A pyromantic wife and a spacial jumping husband face the dawn of a dead tomorrow; but what did it matter so long as they were hand in bloody hand?
As Lena Flores attempted to save the world, it all began to collapse in on them and they began to won...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Lena reread every note in the stolen journal, tucked away on the staircase, shoulders bent forwards to hide the journal in her lap from view.
A few things stuck with her.
The legend of the eight bells being one.
Sir Reginalds addiction to folk lore and tall tales about a secret dimension or a doorway that led to another within the universe, created by some higher being.
The words 'fail safe' crept up a few times.
The only assumptions she could draw was that the door in the Buffalo Suite was supposedly the same doorway Reginald had written about, or he believed it to be.
It held answers to the notion of this outer-dimensional world he described only in short words.
The eight bells were beyond the door, she knew that much, and recalled Diego and Lila mentioning seeing one on the other side.
But then there were the crazed scribbles about having eight vessels for it to work, and something at the end underlined about a 'resetting' of the universe.
In short, Sir Reginald wanted something he couldn't get through any of their powers, couldn't get through their reality, or any timeline. All she could gather was that he was ignoring all rules of morality and going to fix it for himself somehow.
Which was cynically ironic given he was the same man who'd wisely said that man's greatest flaw was the illusion of control.
The somehow was still up in the air.
Stealing a pencil from the study, she began circling certain phrases and words and adding little question marks to things left too vague to understand. Her sketch of Five's tattoo torn from the handbook had been paperclipped in to the last page.
There was a phrase circled on one of the last pages that kept bothering her: everything wrong will be made right.
Lena added some tiny notes in the corner.
Eight Bells - signalling the end of the watch/to be finished with something
She had read somewhere in a book she nicked from the study that when a sailor was to die, they'd be honoured with the eight bells - signalling the end. She'd ripped the page out, folded it and clipped it inside the journal for safe keeping.
Everything about Project Oblivion and the world coming to an end was fuelling the dread in her stomach to a roaring bonfire.
All of the information sounded allover sinister and she had no idea what to do with it.
Lost again, Lena stared down at the closed journal, running over the grooves in the leather with her fingers before giving up and deciding to join the others finally.
The thought of showing her face again had her stomach twisting slightly but she tucked the journal away, pulled her jacket closer around her and slowly made her way down to the basement. The stairs led down to a dark hall where each step creaked beneath her boots.
