man actually felt threatened. In any case, the man edged up to the door and reached for the hundred. Glenn pulled it back, saying, "Key, first."

The man was hesitant. But he retrieved a key and returned. He paused. Then he stuck it out the slot that was supposed to be for returning keys. Glenn took it, then handed over the money. He smiled. "Thank you."

He collected Emily, the rifle, and the bags. The key was for a room just a couple of doors away. It was just as he'd expected. Low rent, dusty surfaces, a minimal of towels, a tiny bar of soap. There was a coffee pot with both caffeinated and decaffeinated packs of coffee.

"Get some rest," Glenn told Emily. "We'll take the daylight hours. Maybe leave before sundown. We're barely a mile from home."

That wasn't entirely accurate, of course. It was a mile to the short multi-home, paved driveway off which his home sat near the end. Half a mile up that road was his driveway. And his own driveway was nearly half a mile long. So, two miles.
 
Corporal Phil "Fish" Spahn, with Sergeant Caroline Edwards (OOC thread)

1400 hours local time, 12 hours after TLWO
Sunday, 19 January 2025

Oregon Army National Guard Station, Springfield (OANGS-Springfield)
Springfield, Oregon:

(Continued from here.)

Phil had been more than eager to get out of the armory after 10 hours of guard duty there. The first thing he'd done was cross to the Grocery King to see what the hell was going on there. Reluctantly, he accepted that Sergeant Edwards seemed to have everything under control there.

He headed back to OANGS. The bathrooms didn't have water pressure or hot water. That didn't surprise Phil. Luckily, the army was prepared for such things. Propane tanks, heaters, hand pumps, water bottles, and containers dangling from three-legged stands replaced showers. Phil stripped, bathed, dressed in a tee and boxers, and padded across the pavement back to the enlisted berthing. He was out cold in no time at all.

He'd sleep right up until he was awoken for guard duty that night.

(OOC: Okay, another character done until Day Two. ;))
 
Emily Hahn and Glenn Harrington (OOC thread)

10 am, local time, 8 hours after TLWO
Sunday, 19 January 2025
East of San Diego, California

(Continues from here.)

Glenn offered Emily the assault rifle. Her eyes widened. "Really?" It wasn't that she was uncomfortable holding a rifle but was instead that she'd never handled that kind of rifle. She was familiar with hunting style rifles: Remingtons, Winchesters; she'd even shot a Sharps once, laughing in amazement at the power of the big bison hunting gun. And while hunting rifles could be used to kill people just as an assault rifle could, she didn't like the concept of them at all.

"Stay out of sight," Glenn said after Emily took the weapon. "We don't want to scare anyone."

"Anyone see me with this," she murmured. Seeing a shapely sexy blonde packing an AR-15 with a big clip was like paging through a men's magazine; she'd seen posters up in auto repair shops and gun stores with such women, though usually those women were wearing little more than bikinis, if that. As he started around the corner, she begged, "Don't be long, okay?"

As she listened to Glenn negotiating with the motel operator, Emily scanned the neighborhood. She was surprised to see so many people hurrying around with shopping carts, wagons, or just their hands full of whatever. Some of them may have been doing legitimate shopping, but she suspected from some of the packages that they'd been looting and were now hurrying home with their treasures.

Emily caught sight of three men standing together across the road. They were eyeballing her, making gestures and sharing smiles and laughs and gestured that made her fear for the security of her pussy. They started across the road her direction, but just before they reached the curb on her side, Emily slowly turned to reveal the assault rifle that they apparently hadn't noticed. One caught it, grabbed at the other two to stop them, then diverted them off down the road instead. Suddenly, getting their dicks wet didn't seem that important anymore.

"Thank you," Glenn told the motel owner, coming back to collect Emily and their stolen things. They found their room; Glenn didn't seem very impressed, but the less picky Emily was right at home. He told her, "Get some rest. We'll take the daylight hours. Maybe leave before sundown. We're barely a mile from home."

Emily checked the bathroom sink, but there was no water pressure, which meant no shower. She stripped down to her bra and panties, slipped into the bed, responded, "That's fine. Wake me when it's time." She tucked herself in tightly, wriggling into the pillow. Then, suddenly feeling an urge from the day's excitement, she said, "If you're in a mood to fuck..."
 
First Sergeant Caroline Edwards and Sergeant Phil "Fish" Spahn (OOC thread)

1900 hours local time, 17 hours after TLWO
Sunday, 19 January 2025

Oregon Army National Guard Station, Springfield (OANGS-Springfield)
Springfield, Oregon:

(Continued from here.)

OOC: I made a mistake regarding the ranks of our soldiers, so I'm giving them all promotions:
  • Sergeant Caroline Edwards becomes First Sergeant.
  • Corporal Phil Spahn becomes Sergeant.
  • And Lieutenant Caldwell becomes Colonel.
"It's good to see you safe, Colonel," Caroline said after trading salutes with the Officer standing before her. "We were concerned when you didn't return last night."

She'd tried to sound sincere speaking to the Colonel, but Caroline was conflicted. Oh, she didn't have the same issue with Caldwell that others did, particularly Sergeant Spahn; she didn't care one lick that the man was gay. She did, however, have an issue with him slipping off the base last night to visit his boyfriend down the street; while they'd been dealing with the blackout, armed looters, and anxious, angry neighborhood residents, he'd been getting his cock sucked and sucking cock, too. Maybe if Caldwell had spit his lover's cum out at the loss of power and rushed back to the Station, Caroline wouldn't be so disappointed in him.

Caldwell told some unlikely story about helping civilians, to which Caroline nodded and acknowledged as being a justifiable excuse for his absence. "Well, you're here now, so that's all that matters."

"I'm not here," he corrected her. When she asked what he meant, Caldwell mirrored Fish's comments about how their monthly commitment had ended 7 hours earlier, at noon.

"But ... you're the Commanding Officer," Caroline countered, amazed at what the man was suggesting, "You're just going to leave?"

"I have family out there, Sergeant," Caldwell said. "I haven't heard from them, and I don't know if they're okay or in danger--"

"We all have family out there," Caroline countered. She didn't, but she was talking about the vast majority of the rest of her unit. "Everyone of us has stayed behind to help the community. It's our duty. It's what we signed up for."

"Don't talk to me about duty, Sergeant!" Caldwell snapped.

He ranted for a full minute about how he'd put in almost 20 years -- active duty, reserves, and now National Guard -- only to be halted in further advancement because, 14 years in, he'd discovered he preferred cock over pussy. That wasn't the way he'd put it, of course; it was the way people like Phil Spahn worded it.

"I only came back to check in and dismiss the Unit," Caldwell informed her. "Without orders from above, we all returned to civilian status at noon. Go home, Sergeant ... Caroline." He reached out to touch her shoulder, smiled, and said with sincerity, "You've done what you could. You've fulfilled your duty. Go home."

He stepped back, saluted the more junior service member, turned, and headed out the door of the office without another word. Caroline stepped to the door and just watched Caldwell head off into the darkness. Once again, she was the most senior soldier on the base. A First Sergeant, she reminded herself. In command of a base that should have a Colonel in charge.

On any other service weekend, OANGS-Springfield would have half a dozen officers on staff and a dozen Non-Comms. But Force Reductions, Armed Services budget cuts, and decreases in enlistments, reenlistments, and transfers from other services to the National Guard had caused a slow but consistent diminishing of OANGS-Springfield.

