gmlogbox | [Sandra] :: LOG :: Counting the Bodies

It's cool outside, but the relative humidity invariably makes it feel colder.
The sky is clear, opening up the fields outside Edgewood to the soft silver light of the half-moon. The doors to the Garage are closed when Reagan first arrives, summoned here by a phone call, but the light is on, and there's the tell-tale sounds of another workout audible through the side door. And, sure enough, there's the Philodox, the sounds of exertion that are coming from her suggesting that she's upped her weight limit since the last time around. Either that, or she's *really* angry at that barbell.
Any sound of a new arrival will make it stop, though, blue eyes turning towards the open door as the barbell is set on its rack. Sandra sits up, still breathing heavy, the rag on the edge of the bench picked up to mop off her face. She's pouring sweat, enough to make dabbing off her shoulders and neck a good idea, the dark grey shirt sodden enough to cling to her chest and back. "Good," she says, ignoring the relative breathlessness to speak. "You made it."

There's a quickness to her steps as Reagan approaches the home. Her favorite coat hugged close as she hurries from the warmth of her car through the cooling evening. Truthfully it isn't the climate that speeds her along, it's concern.
Sandra shares Monica's inclination to avoid giving information over the phone and it can be frustrating and worrisome. She spent the entire drive over contemplating about how recent events could have saved everyone or doomed them all.
By the time she makes it through the door to spy upon the heaving weight lifter, she isn't the only one breathless. "Came as fast as I could." She states quickly, gaging the woman's expression for the slightest hints of information as she catches her breath hastily before continuing, "What did you and Zach figure out?" Stabbing right into the heart of the matter.

"That we have more questions," Sandra replies, leaning over to pick up a bottle of water, "and not a lot of answers," the irritation choked back with a swig off her water bottle. "That he's going to see about healing more complex organisms as time passes," she says, "but that we're both uncertain of whether or not we'll have anywhere near enough time to get him up to speed for what we have in mind." She raises to her feet once the water bottle is set aside, a spray bottle put to liberal use on the bench so she can wipe it down. "The idea," she says, "is to lure Mercy out of Last Days. See if we can't do for her what we did for the plants."

The Wolf Agent's frustration is promptly shared as Reagan utters a groan. Her gloved hands run through her hair, threatening her bun as she steps further into the room. "Can't we.. Hng isn't there someone at our Sept who can talk to Zach about this? A more.. Learned Theurge who can reproduce his energy?" A rare suggestion for her to seek an answer that isn't entirely scientific.
The Doctor blinks, hands lowering a moment as she turns towards Sandra, "Who.. is Mercy again? I'm drawing a blank." Apparently forgetting a few details.

The rare suggestion does, indeed, earn a slight raise of Sandra's brow, but she doesn't comment on it save to offer that look. It's the latter question she addresses first, however, saying, "Mercy was the Warder of Last Days. An accomplished fighter, and an Athro Shadow Lord Ragabash prior to the fall of the caern." Beat. "Since the fall occurred, she's been sighted numerous times by members of this sept-- and, more recently, her image, and the image of the caern itself, was put forward to me in a dream." She considers for a moment-- then says, "She's a conundrum in all of this. She's not quite an echo, but not quite herself, either. A kind of-- servitor of the ooze, which, aside from her, doesn't do things in halves.
"I want to know how, and why she was able to retain her autonomy, as her behaviour and appearance suggests that she's maintained more than the echoes do. Whereas she appears exactly as she did 'in life,'" the phrase suggesting that she doesn't necessarily count the Warder as being Dead, "the echoes are-- imperfect memories of what they once were. Reminiscent, but incorrect, if that makes sense. I'd like to know how this happened, and why-- and if we're able to heal her, restore her, it's possible that she may retain the memory of it, herself. Or, at the very least, be allowed to die naturally, which I can only imagine would be counted as a blessing."

"Ah." Reagan tilts her head back as she absorbs this information, folding her arms over her chest and listens carefully. She nods along with the revelation of who this 'Mercy' is, now duly up to speed she furthers, "Alright. How are you two planning on luring her out, exactly?"

"That's a good question," Sandra says mildly. "At the moment, I've put the word out to my tribe's Galliards to get me as much information about her as they can reasonably hand over. Personal details. Anything that might strike a chord, or catch her attention." She shrugs. "Everyone has their preferred prey, or, barring that, their Achilles Heel. If there's something she hated enough that she can't resist pursuing it outside of the grounds she occupies, I'd like to know about it Beyond that?" She shakes her head. "I have no goddamn idea."

Reagan bobs her head to that answer swiftly. Pacing a few steps at a perpendicular angle to the Shadow Lord as she adds, "I have no doubt you guys can lure her out. I'm just worried that she won't be the only thing pouring out of the place." Eyes scanning the ceiling as she thinks.
"We strongly suspect that Black Mage is there. I don't know how those people work but I'm willing to bet whatever Zach does our bad guy will probably notice since.. Well, they work on the same wavelength or whatever." She then about-faces and paces the other direction, "The other question is who else is The Nothing possessing from that Caern. I strongly doubt it stops at Mercy. It may have its own version of 'Black Spiral's made out of our dead or.. Whatever approximates death in that state." Her lip twitching at the statement.
"If we end up kicking the Hive's front door in we better be ready to bug out if there's too many."

Sandra's brow arches as she watches Reagan, though what prompted it, it's hard to say.
"It's not a Hive," she says matter-of-factly, "and thinking in those terms will do you no favors. This isn't the Wyrm as we know it-- and the Black Mage isn't entirely incorrect to call the fissures from which it appears open wounds." Beat. "This is a thing that isn't answerable to any of our laws, spiritual or physical. It simply is. The sooner you accept that, the less of a headache it is to think about."
There's something a little-- short-- about the way she's speaking. A quicker pace that she's using to convey these thoughts in the first place. Something about her Auspice moon being not only on the rise, but in its waxing state. Her energy is-- notable. Almost tangible.
"In any event, yes, I suspect the Black Mage is aware of what Zach is doing, but he's not acknowledging it, for whatever reason. One would imagine that if he thought to point the man out as something to eradicate, one of us would have dreamed about it by now. My guess is, however, that the old man doesn't even consider him to be a factor in the grand scheme of things, either because he doesn't have that kind of energy, or because he finds the involvement negligible. Assuming he even knows about it."
A pause. Then: "Well. One can assume that he does. But I still sincerely doubt that he cares about much more than his own agenda. As for sheer numbers?" She thinks on that for a moment-- then says, "Well. When I say that approaching Last Days as we are now would be a suicide mission, it's still a vast understatement. There is a quite literal lake of its-- 'substance' where a natural lake once was. That should tell you enough on its own."

Reagan pauses in her walking circuit as she catches the shorter tone Sandra uses to explain the whys and wherefores of this thing. She turns to face her, listening intently once more. Historically Reagan would ruffle at such a curt explanation but she seems to accept the details with a wordless nod. Awareness of Sandra's lunar phase or just accepting she knows little about these spiritual matters. Perhaps a combination of the two.
"Ngh." She replies to the woeful situation of the Last Days, rubbing her brow just above the bridge of her glasses, eyes closed. Her expression suggests she fights despair and ennui in roughly equal measure, her willingness to take a stab at ideas stalling out.

Perhaps there's something to be said for self-awareness, in this case. Sandra looses a slow breath, looking around herself for a moment, allowing for a lapse into silence. Then, "My sentiments exactly," is said, a little lighter, a little less clipped. "Because there's a flipside to that, as there always is." That, however, has a note of irritation laced into it. "That the Black Mage believes what we did with the sample to be pointless. It stands to reason that he must have thought of it before. Zach did, after all, refer to it as--"
She pauses, thinking on it for a moment. "He referred to it - to the method he used in obliterating the ooze - as a violation of his peoples' laws, for lack of a better way of putting it. He also said that, usually, the use of it would be detected with ease. That he should have been slapped down for using it." Her brow furrows; and with a frown, that furrow only deepens. Eventually, it breaks into a scowl. "Just when I think I've got a handle on things, something new introduces itself. Why let a violation against all known laws slip through the cracks, unless--" A scoff. "I don't know," she says, under her breath. "I was only just wrapping my head around *our* side of the equation. Now, there's this nonsense to contend with."