Caroline found her Adjutant, and the pair of them crossed to the Grocery King while discussing the hours and days ahead. Days? Caroline wondered. Is this ever going to end? Will normal ever return?

(OOC: Caroline is done for this day, too.)
 
Roxanne "Roxie" Harrington (OOC thread)

8 pm, local time, 18 hours after TLWO
Sunday, 19 January 2025

Harrington Hills Vineyard
East of San Diego, California

(Roxie posted for the first-and-only-time clear back here.)

Roxie had gone about her day much like she had the last time San Diego County had suffered an all-day long blackout. They'd always had plenty of candles throughout the house for mood lighting or special occasions, so she used them in the rooms that didn't get enough sunshine. As darkness arrived, she simply carried around a candelabra with all the candles lit.

As the hours continued to pass, Roxie began to worry about her husband. Glenn had been at his apartment in the Gaslamp Quarter when the power went out; Roxie was certain of that, because her husband wouldn't have turned down a night of sex with Emily. The woman was a fireball in bed, regardless of whether she was with a man, a woman, or any combination of the two. Roxie had actually hoped that Glenn would bring the bosomy blonde home with him so that the three of them could have some fun together tonight.

She began to wonder if he would return home today at all. Roxie knew that whatever was happening was far more than just a power outage. The landline was dead, her cell phone was dead; even the satellite phone that Glenn used on outings to remote areas failed to work. When noon came and Glenn still hadn't returned, she'd gone to the garage to drive down to the apartment, only to find that all of the cars were dead, too. Nothing was working that required electricity. How the fuck could that happen?

Roxie kept herself busy through the day tending to her true love, her horses. She and Glenn had four thoroughbred quarter horses, beautiful beasts with which she spent almost as much time as she did her husband. She fed them, brushed them, and saddled each for a short ride through the vineyard.

She'd sat in the east-facing Sunroom this morning to watch the sunrise over the vineyard and mountains to the east, and now she was sitting in the big bay windows of Glenn's west-facing den, having watched the sun end its day beyond even more rows of wine grapes and the mountain that separated Indian Springs from San Diego. It had been an amazing sunset, with startling oranges and reds of every shade. The last vestiges of light vanished, and -- without the light pollution of the metropolis beyond the elevation -- the stars came out brighter than she'd seen them since their African Safari three or four years ago.

Then, there was a massively bright flash just behind the mountain before her, and a few seconds later, a slowly rolling fireball reached high into the sky over San Diego. Roxie's first thought was that some foreign enemy had dropped an atomic bomb on the city; when she realized that -- as far as she understood it -- the blast a nuke would have been much larger than that, she thought maybe it was one of those MOABs, the Mother Of All Bombs, like an Air Force friend had told her the US had used to destroy deeply buried terrorist tunnels in Afghanistan years earlier.

Then, the truth of the matter came to Roxie: it was the LNG terminal down on Coronado Island. The only reason she knew anything about the liquid natural gas transfer location was that her first exotic dancing gig had been in the dive bar equivalent of a strip club just half a mile north of it. She'd hated that job and -- after giving a lap dance to a talent scout for more exclusive men's clubs -- she landed a slot at the private club at which she'd ultimately met her husband.

Immediately, Roxie felt deep concern for Glenn and -- as an afterthought -- Emily, too. An explosion that powerful surely would have sent a shock wave across the San Diego Bay that would have blown out windows and possibly even knocked down buildings. There certainly had been casualties, Roxie knew.

In August 2020, she and Glenn had been on a cruise ship that had just left Beirut, destined for Cyprus. Eight hours after departure, a building storing explosives and fireworks exploded near the port at which they'd just been. The blast was so powerful that that it had been rated Magnitude 3.3 on the seismic scale and had been felt as far away as Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Israel, and even parts of Europe.

Roxie didn't know how the explosion she was watching rated up against the Beirut blast, but seconds later she felt and heard the blast wave pass with amazing speed over the estate, rocking the windows of the house. Out in the stables, the horses went crazy, leading Roxie to fetch the only gas lamp she had to rush down to check on the beasts. Once she settled them down, she returned to the house, where she found that they had in fact lost four windows on the west-facing side. She did her best to seal them up with bed sheets and duct tape, hoping that Glenn would arrive soon to perform a better repair.

After she'd calmed down enough to contemplate sleep, she went upstairs, flopped down in a big, comfy armchair, wrapped in blankets, and watched the glow of the subsequent fire until finally her eyes closed.
 
Glenn Harrington, with Emily Hahn (OOC thread)

8 pm, local time, 18 hours after TLWO
Sunday, 19 January 2025
East of San Diego, California (just 3 miles from Roxie)

(Continues from here.)

"If you're in a mood to fuck..."

Emily had made the suggestion with such a nonchalant tone. Glenn, of course, had been. He was always in the mood to fuck a beautiful woman. He'd secured the door with a chair tilted under the handle, stripped, and joined the blonde between the sheets. Despite their exhaustion, they'd easily driven each other to orgasm in no time at all. They'd rolled to their sides and spooned, their heart beats and deep breathing slowly returning to normal as they drifted off to sleep.

Then, after dark, the blast wave from the explosion at the LNG plant on Coronado blew the windows out of their motel room. The drapes, thrown back and partially ripped from their rods, caught most of the shattered glass. The pieces sprinkled down over the front three or four or five feet of the motel room.

Glenn awoke in a panic, as one would expect. It didn't take long to understand it had been an explosion. He couldn't know what had caused it, of course. At least not yet. His first thought was to get down! He grasped his arms around the woman lying beside him and rolled away from the room's destroyed side. With one arm outside the blanket, the bedding as a whole (minus the bottom fitted sheet, of course) all came with them. They hit the floor, protectively wrapped up like a human burrito.

"Stay down! It's okay! We'll be okay!" he said to Emily. Glenn didn't actually know that to be true. But he wanted to reassure the woman that he was going to keep her safe.

He peeked up over the bed, looking for flames or intruders or the collapse of the building's front. There was nothing other than the waving of the one set of drapes that still hung partially from its rod. Glenn struggled out of the bedding, telling Emily, "Stay down. Keep your head down."

Glenn reached under the bed, pulling out the shotgun. He thought there might be a chance that the explosion had been intentionally and right in front of their room. The first thing to happen as he moved toward the door, of course, was that he stepped on a piece of glass that dug into the sole of his foot. He cried out in pain, sat on the bed, and pulled the shard out.

He found his shoes, shook them free of glass, and slipped them on. Only then was he able to get to the front of the room and take a gander outside. There were other people already outside, looking about. They looked as shocked as he felt. But none showed any sign of fear that the explosion was a local threat.

"I'll be right back," he told Emily, repeating, "Keep your head down."

Glenn didn't see an immediate threat to either of them. He set the shotgun against the wall and headed outside. He spent a couple of minutes outside asking others what they'd seen. He concluded that there had been an explosion in the city. He knew what it was right away, as he'd already experienced a smaller explosion earlier in the evening.

Back in the room, Glenn said, "Emily, get dressed. We're leaving. We can't stay here."

They dressed quickly, gathered their bags and guns, and headed out. It was cold and windy, so they wrapped themselves against the chill with blankets. They used the now-destroyed drapery ties to bind up the bedding to make travel easier.