Reagan allows the silence to flourish as she can think of little else to fill it with. It's a rare condition for her that does little to improve her state of mind. A sentiment Sandra vocally shares as the fellow blonde only nods.
Taking in the details of Zach's technique, the scientist finally adds, "All I can make from that is his process is not readily reproducible. Not on the scale to deal with a 'lake' of the substance."
She leans against the near wall, crossing her coated arms over her chest as her dolorous expression is aimed at nothing at all, "It would take a team of researchers with far more resources than I have to even lay the groundwork into understanding the simplest concepts of what Zach does. I .. even if I get ahold of a sample of the stuff now we're out of time. If it is a 'Grey Goo' scenario as he described it to me.. The stuff replicates on an exponential level. If there's that much of it? That probably has doubled since we've last seen it. And will probably double again before we muster any kind of plan to deal with it.."
Defeatest is not a tone that Reagan easily adopts. The words force her jaw to clench tight, forbidding further comment.

"We have methods of dealing with it," Sandra replies, shaking her head. "The problem is, they're not feasible, or they're-- inadvisable." A pause. "Shutting down our caern happens to be one of the proposed theories. Returning things to a 'balance' between the Something and the Nothing." Beat. "That's one thing his theory doesn't account for. That the Nothing has a counterpart. It's the two of them coming into conflict with one another that we have to worry about." She looks at Reagan. "Speaking frankly, I have to be careful about what all I tell him. But the Grey Goo scenario wouldn't necessarily happen. Not without the Something being triggered into awakening. It'd still be catastrophic, mind-- likely wipe St. Claire itself clean off the map, but it wouldn't be the end of the world. Just the end of us, most likely. And quite possibly the end of any memory that this place ever existed."

"I would be extremely pleased to hear that he's wrong about the Grey Goo scenario." Reagan replies with what she intended to be a neutral snark but cannot help but bleed genuine relief and mild panic into her tone. Looking away she swallows hard, taking a moment to listen.
"It's.."
She had an immediate comment on that but she can't make it out. Raising a hand to the bridge of her nose, massaging beneath her glasses a long moment before continuing, "It's better than the rest of the planet being eaten and destroyed."

"Reagan." Sandra keeps her eyes trained on the Theurge, and with no little amount of confidence, says: "He's wrong about the Grey Goo scenario. The only way it'd happen is if the Something was shut down for good." Beat. "Think of it this way-- the Nothing is a force that the Black Mage hasn't been able to hold at bay. The Something is its equal and opposite force. The only reason anyone can see for why the Nothing is proliferating in the here and now, on the level it is, is because the Something hasn't fully awakened.
"So... putting it simply, *very* simply, it's not the Nothing itself that's the biggest problem-- which I know sounds horrifying, but it's true. Rather, it's the possibility that the Something *does* wake, which I assume will happen when the Nothing reaches a kind of-- critical mass. They're as much equal and opposite forces as they are checks and balances for one another. Made to be two halves of a greater whole. Does that make sense?"

Reagan does not meet Sandra's gaze, staring off to the most interesting spot on the far wall. The confidence does spark reassurance as she nods slowly. This explanation does create a tornado of further questions within her but she swallows them all. "Yeah." She finally answers.
She takes a deep breath then pushes herself from the wall, regrouping her thoughts as she grasps one tangential thread and continues, "Do we have.. Any other contacts in the Wizard world? It sounds like Zach has had the most success dealing with this. Has he called in anybody else he might know? Brings-The-Pack?"

Another note of frustration. "I haven't asked Zach specifically," Sandra replies, "and the cougar's been scarce. And I'd rather not bring the latter to the attention of the former just yet, if I can help it. Not until I speak to him personally." A beat. Then, "Which-- unfortunately, leaves us back where we started. 'Wait and see.' Except we've been doing an awful lot of waiting, these days."

"Mmrn." Reagan replies, the frustration echoed in her grumbling tone as she goes back to pacing. With the dull panic of possible armageddon having been quelled, her mind and body seem free to move once again.
After a moment she stops. The tip of her tongue sliding quickly over her inner lip as she weighs a few thoughts. The 'wait and see' striking a chord in her brain as she looks back to Sandra again, this time directly looking upon her.
Her head bobs once to the side, making a decision, "Are you.. Are you looking to be more proactive per chance?"

Sandra inclines her head subtly, her attention more firmly focused on the Theurge. "I think that goes without saying," she replies. "In what way?"