Glenn nearly abandoned the bag of drugs. It was unnecessary weight. But he knew it had a great value, possibly millions of dollars. He might need it if this world remained as it was right now.

They'd only gone a couple of blocks when they came across a guy selling torches. Glenn shook his head, thinking, the ingenuity of man to make a buck simply never ceases. The guy was nervous when he saw the firearms Glenn and Emily were packing. He pointed toward his house. "The wife's got you in her sights, so, don't be stupid."

"We mean you no harm whatsoever," Glenn promised.

The man wanted $50 bucks a piece for the torches. Glenn laughed, offering $60 for two. The man laughed this time. Glenn was contemplating his next offer when he pointed and asked, "Whatcha want for those?"

The man followed Glenn's extended finger to the two mountain bikes leaning against the wall of the garage. Glenn offered, "A hundred bucks each, if you also toss in two torches."

The man laughed yet again. Glenn laughed, too. "You're right. I was lowballing you."

He checked his wallet and pockets for more cash. He and Emily had gone through almost all he had during their trip today. Glenn looked to the man. In a soft voice, he asked, "Whaddaya know about heroin?"

Without even hesitating, the man pulled up a shirt sleeve. In the light of the burning torches, Glenn could see the evidence of old needle scars. The man said, "I've heard of it. Why?"

Glenn partially unzipped the dope bag. In addition to entire kilos of heroin, the bag included dozens, maybe hundreds of smaller ounce baggies. He dropped one of these on the man's card table. Glenn said, "I don't know a lot about street prices for smack--"

The man interrupted, "Thousand bucks an ounce. That looks like an ounce."

"Enough to cover the two bikes and two torches, then," Glenn said. "Am I right?"

The man had lifted the bag to inspect it. He opened the Ziplock seal, dipped a licked fingertip inside, withdrew it, and tasted the powder. His expression told all, yet he still said, "Man, this is uncut. Where'd you get this?"

"Doesn't matter," Glenn said. "Will it get us the bikes and torches?"

The man looked at the size of the bag over Glenn's shoulder. He looked back toward the garage. He told Glenn, "Another baggie like this would get you the bikes, the torches, and that trailer in the corner."

"Done," Glenn said without hesitation. "He took out and tossed over a second baggie."

The man turned and hollered out in some Eastern European or Central Asian language that Glenn couldn't identify. A moment later, a young man came out of the garage, pushing one of the bikes. The kid returned for the second bike and trailer as his father figure out a way to secure the torches in the handle bars.

"Nice doing business with you," Glenn said.

"Nice doing business with you, the man said as he waggled the baggies.

"Let's go," Glenn told Emily as he mounted the bike with the trailer.
 
Roger Kramer, with Angel Daniels (OOC thread)

Sundown, about 15 hours after TNTLWO
Sunday, 19 Jan 2025:

Roger's home
Just northwest of Durango, Colorado

(Continues from clear back at Roger's first post, here. Angel's first post was before it, here. I know we're trying to get to Day Two, so I'm going to make this a mini-time jump.)

"Well, it's official," Roger told his guest. He put a plate of barbequed ribs before Angel. Another plate of mostly stew bone meat went to Nutter and Butter. The meat had to be used as the contents of the refrigerator and freezer were beyond the point of rescue even in the power came back on now. He sat, clarifying, "It's more than a power outage."

He smiled, then laughed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You already figured that out."

Angel had arrived at his place at midday. Since then, the pair had been learning more and more about what was happening all around Durango. The people here were the friendly types. They walked around their community, checked on neighbors, did tasks for those in need. You know, all of the things the local churches preached on Sunday and in the television commercials that were mostly just tax write-offs for them.

But the most recent news Roger had received was somewhat of a clincher that this was bad. Really bad. A friend of a friend of a friend had been told, without a doubt, that this was the work of a foreign entity. An EMP device of unknown type. It was obvious, wasn't it? Everything that functioned off of or transported electricity had suddenly and instantly quit working. What else could it be?

"I still say it's some sort of solar event," Roger said. "Massive solar flares. They've done shit like this before. Remember that one in 2022 that killed all the Starlink satellites? That put ol' Musk back a couple of mill', I'm sure."

He chomped on a piece of sauce-covered, fatty meat. It was hard to believe that the way he ate, Roger had the body of an MCU superhero. Strong, fit, tight. Not an ounce of fat through his torso and legs. He worked hard and exercised even harder. He was tall, too. It was what Angel had told him initially attracted her to him. She liked her men tall. She herself stood 5'5". Not short, but certainly shorter than Roger's 6'4" stance.

He spent a couple of minutes recapping all they'd learned about what had happened across Durango this morning at 3am. Angel hadn't noticed the outage/event at the time, of course. Living off grid as she did tended to keep you out of the loop on such stuff.

But Roger had a reasonable amount of electronic equipment. He was a day trader whose computers were currently nothing but dust collectors. He also built specialty fittings, tools, and other things with the most advanced 3D printers. They weren't building anything now, obviously.

He also played for a local classic rock band, mostly rhythm on an electric Fender or bass backup on a Schecter. Today, neither of those had done it for Angel. Roger had pulled out his Taylor acoustic instead. It had gotten her hot enough that they'd spent almost two hours flanking sundown fulfilling one of her reasons for coming down from her mountain.

Roger loved fucking Angel. It didn't happen often. She only came to Durango four or five times a year. But he was always ready to entertain her. Her sexual energy was all pent up, and the first time she came was always the highlight of Roger's month, quarter, year, whatever.

But sex was sex, and barbeque was barbeque. Those were the two things that they could do well together that required no electrical power. He retrieved her another bottle of homebrew. He sat close to her. He pulled her a wisp of hair from her cheek, then kissed it. Her lips were his own lips next target.

"You and the boys can stay here the night," Roger offered. He glanced to the dogs. They were each happily chawing on meaty bones. He looked back to Angel. "I mean, unless you have somewhere else already planned."

He knew full well that Angle had other lovers. He also knew that two of them lacked the biological equipment that he'd used to please Angel this afternoon. Roger had no problem with Angel or any other woman liking other women. He figured that if he liked them so much, why shouldn't their fellow females, right?

Still, he would have loved for Angel to spend the night in bed with him. He told her, "I fed the stove in the bedroom. It's toasty warm. And the dogs can sleep in the back porch. It's warm, dry. Out of the wind. I already put their beds back out, too."
 
Emily Hahn, Glenn Harrington, and Roxie Harrington (OOC thread)

After 8 pm, local time, >18 hours after TLWO
Sunday, 19 January 2025
East of San Diego, California (just 3 miles from Harrington Hills and Roxie)

(Continues from here.)

The LNG facility explosion had thrown Emily for a loop, leaving her bewildered and frantically frightened to the point that she would have now done anything Glenn told her to do. She stayed down during the blast's aftermath, sobbing in fear; she'd quickly dressed, grabbed up what she was told to grab up, and just followed Glenn's lead; and now, as he made his deal -- trading some of their stolen heroine for bicycles and flame torches -- she just stood there, shaking deep to the core from the combination of fear and rapidly dropping temperatures.

Glenn spoke to her, then had to repeat himself when she just stood there, still in shock. "Let's go."

She continued following his lead, hoping on one of the bikes the torch seller's son had brought out to them. As she found the pedals and began to propel herself forward, she heard a foreign language being spoken behind her. The words didn't really sink in at first, but they rattled around in her head for the next minute or two before she realized what had been said.

"This is Odessa Triad dope, Tato," the boy had said in his parent's native tongue; Tato was just one of many Ukrainian words that could be use by a child to address their Dad. "I recognize the packaging."

The father had asked something that Emily hadn't clearly heard, to which the boy asked, "Why do these people have a bag of OT heroine?"

After that, Emily couldn't hear any words between the two, but as she looked over her shoulder a black away, she caught sight of the boy running off into the night away from his home. Where was he going this late? And did it have anything to do with the big bag of dope Glenn had in the back of the trailer behind his bicycle?

Time seemed to drag on and on as the pair pedaled their way through Indian Springs toward Harrington Hills. Emily was exhausted, emotionally spent, and falling behind: at one point, all she could see of Glenn was the glow of his torch; even later, she lost sight of his torch as he rounded a corner. She cried out for him to slow down, and when she came around that corner, he was waiting for her at the top of a slight rise in the last section of level ground she would see until she was directly in front of the entrance to Glenn and Roxie's home.

"How close?" she asked breathlessly. Glenn pointed, telling her that a shape he could see in the distance up the road was the gate into the property. "I need a minute."

She rested, drank water, then once again pushed off; by Glenn's suggestion, she shifted to an easier gear, which allowed her to make it to the gate without having to dismount again. Glenn had once again pulled ahead, which was fortunate because by the time she caught up, he'd been able to manually unlock the estate's gate, pushing it open far enough for Emily to simply shoot through without stopping.

She seemed to be running out of energy at an exponential rate the closer and closer she got to the McMansion, and when finally she was between the entrance and the elegant but now deactivated fountain in the center of the circular driveway, Emily literally fell over, hitting the ground with a pained exclamation. She rolled to her back and began sobbing.

Emily didn't see the front door of the home open and barely noticed the light of the oil lamp being carried toward her. The source of illumination was set to the ground as Roxie Harrington snatched the woman and pulled her up into a sitting position and clutched her to her bosom. "Oh my God, what's happened to you? Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

The questioning went on without response from Emily except for her continuing sobs and a reciprocal clutching of arms around the redhead's body. Roxie looked to Glenn with a concerned expression, saying with deep emotional relief, "Thank god, you're alright. I saw the explosion ... and the power's been out all day ... and I feared for you."

Roxie indicated Emily as the object of her concern and begged, "Help me get her inside. She needs to sleep."

They got the blonde inside and onto a bed. Roxie stripped Emily to her panties and bra, got her under the bedding, kissed her forehead, and whispered, "You're going to be fine, Em'. Just sleep. I'll be here for you when you wake up."

Turning, Roxie hurried to Glenn and threw herself against him. It was she now, who was sobbing, telling her husband, "I was so worried for you!"

She took Glenn's face in her hands, kissed him softly on the lips, then more firmly, then passionately. She wrapped her arms around his neck, urging him to take her into his arms. She was surprised that she managed a giggle, then explained in whisper, "I can smell Emily all over you. Did you have fun?"

If he wanted to make love, Roxie was willing and able to fulfill his need; she would get something out of it, too, of course. If he didn't, then Roxie wanted to crawl into bed with Emily and be there when the distraught woman awoke from her ordeal.
 
DAY TWO BEGINS,
yeehaw.​


Keri Lee (OOC link)

7 am, Monday 20 January 2025 (26 hours after TLWO)

The Weston Grand Hotel, Arlington, Virginia
West of Reagan Washington National Airport:

(Keri's last post is here. Marcus's is here. They have gone their separate ways ... for now.)

Keri awoke to find herself in bed alone. She hadn't gone to bed that way; the hotel concierge who'd initially let her inside the blacked-out hotel to access a warm, dry bed the morning after TLWO for $400 had offhandedly suggested that if she slept with him, she could stay last night as well. Keri had done just that, not just for housing but because it had been a while since any man had been between her thighs. She'd gotten what she needed from the man, three times: by mouth, by fingers, and by cock. She'd given him what he wanted, too, though when he'd suggested she return the favor with the use of her mouth, she'd playfully said to him, "I usually save that for the second date."

She found Francine, with whom she'd spent her first hours in the hotel and caught up on the housekeeper's situation. The woman couldn't get from the hotel here in Arlington to her family's home 12 miles away in Centreville both easily and safely. Rumors out on the street said that violence was high across the region, with looting, rioting, and vandalism, of course, but also a rash of murders taking place in every direction.

The police had come by a couple of times yesterday, and again this morning they'd come knocking on the door. But they'd told Greg Brothers -- the concierge and Keri's new lover -- that if they wanted any sort of armed protection for the building and its guests, they would have to pay for the service.

"The cops...?" Keri had asked with surprise. "They're saying they want money to do their jobs? That's what they're paid to do already."

Of course, the police weren't getting paid anymore -- no one was. There had been a total breakdown of such things, even though most people wouldn't begin to feel the effect for a few more days now. It would take time for most people to truly understand what they, their country, and presumably the planet as a whole were going through.

That did bring up an interesting question in Keri's mind: was this a global phenomenon? Was it even happening across the whole of the United States? Maybe an EMP device had been set off above Washington, and the rest of the country was up and operating just fine. No one knew yet.

Dressed again in the clothes Francine had provided, Keri slipped on the full length, faux-fur, and headed for the hotel lobby's exit. Francine caught up, asking, "Where are you going?"

"I have to cover the inauguration tomorrow," Keri remind the woman. "I need to get to DC ... to the Capitol Building and find out what's--"

"They're not going to have inauguration!" Francine argued.

"They have to," Keri countered. "The country has to go on. It will go on. And someone has to tell the story."

Greg, who was nearby, stepped in, backing up his housekeeper. "Without electrical power, they'll postpost. I guarantee it."

He let his eyes take a walk up and down her figure; the belt around her waist emphasized Keri's delicious figure, and Greg wanted so badly to get her out of these clothes and back into his bed as soon as possible. "Stick around. We'll get more news. I was talking to one of our guests. He's a bicycle messenger. He's already back to work, running messages here, there, everywhere, for whatever people are willing to pay him. He's staying here in turn for him telling me everything of import that he learns."

Keri hesitated, then turned back into the hotel, saying, "Okay, I'll stick around one more day ... just until we hear something." Directly to Greg, she asked, "Can your bicycle boy run an errand for me specifically?"

"Name it, he'll quote a price," Greg answered.

She found a sheet of paper and a pen and scribbled down an address and a note. "I need him to deliver this to Martin Brass at this address and wait for a response, then bring that back to me by noon. Otherwise, I'm out of here."

"How are you paying him?" Greg asked.

Keri hesitated; she only had a little more than a hundred dollars cash, and of course, the card machines were working. Greg again looked her up and down hungrily, saying, "I'll take care of it..." He leaned in closer, pretending as if he cared whether or not the nearby Francine heard, and finished, "If you'll take care of me."

Keri shook her head incredulously, but then responded, "Get it done for me ... and we'll talk further on this."
 
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Emily Hahn, Roxie Harrington, and Glenn Harrington (OOC thread)

6 am, local time, >28 hours after TLWO
Sunday, 20 January 2025
Harrington Hills Vineyards
East of San Diego, California

(Continues from here.)