Another hesitation, Reagan's gaze shies away from direct contact with Sandra's eyes as she quickly adds, "It's unrelated to this." Waving a hand, "It's.. Look it's not nearly as important as Saint Clair being obliterated by some Celestial Force of Existence so I hate to bring it up when we have so much on the table but.."
She stammers, grousing under her breath as she quickly adds, "The Wyrm isn't sitting on it's ass while all this is happening either and.. There's projects I need help with.."

Sandra gives vague, dismissive gesture, and says, "If there's something that requires assistance, I'm hardly against throwing some weight behind it. 'Wherever it dwells, wherever it breeds,' etcetera." It's a throw-away line, but she's clearly taking it seriously. "What do you need help with?"

"Well.." Reagan accepts that with a quick nod. Then looking around a moment as she segues, "Is there somewhere we can sit down? This might take awhile to explain.." Shifting her weight from foot to foot. A mild convenience but it also gives her a moment to collect her thoughts.

"There's the floormats," Sandra says, indicating to the ones strewn near the weight training equipment. "There's the loft. And, depending on whether or not you mind potential through-traffic, there's also the kitchen in the main house."

While Reagan's endurance has improved since beginning her own less rigorous training regimen, when she looks to the directed floor mats she blanches visibly. She still enjoys her creature comforts. Thoughts of 'through-traffic' begin to make her wonder who else, but she quickly decides, "Loft? Probably best to talk about this somewhere just as secluded."
It also sounds warmer and more comfortable.

Sandra inclines her head, and flicks on one of the lights. Upstairs, a lamp flickers on. She switches off the light for the main floor, and begins to ascend the ladder leading up to-- well. The loft. That loft.
The spread, once they get there, does look rather cozy. There's a comfortable twin mattress (on the floor), a desk with a lamp (notes and whatnot about the Nothing littered across it). Next to the mattress, there's a raised, makeshift bookshelf put together with small cinderblocks and blocks of stained and treated wood. Some of the books may call attention to themselves. Douglas Hofstadter is apparently a big name, a shiny new copy of 'Godel, Escher, Bach' left out on the bed itself, alongside Elaine Pagels' 'The Gnostic Gospels.'
Curiously, there are some college textbooks in the mix. Five, in total. Microbiology, military history, calculus, advanced psyche, and-- something else. The title is too faded to read. Who keeps college textbooks?
Sandra, apparently.
She seats herself on the bed, gesturing for Reagan to take the more lofty seat at the desk, apparently presuming that that'd be more comfortable. From the footlocker at the foot of the bed (naturally), she procures a pack of cigarettes and an ashtray. Everything inside looks neatly folded.
"This is as private as it's likely to get," she says. "Frederick and the others know not to disturb me if these are the only lights on."

Reagan follows the woman up the stairs. Cresting the top steps she slowly takes it in. The cinderblocks are given a lifted eyebrow but her attention is caught by the books strewn upon them. She takes a few steps in, fighting the urge to lift the microbiology book in particular but taking note of the other books as well.
The gesture prompts her to move on, seating herself comfortably at the desk as she opens the coat at her neck a fraction, pulling her scarf to let out excessive warmth.
She nods at the statement, making a mental note to ask about Frederick later. The scientist lets the woman light up in the comfort of her own home as she marshals her thoughts before beginning.
"So you know I'm an activist. I do a lot of work hounding gross polluting asshole companies. Under the radar At least to my colleagues who do public work I do a lot of research on Fomori. Specifically the kind of Fomori that flourish due to corporate pollution or.. Even more direct malfeasance. I hunt down every last scrap of proof I can find so that one day, when the whistle is blown, there'll be enough dirt to condemn these bastards without a shadow of a doubt."

Sandra raises for a moment to pull open the window as something of an afterthought. Rather than sit, she remains standing by it to light up her cigarette, half-seating herself on the sill. The breeze is nice; a good counterpoint to the semi-humid air downstairs, and releases the scent of sweat and exertion that's part of the general milieu here.
She appears perfectly content to listen, but the mention of fomori-- that gets her attention with a kind of immediacy that may well be startling. One needn't even ask 'are you game for this?' or provide an explanation to know that, already, she's on board. ...Provided the word 'kill' is involved in there, somewhere.
If she's trying to hide the response, she's doing a poor job of it. Or, she's doing a fantastic job of it, and she's really that focused. "Go on," she says. Little question as to whether or not she's paying rapt attention.