Roxie awoke still snuggling up tight to Emily, who was as soundly asleep as she had been when Roxie came to cuddle up to the woman and comfort her. Rolling, she found that her husband -- who'd slept on the other side of Roxie -- had already risen to begun his day. Looking about the room, she could see that the power was still out. Roxie wasn't sure whether she should be surprised or not.

She slipped carefully out of bed, found they still had water pressure because of the big tank on the rise, and spent a few minutes cleaning herself up. She ran a soft cloth through her crotch, washing away the dried fluids that came from her pussy and Glenn's cock; she'd offered him sex after his arrival last night, and he'd been more than happy to oblige her. She found nothing offensive or regretful about being able to small the other woman all over her husband, seeing how it had been Roxie herself who'd set the two up in the first place.

She went to the kitchen, finding breakfast already cooked and still warm over the propane-fueled cook stove. Harrington Hills offered a variety of outdoor events to winery customers, as well as hosting weddings, corporate retreats, anniversaries and more. Because of this, they had plenty of outdoor cookers for barbeques and other forms of cooking. Glenn had apparently risen early to cook bacon, sausage, eggs, and toast, leaving portions in a warmer over the top of a very low burning flame.

Roxie ate, checked on Emily -- still passed out -- and went searching for her husband.
 
Angel Daniels and Roger Kramer (OOC thread)

Sunrise, about 29 hours after TNTLWO
Monday, 20 Jan 2025:

Roger's home, just northwest of Durango, Colorado

(Continues from here.)

Angel had spent the night with Roger, again enjoying the joy and delight that his mouth and cock brought her. She awoke before him, fed the dogs some food from the fridge that would otherwise go bad, and gathered her pack. She left a note for Roger telling him that she was heading for Ye Old Curiosity Shoppe.

The Shoppe was one-part gift shop, one-part second-hand store, one-part natural goods outlet, and one-part coffee and pastry cafe. It was owned by an older woman named Phillis who Angel had known since she herself was a child. Nutter and Butter adored Phillis; the old woman kept a tin full of dog treats for them and kept dog bed in a sunny corner that always offered the scent of a new dog or two whenever Angel brought the pair for a visit.

The two ladies talked about what was happening out beyond the Shoppe. Neither of them knew anything more than the other, unfortunately. Phyllis did have her own unique suspicions, though: aliens. Angel had never determined whether the old woman's belief in extraterrestrials was real or not, but she found it intriguing.

The Shoppe owner eventually asked the young woman what she'd brought with her this trip. For years, Angel had been bringing things she'd foraged from the forest, carved from wood, chiseled from stone, grew in her garden, or found here and there; she often found things hikers and hunters misplaced, things that she only seldom had a use for herself.

Phyllis offered cash, knowing that Angel wouldn't take it. The younger of the two preferred to be able to call on the older one for favors in the future. The latter female gave the former a hug and a kiss on the cheek, saying, "I'll check back before I leave town again."
 
Sammi Evans and Nick Long (OOC thread):

Eugene, Oregon
6 am (local time), 28 hours after TLWO)
Monday, 20 January 2025
(OOC: Continues from here.)

Sammi awoke with a start at the rapping on her bedroom door. Her mother called through the barrier, "Samantha, honey. Up and at'em. You know what your father would say, right?"

The teen groaned loudly, "I'm burning daylight." She rolled, sat up, and blinked her eyes clear before looking to her window; there was an orangey light beyond the lacy drapery, but Sammi knew that the sun was yet to clear the Cascade Range to the east. Then, her brain came alive, and she leapt out of bed and hurried to the window to peek down at the tiny house. There was no sight of Nick. Knowing the two men, they were both likely already out working hard on finishing the water tank work.

Sammi ran a rag wet with cool water over those parts of her body that needed cleaning -- her face first, her underarms, her fingers, and her pussy -- then dried and dressed. Hurrying downstairs, she told her mother with excitement, "I'm going outside. Gonna get the eggs and milk the goat."

"It'll wait!" Pamela told her. She waggled an extended finger toward the wood stove, saying, "Finish cooking breakfast, then take it out to the men."

Sammi sighed in despair but did as she was told. Ten minutes later, she was carrying food, milk, and coffee out to the gazebo the same way she'd carried out lunch the day before. She hollered, "Come and get it!"
 
Nick Long, with Sammi Evans (OOC thread):

Eugene, Oregon
2 pm, local time (36 hours after TLWO)
Monday, 20 January 2025
(OOC: Continues from here.)

Nick looked up to find Sammi exiting the house with food, drink, and coffee. He loved to watch her walk. Her hips swayed side to side. When she headed away from him, the view was even better. The teen had one fine ass. She knew it. Nick knew she knew it by the way she accentuated her walk when she knew he was watching.

The two men had been inside the water tank even as the sun was rising, scrubbing and chipping away. They even ate breakfast sitting in the bottom. Getting out would have been a waste of time, so why? They were done with the job by ten o'clock. They started filling the tank and moved onto the next job.

Preparing the cast iron, wood fueled hot water heater turned out to be easier than expected. Water was passing through the cleaned tubes by the time they broke for a late lunch. When Sammi arrived at the gazebo, Nick told her, "You'll have hot water for a bath tonight. Happy?"

"Honey!" Pamela hollered from the back porch. She was calling to Carl. "I need your opinion on something."

He wife returned to the kitchen as Carl drained his bottle of goat's milk, stood, and departed. Over his shoulder, he said, "Back in a few. We'll check the tank and stove. Make sure they're working."

Once they were alone together, Nick looked to Sammi with a devilish smirk. He hadn't been able to forget what she'd done in her window last night. He tossed her one of the cookies from the plate before her. When she smiled, Nick said, "A treat. For the treat you gave me last night."
 
Roger Kramer, with Angel Daniels (OOC thread)

9 am, local time (36 hours after TNTLWO
Monday, 20 Jan 2025:

Roger's home, just northwest of Durango, Colorado

(Continues from here.)

Waking, Roger had initially feared that Angel had already left for her family's cabin. She really disliked civilization. Sometimes civilization wasn't that civil. Roger understood that. He accepted it, too. There'd been times when he'd almost asked to join her in the wilderness. But his life required that he stayed here.

Of course, things had changed now. He wanted to believe that the power was coming back on. But it had been a day and a half. And there was no sign that anything was changing soon.

He came downstairs to find Angel's note. He was relieved. He knew she couldn't stay long. Wouldn't saty long. But every minute with her was treasured. It wasn't just what she did to, for, and with him between the sheets. Out of bed, Angel was wonderful as well. Roger treasured her company. He spent little time with other women. If he did, they were generally tourists in Durango for a night, weekend, or week. He rarely dated a local girl.

A knock at the door interrupted Roger. He was clearing out the fridge. He had to decide what could be saved by the Colorado cold, what could be cooked or dried now, and what needed to be tossed. At the door, he found Yani Peskov. Roger smiled and offered his hand. "Hey, Deputy. What's happening?"

"Just making my rounds," Yani said, taking the offered hand. He gestured toward the horse tied up to the fence out front. "All the squad cars are dead, so I'm--" He continued to Gene Autry's tune, "--Back in the saddle again."

Roger laughed. "Thank god we have a cowboy on the force."