Reagan inhales with thanks as the window is opened. She's gotten used to cigarettes but a closed room would be a bit much for her endurance.
The immediate attention is noted, even appreciated as she then continues, leaning in on her elbows as she furthers, "I came up here both to .. improve my standing in the Nation as well as follow several leads I've gotten in the general area. Unfortunately.." She swallows, "Circumstances here have forced me to focus on.. My own improvement. A number of the leads I had have gone cold over the last several months.." It dawns on her that she didn't bring any of her printed or copied information on the matter. Grunting to herself with disatisfaction she continues.
"See.. Endreon is the biggest target I've been after. I don't know if you're familiar but those jackholes have been responsible for more Fomori generation than any other outfit I know of. But it's a sprawling hydra of a beast. They have satellite offices and labs everywhere on the planet. Take for example" She pauses, growling to herself softly as she extracts her smartphone from her coat, thumbing through several applications, "One sec.." After entering in several passwords she hands the device over to the Wolf Militant.
"I got ahold of forwarded intel that there was an oil discovery somewhere in Alaska. Somewhere there isn't supposed to be any drilling. Samples of the crude has been disseminated among several offices. Weirdly, none of them usual candidates for oil. Not one sample went to a refinery lab for example."

The phone shows a cryptic email mostly about a 'package' having been sent to Temp Lab 27. Several notes Reagan herself added at the bottom of the email translated Temp Lab 27 to an address in Saint Claire proper.
"Nine times out of ten, when they do something odd ball like this it means trouble. I really wanted to get ahold of that sample and see what the hell is so interesting about it. But.. Well.. That was over six months ago so.." She rolls her head on her shoulders, "I don't even know what's there now. Probably boarded up or flipped to a different business but.. I wanted to at least take a look and see if any clues are still there."

If any of the finer points of all this are familiar to her, Sandra's doing a fairly good job of keeping it under wraps. She listens - intently - nodding her recognition only once Endreon is mentioned, a slow drag taken off of her cigarette. She blows the smoke out the window, and accepts the phone to look over what she sees.
"And you could use some muscle for it, I gather," she says, once Reagan's wrapped up the explanation. She doesn't seem offended by the notion, instead ashing her cigarette into the ashtray before taking another hit off of it. "I'd ask if you have any additional intel on the building itself, but you've already answered that question." A pause. "We could use someone who's handy with locks," she notes, "and other obstacles. Unless you have a means of getting inside that I'm unaware of."
She hands back the phone, belatedly.

"Well.." The word 'muscle' gives Reagan pause. She leans back in the desk chair and tents her gloved fingertips. "The thing about it is it'll probably be filled with normal people just doing their day job. So we can't go in.. you know.. Fangs out." Letting that notion sink in, but it seems Sandra is already ontop of the idea. Reagan nods again, "Yeah. I have the basics of the location at least but once we get in the doors.. I honestly have no idea how the place is secured. I'm imagining basic security really.. It's not one of their black sites .. At least I don't think so. It's only a small sample I believe. Or was." Clearing her throat she continues.
"Yeah. I was working with Monica but she's had to work on other things. She was.. She taught me everything I know about these kind of sneaky operations. Picking a lock isn't my forte. I'm guessing this means that.. Uh.. Isn't one of your strengths?" Accepting her phone with a nod.

Sandra frowns, not particularly pleased to hear about the real-people involvement, but it doesn't come as any big surprise. Nonetheless, it's rather clear that there's something to be said about the side of her that isn't made for writing up flowcharts, or reading high-minded books.
"It's not, no," she replies. "I'm more accustomed to getting others to perform that particular task for me. And Ragabash would be ideal for it, but-- given givens, may not be doable." She pauses. Then: "Is there anything you hope to find inside this place beyond documentation of where the sample is headed?"

"Mmn." Reagan murmurs to this question, rubbing the side of her neck in thought for several moments. "In an ideal universe the sample itself would still be there. But that is an extreme stretch at this point." Taking a deep breath she furthers, "The trail is pretty cold. It's probably not worth breaking and entering for what might clue us in. That said I can talk to some people. Maybe someone has picked up the trail of what they did with the sample. Maybe they've gotten more out of the ground and shipped it somewhere." Her gaze shifts to Sandra.
"With luck they've decided whatever they found isn't panning out and the whole thing is dropped. If we're not that lucky.. Chances are someone I know knows something about what use they put it to or an address of where it's being developed. I wanted to catch this stuff before it turned some poor soul into a nightmare but.. Maybe we can minimize how many people get exposed to it."
She pauses, adding, "I know it may be jumping to conclusions but in my experience, Banes follow these bastards around like flies on garbage. If Endreon has a secret lab working on something.. Fomori pop up around it well over half the time."