He'd been trying to shed his Russian accent for years. Trying to be more American, he'd called it. Now, though, he playfully emphasized it as he said, "Russian cowboy, comrade."

Again, Roger laughed. They shared what they knew about the event. Yani knew all Roger did. The only unknown thing the Russian-American had to offer was about the falling airplanes. "You know, they were holding that Texas Hold'em tournament over at the Sky Ute Casino. A plane full of losing celebrities had just lifted off, was circling round to head for Denver--"

Yani hesitated. This was hard to say. "It was circling round, over the casino grounds. Fell out of the sky, right into the hotel. The numbers are sketchy, but the plane had 12 plus crew. There might be another thirty dead on the ground. The fire..."

He didn't want to say anything more on that. He asked Roger, "So, how you doing?"

"Angel stopped by," the resident informed the Deputy.

The men shared a knowing smile. They both knew about Angel's predilections regarding her visits to Durango. Roger, of course, was one of the hermit's friends. So was Yani's wife. Yani knew this, though, Roger didn't. Yani didn't mind. He preferred that his wife found her thrills with other women in place of other men.

"That must have been nice," Yani said, smirking. "She's still in town?"

"Think so," Roger answered. "Hey, I'm going to barbeque some meat. Going to go bad if it doesn't get used."

"Can't," Yani said. He turned back toward his new source of transportation. "Sheriff wants one of us to visit every house and business to make sure everyone's okay. Maybe I'll swing back by. Save me some ribs."

Yani took off. Roger fired up the barbeque and got to work.
 
Glenn Harrington, with Roxie Harrington and Emily Hahn (OOC thread)

8 am, local time, 30 hours after TLWO
Monday, 20 January 2025
Harrington Hills Vineyards
East of San Diego, California

(Continues from here.)

Glenn was in the Event Center when Roxie found him. He smiled. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been happy to see her. He'd lived a comfortable life before Roxie. He'd lived a happy life after that, though.

The coffee mug in her hand meant she had found the breakfast he'd prepared. "Get enough to eat?"

He told her his plan for the rest of the perishables. He'd tossed out what had gone bad already. The rest he'd either cooked for breakfast or was tending to now. He gestured toward a contraption just outside the door. Smoke was rising out of a makeshift chimney. "Best thing we can do is smoke all the meat. It'll last weeks that way.

Glenn though about what he'd just said. Weeks. Was this thing, this event, going to last weeks? Even days was damaging enough. But weeks? Months? Years? Forever?

"I could use some help," he told his wife. He offered out a knife. "Long, thin slices would be best."

They had more work to do than just cook food, though. Glenn was concerned about maintaining basic services. Water, sewage, heat, and so on.

The water tank on the hill was still providing pressure to the house. But that wouldn't last much longer. There was a solution, though. The vineyard had modern windmills that pumped irrigation water to drip irrigation. Glenn was fairly sure they could redirect the water to the tank.

They needed to heat the house. It had fireplaces, of course. But they were running low on seasoned firewood. Prices had been sky-high for over two years. He'd bought just enough for mood fires in the Event Center. But it wouldn't last more than a few more days if they wanted to remain comfortable.

They had propane, of course. But that'd be out in a week. Maybe less.
 
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Peter Phillips, with Hannah Wilson

5 am, local time, (27 hours after TLWO)
Monday, 20 January 2025

Peter's childhood home, Baywood-Los Osos, California
North of Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant
The Pacific Coast, 200+ miles northwest of Los Angeles):

(Continued from here.)

Peter awoke to the sound of crashing glass. He woke Hannah, holding one hand over her mouth as he lifted the index finger of the other hand to his lips. He whispered, "Someone's breaking in. Stay here and stay quiet. I'll be right back."

He slipped out of bed, out of the bedroom, and down the hall. He slipped quietly into his childhood bedroom. In the closet, he found just what he was looking for: his sports bag. He picked out the heaviest aluminum bat. At the bedroom door again, he listened. He could hear at least two men. They were whispering while they searched. There were crashes as they knocked things over.

Peter remained where he was, waiting. He didn't know if the men were armed. What if they had guns? He thought Baseball bat to a gun fight, great.

He heard footsteps coming his way. He hid behind the door, again waiting. The door pushed open, and one of the intruders stepped inside. Peter didn't hesitate. He swung the bat at the man, striking him in the head. The intruder went down in a heap. The second man called casually, "What'd you find?"

Peter pulled the man in out of sight. That was when he found the pistol in the intruder's waist band. Peter had never been much of a fan of handguns. Still, he knew how to handle them. The man called out, "Richie! What'd you find?"

Peter took a step, tripped over something unseen, and fell over the bed to the floor. The other man called, "RITCHIE! TALK TO ME! WHAT THE FUCK?"

The door pushed open, and the light of a small oil lamp filled the room. Peter saw the intruder. The intruder saw Peter. The intruder lifted his own handgun. And without hesitation, Peter raised the gun in his hand and pulled the trigger. Once, twice, three times.

The intruder fell back into the hallway. The lamp fell, too, shattering. A small explosion flooded the hallway with light. Peter realized immediately that the lamp had exploded. The hallway was on fire. Peter tried to get out the door. There was no chance. He hollered, "Hannah! Get out of the house! Get out! It's on fire."

Peter backed from the fire. He couldn't get out through the doorway. He turned and went out the window instead. He hurried around the house for the windows of his parents' room. Neither of the windows had been opened yet. Was Hannah still inside?
 
Sammi Evans and Nick Long (OOC thread):

Eugene, Oregon
2 pm, local time (36 hours after TLWO)
Monday, 20 January 2025
(OOC: Continues from here.)

Sammi was delighted to hear her mother call her father up into the house, leaving her all alone inside the gazebo with Nick. This was literally the first time since they'd met that the two of them had been alone together. She'd been smiling to him and sashaying her hips and even bending over to push food or drinks closer to him over lunch and earlier breakfast, as well as dinner, lunch, and breakfast the day before, giving him an opportunity to ogle her pert, tight tits.

"You'll have hot water for a bath tonight," he'd said when her father was still with them. "Happy?"

"Delighted," she'd answered, wanting so badly to ask him if he'd bathe with her. Saying something so forward and unacceptable would have seen her father escorting Nick off the property at the end of his shotgun, of course, so all she added to her answer was, "I could use a bath."

"A treat," Nick said as he tossed one of her mother's homemade cookies to her. He added suggestively, "For the treat you gave me last night."

Sammi smiled, blushed a fiery red, and giggled. She said timidly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Nick's back was to the house and Sammi's parents, but Sammi could see them still chatting on the back porch. They didn't seem to be too interested in her and Nick -- each of them glance toward the gazebo once, but only for a moment -- so the teen felt secure in looking to him with a sly smirk and adding, "Maybe you were seeing things."
 
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Hannah Wilson and Peter Phillips

5 am, local time, (27 hours after TLWO)
Monday, 20 January 2025

Peter's childhood home, Baywood-Los Osos, California
North of Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant
The Pacific Coast, 200+ miles northwest of Los Angeles):

(Continued from here.)

Hannah awoke confused and startled, finding Peter looking down upon her with his hand to his mouth. She cried into his hand and grasped at him to free herself, but very quickly realized that he was shushing her with a finger to his lips.

"Someone's breaking in," he whispered, "Stay here and stay quiet. I'll be right back."

She sat up to watch Peter slip out of bed, dress, and then slip out of the room. Hannah's heart was pounding so hard that she could hear it in her ears, and even though she couldn't see her hands in the darkness, she knew that they were trembling. She slipped out of bed, dressed, and crouched behind the nearby desk. She could hear a ruckus out beyond the bedroom, but didn't know if it was intruders, Peter, or both.

There was a thump sound, followed by one of the invaders calling out, "What'd you find?" A bit of time passed before the same man called out, "Richie! What'd you find?" There was another crashing sound -- Peter falling to the floor, although Hannah didn't know that -- followed by a more frantic call from one of the invaders as he passed right by the open bedroom door, "RITCHIE! TALK TO ME! WHAT THE FUCK?"

Suddenly, there was gunfire, three quick shots, followed by the obvious sound of a body hitting the ground. There was a flash of light, and even though she probably should have remained where she for the moment, Hannah ran for the door, fearful for Peter. She burst out of the bedroom door into the hallway just as the remaining portion of as-of-yet unburned oil caught flame and exploded.

She screamed, falling away from the flames that were reaching up to the ceiling and beginning to consume the papered walls. If she'd had time to think about it, Hannah would have found it startling just how fast the fire was spreading. Instead of thinking, she simply ran for the living room, continuing right for and out the door. Only when she reached the sidewalk, did she turn to look back at the house, screaming, "PETER! PETER!"

The fire spread at an alarming rate, consuming room after room; windows exploded outward, showering the yard with glass, followed by flames exploding out the panes. Hannah was by now sobbing, still crying out, "Peter! Peter!"

She screamed, startled, when hands grasped her shoulders and spun her. It was Peter! She jumped into his arms, grasping him around the neck as she cried into the crook of his neck. "Oh my God! I thought you were in there! I thought you were--"

No more words came out of her mouth; there were only cries and sobs.
 
First Sergeant Caroline Edwards and Sergeant Phil "Fish" Spahn (OOC thread)

0600 hours local time, 28 hours after TLWO
Monday, 20 January 2025

Oregon Army National Guard Station, Springfield (OANGS-Springfield)
Springfield, Oregon:

(Caroline's last post here. Phil Spahn's last post here.)

Caroline had snuck in 4 hours of sleep before having her Adjutant wake her for morning Roll Call. She gathered and spoke to the Unit's members who were on the base, then walked across to the Grocery King to do the same there. She ordered the Watches relieved at 0745 hours. "Those of you being dismissed, get some sleep."

Volunteers were preparing breakfast for the neighborhood, cooking up the last of the meat, eggs, and other perishables; some of it had come from the store's refrigerators and freezers, while the rest of it had come from locals who'd traded food for toilet paper, hand sanitizers, soaps and shampoos, and more.

There had been a constant line for entry into Grocery King from sunup to sundown yesterday, and there was now another line already now; those who had been in the line at closing the day before had been given first come, first served privileges today per Caroline's orders. The Sergeant was hearing that people were beginning to get angry, though, as many of the things they wanted had run out or were about to.

Suddenly, gunfire erupted from out near the edge of the parking lot, and as Caroline instinctively hit the deck, she saw one, then two of her Guard Unit members get hit and fall awkwardly to the pavement. She hollered, "Down! Down! Everyone down!"

All around the post, service members and civilians alike were either hitting the ground, grabbing the injured -- or dead? -- or running for cover, either into the store or for the building's corners. No one from Caroline's side of what was about to be a firefight returned fire initially; to prevent unnecessary and regrettable deaths due to her people reacting impulsively, Caroline had ordered that all firearms be unloaded and magazines stored in vest and belt pockets.

""Lock and load ... but hold your fire!" Caroline hollered. "Hold your fire until I give word! Hold your fire!" About the shots, she hollered to the nearest Guard member, "Where they coming from? Can you see the shooters?"

The soldier only shook his head as he huddled behind the guard post's improved barricades. She peeked her head up, dropping again as bullets ricocheted off the cinder block exterior wall of the Grocery King behind her. Caroline poked her head up again, looking about; she knew approximately where the shooting was coming from, but still couldn't find the shooters. Shooters, she told herself; there were at least two, maybe three.

As she searched, she realized that she could hear someone sobbing. She scrambled a few feet to her left and looked toward where the volunteers had been cooking, finding a man lying on his back, his chest red with blood while a woman knelt over the top of him, crying and calling out his name. Caroline searched her surroundings again; she found two more civilians down.

As the shots continued hitting the pavement and wall, she knew she had to do something to end it. She moved back to where she'd been and hollered, "Owens! Owens!" When the soldier for whom she was calling looked her way, she hollered, "Get inside the store and get ready! I'm going to find you a target! Understand?"

The man nodded after a moment's thinking. He rose from the ground and ran inside the store, disappearing with his Remington Model 700. The rifle he carried shot .30-06 Springfield rounds and sported a Leupold 3-9x40mm scope and was the classic open country sniper rifle. He was good with it, and Caroline knew his military history; he'd had to take lives during his deployment in Syria just a few years ago, so his Sergeant had confidence that he was up to the job she needed him to perform now.

Caroline hesitated a moment, then called to ensure that Owens was ready. Once he confirmed that, she rose to a crouch, then took off running toward the nearest corner of the Grocery King. They'd established a sandbag fortification at each corner of the building in case there was any violence like there had been just after TLWO, so all she had to do now was reach it before one of the shooters landed a lucky shot.

She did in fact reach the post, lowering and crashing into the sandbag wall with a gasp. She'd heard shots during her run and sensed ricochets behind her, and now shots struck the sandbags with thumps. The soldier already there laughed at Caroline, saying, "You're fucking nuts, Sarge!"

Caroline crouched, hidden behind the bags, and waited. Shots continued striking the ground and the cinder block wall, but from her quick, relative safe peeks out at the parking lot, she saw no sign that anyone was coming forward. What was this all about? Were the shooters trying to capture the Grocery King for themselves, or were they just out to kill people?

Suddenly, a boom came from inside the store: Owens, Caroline knew. The shots from out beyond the parking lot continued though, until there was another shot from inside the Grocery King. The scene went quiet for a moment, leading to Caroline peeking her head up to survey the lot. There wasn't any movement or shooting, which pleased the Sergeant. After a moment, Owens emerged from the store with a pleased expression. He looked to Caroline, tilted his rifle to put the end of the barrel in front of his face, then blew air from his pursed lips as if dissipating smoke from an old-fashioned pistol.

"Good job, Corporal," Caroline told him. "Status!"

She ordered four soldiers to go check the shooters, then put everyone else to work tending to the victims. In the end, they would find one civilian dead, two injured -- neither of them by gunshots -- and three soldiers shot, thankfully in their vests and, therefore, only suffering from the impacts and no actual penetrations.

They would later learn from one of the injured shooters -- who would die of his injuries a few hours later -- that the men had simply been causing mayhem. They hadn't been robbing the store or trying to take control of it; one of the men had simply decided that this would be a good opportunity to shoot people in uniform.

"You're all dead," the man said before dying. He laughed, spitting up blood. "There's more of them than you ... and ... you can't ... stop ... them."

Caroline was baffled by the man's dying declaration. Why would someone -- a group of someones -- want to attack the Guard Unit, the grocery, the Station, or some combination therein, just to kill people. What the fuck's wrong with people?