Sandra ponders, considerate. Then, after a time, she says, "I have some contacts I can get in touch with about the matter, if you're comfortable with that. And there may be people here capable of the right kind of discretion to be of some assistance. Nonetheless, the contacts I approach personally would only move if I asked them to do so-- so you won't have to concern yourself with anyone muscling in on your territory."

Reagan's brow furrows as she parses Sandra's offer. The first element gives her some pause but only in brief. The second aspect confuses her before she decides to clarify, "I.. Look, this isn't about 'territory'. By God if I could get everyone in the Sept in on this I'd be overjoyed. It's just.." Taking a moment to solidify her thoughts, eyes rolling upward a moment before continuing, "There's not a lot of honor and glory in breaking vials of stuff and writing a nasty letter to editors about what poison a corp is peddling. I know that a lot of our people are looking for this great battle against giant terrible monsters but that's not what.." A pause, "It's not my focus. My focus is on people and getting people to stop making our planet a toxic waste dump. As it so happens, one of the byproducts of making toxic waste is Fomori. So.. sometimes they need to be put down for their own good." Her jaw shifts, "Very occasionally.. Some corporate monster decides to make Fomori on purpose. I feel absolutely no compunction about feeding those particular bastards to.. Our family. But that isn't as common as some people might think."

Sandra arches a brow at the comment on 'honor' and 'glory,' apparently not seeming to find it at all relevant. And it seems she finds the assessment-- flawed, at best, but she doesn't comment just yet-- not until Reagan's finished talking. That she disagrees on 'sometimes'-- well. That goes without saying. She purposefully looks elsewhere, a low simmer of rage felt radiating from her.
"The people I'd be in contact with do these sorts of investigations as a matter of course," she says simply. "As do many other Garou. We wouldn't have 'glorious battles' without the investigation and pre-planning phases." She pauses. "Either way, I'd suggest you speak to some Glass Walker corporate types about what they consider to be an accomplishment. You'd probably find the conversation rather enlightening." Beat. "Either way, most of us take that tenet of the Litany seriously. Wherever it dwells, wherever it breeds. In that, there are no steps that are 'too small,' no matter what certain members of the fold are liable to tell you."

Reagan takes pause as she notices a shift in Sandra's demeanor. The boiling rage is met with a quieting as the scientist realizes she spoke of her prejudices too harshly. A brisk exhale as she looks to the floor, accepting the rebuttal with a silent nod. A quiet moment in the aftermath of the Litany recital as she adds, "That's good. I've.. misjudged popular sentiment regularly." Clearing her throat then she looks up, continuing on at a faster pace.
"I'll forward you what information I can to help you and your friends look for leads as well. I'd be glad to have help looking into this, you probably have avenues of information that I don't have access to. The more eyes we have looking the better."

Reagan inclines her head, massaging her temple and cheek with her fingertips as she murmurs, "I just hope we can head something off before it gets bad. I'm getting sick of cleaning up disasters after the fact.. Rather than stopping them from happening. Or just.. Counting the bodies."

"Where fomori are involved," Sandra replies, "that last part is unavoidable," this, stated with no little finality to it. Saying nothing of a certain-- edge to her voice that wasn't there before. An intensity. "But I agree. Better to cut it off at the knees than let it proliferate. I'll see what my contacts can tell me about it, if they've noticed any increased activity around Endreon sites. And anything affiliated with them. If anyone's noticed anything-- it'll probably be them. And if they haven't by now, they'll appreciate the tip, at the very least."

Reagan slowly nods as the details are explained. That edge in the powerful woman's voice keeps the Berkeleyite from questioning too deeply on who these 'contacts' might be. She's curious but she has a feeling she's better off not knowing.
Especially where Shadow Lords are concerned.
"Sounds good. Let's hope we turn up something we can actually deal with.. For a change of pace." Unable to keep the bitterness from souring her tone, thoughts circling back with the earlier dilemma of The Nothing. While the Wyrm may be equally an abstract entity in the cycles of existence .. At least it's horror is far more direct.