"Check him for a wallet," Caroline ordered. "We need to find these guys ... before they find us."
 
Keri Lee (OOC link)

2 pm, Monday 20 January 2025 (34 hours after TLWO)

The Weston Grand Hotel, Arlington, Virginia
West of Reagan Washington National Airport:

(Keri's last post is here.)

Keri had remained at the hotel for the bicycle messenger's return at noon, and yet it was now 2 pm and he still hadn't returned. She had to communicate with the Field Producer assigned to her for the inauguration to learn: first, was it still happening; and second, was she still covering it. Sunset would come at 5:30, and the temperature outside would plummet; the forecast printed before TLWO said that it was supposed to get below freezing tonight, and Keri couldn't get caught out there without a guarantee of shelter.

"I'm going," she told Greg Brothers, the concierge of the hotel and the man Keri was letting fuck her for free room and board. She threw on the full length faux-fur and stocking cap that had been found for her and told Greg, "If the messenger returns, tell him to come find me on this route."

While she'd been waiting, Keri had marked out a route on a hotel-provided tourist map. She gave a second one with the same information on it to Greg, who immediately asked her, "Why would I do that? I think you forgot how you were going to compensate me for paying the messenger."

"I didn't forget," Keri growled. She'd told him that she'd blow him if he took care of the bike rider. She reminded him, "You said he'd be back by noon. He wasn't. I owe you nothing."

Greg casually shrugged his shoulders and returned to his concierge desk. Keri needed to know what the messenger had learned, and she knew that Greg wasn't going to help her without his compensation. She followed him, took his hand, turned him toward the office of the Manager -- who hadn't come in to work after TLWO -- and gave him what he wanted. It didn't take long, thankfully; less than a minute in, Greg moaned I'm cumming just in time for Keri to pull him from her mouth, aim his cock toward his own torso, and jerk him to a finish. Greg was disappointed that Keri hadn't kept him in her mouth and swallowed, but that went farther than she'd offered him.

"I did what I promised," she told him as she cleaned herself up with hand wipes.

"Yeah ... well..." Greg murmured between deep breaths, "I'll see what I can ... can do for you."

Keri sensed that she'd just blown the man for no reason and promptly told him, "You make sure the messenger finds me ... and I'll not only blow him ... but when I come back here after the inauguration, I'll let you play in my third hole, too."

She assumed that would interest him as it seemed to be a fantasy of most of the men she'd dated in the past. And in fact, Greg said with a more sincere tone this time around, "I'll give him your map and your message. He'll find you."

Keri left him in his chair, still breathing deeply, and visited the buffet table that had been set up for staff and guests. She filled a backpack with food and bottles of water, then raided the bar for two bottles each of vodka and whiskey; she thought she might need them to bribe her way through roadblocks, both official and otherwise.

She'd been expecting to walk the entire 4 miles to the television studio, but less than three blocks from the hotel she found a man with a pedicab taking a break under a tree. She hurried over to him, asking if he could get her into DC. He said, "Sure, for the right price."

She pulled out the cheapest of the bottles of vodka, but the man only laughed. He showed her his 5-years sober chip, asking, "What else you got?"

Keri showed him the hundred-dollar bill, but again the man shook his head. "The all-mighty dollar ain't so almighty anymore. Nobody trusts it anymore. No, unless you got gold or diamonds or food -- lots of it -- I'm taking you nowhere." Then he looked her up and down with a hungry smile, and said, "But I can get you there for the booze, the hundred, and a fuck, too."

Keri shook her head lightly, thinking, Jesus, are all you pigs the same? She stepped closer to him, reached out a hand to cut his crotch, and asked, "Which hole do you want to put it in?"

The man's lips spread wide in a smile as he began thinking he'd hit the jackpot, but then cried out in agony as Keri pulled her hands away and kneed him in the balls. As he began curling up in the fetal position, she gave him a push, sending him onto the muddy grass beyond the sidewalk.

Keri set the vodka on the ground, slipped the hundred beneath it, and -- as she threw her pack in the passenger seat and leapt onto the operator's seat, told the man, "You will find your bike at Griffith Entertainment Center on Maxwell. I'll leave it in the lobby."

As the man cursed her in a language that sounded Eastern European, she began pedaling the vehicle away. She'd never been much of a bike rider, and it took a bit of effort to get the heavy three wheeled bicycle moving, but eventually she was making speed down the street. She found the roads surprisingly empty; the event had happened at 4 am local time on a Saturday night/Sunday morning, so -- even in the Nation's Capital -- there had been few cars on the road to break down in the middle of the streets.

Keri gotten all the way to the bridge over the Potomac before she got stopped at a roadblock. It was operated by the US Army, and initially the Officer in charge told Keri that she couldn't enter DC unless she was on official business. She flashed her work credentials, then made up a story of how she'd been personally invited to the inauguration by the President-Elect. She leaned in close as if not wanting the other soldiers to hear her, and asked, "You wouldn't want the President-Elect to miss out on his post-inaugural fun, would you?"

She asked the question with a suggestive tone, and by the Officer's reaction, Keri was pretty sure that he knew all about the multiple stories about the next President's love for beautiful women, a love that had done nothing to prevent 52% of the voting public from electing him to the highest office in the land.

The Officer had a subordinate record Keri's name on a clipboard, then gestured her through. Before she rode off, he had her stick out her hand, which he stamped as if she was going into a nightclub to dance and drink. "This'll get you past the next couple of roadblocks without a hassle. After that, I don't know what to tell you."

She thanked him and pedaled on. The Officer had been correct about the stamp and the next two roadblocks, but at the third she was directed southeast, which was entirely the wrong direction for her goal. She made her way through the Lincoln Park neighborhood, then northeast toward Kingsman Park before she was finally able to head northeast again.

All along the way, Keri saw armed units from the various Law Enforcement and branches of the military maintaining law and order. On multiple occasions, she heard distant gun shots, and once she was even close enough to an exchange of gunfire to see the window of a car blown out. She quickly pulled the pedicab in between two parked trucks for safety, only getting back on the road after she'd seen a squad of Marines run down the block, firing as they went.

She'd made it all the way to Truxton Circle, where her Producer had a home -- she couldn't get to the studio -- when she came across the most horrific sight she'd seen so far. The squad of Marines she'd seen earlier had apparently caught up with the shooters they'd been chasing and had them all lined up against a brownstone's wall; the men were all relatively young and wore the colors of one of DC's more violent street gangs. As Keri biked hurriedly by, the Marines suddenly raised their rifles and executed the men before then simply turning and hurrying back off the direction from which they'd come.

Keri started wondering if maybe the inauguration wasn't the story she should be covering after all. Oh, it wasn't like she hadn't already come to the conclusion that the event was the story of the week, month, and maybe year; the only reason she was honing in on the President's swearing in was because it had a Constitutionally mandated time and date, so once she'd covered that, Keri could move onto other stories.

It was after sunset by the time she reached her destination, knocking on the door and -- when the people inside didn't respond -- calling out, "Robert! It's Keri Lee! Let me in. Please!"

The man's wife answered the door and ushered her inside, asking, "What in God's name are you doing out there?"

(OOC: I'm not going to write anything more for her until Day Three, which is inauguration day. By the time Keri reached her destination in this post, it was already 6 pm, Monday, 38 hours after TLWO. That puts her ahead of every other character.)
 
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