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The night stretched endless over Eastern Washington's high desert, the emptiness between Yakima and the Tri-Cities a void of civilization. No cars broke the silence of Highway 24, no lights punctured the darkness save for stars scattered across the cloudless sky like salt on black velvet. Scrubland rolled away in all directions, sage and bunch grass barely visible in the starlight, their familiar desert scent carried on a wind that whispered through the empty spaces between them. The late summer air held onto the day's heat, radiating up from sun-baked earth and rock, though the temperature was falling as night deepened. Crickets chirped their lonely songs, and somewhere in the distance, a coyote's howl went unanswered. It was the kind of absolute silence that made the world feel uninhabited, untouched, as if humanity had never pressed its fingerprints into this corner of the Northwest. Then everything - the crickets, the wind, even the air itself - went still.

Thirteen lightning bolts pierced the cloudless night over Eastern Washington's empty scrubland, striking in perfect sequence to form a circle. No thunder followed. No storm preceded them. Just silent spears of light from a moonless sky, their electric fingers clawing at the earth below. As the final bolt's afterimage faded from the air, thirteen figures stood where empty ground had been moments before, arranged in an uneven circle like numbers on a broken clock. The acrid smell of ozone hung heavy in the air, mingling with an older scent - something foreign and electric, like metal left too long in the sun. Each figure shifted slightly, adjusting to familiar gravity, familiar air, a familiar world that somehow felt younger than the one they'd left behind. Around them, the scrubland stretched vast and empty, scattered sage and rocks the only witnesses to their impossible arrival. The stars above were bright and clear, unchanged from when they'd left, though to most of the gathered figures, they seemed dim compared to skies they'd grown accustomed to.

Movement rippled through the circle as one figure shifted forward, adjusting the strap of a worn backpack. Rochelle Newman - Rose to anyone who'd known her before - stood almost exactly as she had that morning a week ago: slight build, wavy brown hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, wire-rimmed glasses catching starlight. But there were differences, subtle yet profound. Her hands, once fidgeting and uncertain, now moved with deliberate precision. Where she had once hunched slightly, trying to disappear behind Tori's shadow, she now stood straight, her posture carrying the weight of earned confidence. Most telling was her gaze - the eyes behind those glasses no longer darted away from attention, but took in every detail of their surroundings with the focused intensity of someone who had learned to see beneath the surface of things. If you looked closely enough, you might catch the ghost of equations reflecting in her lenses, mathematical formulas that had no place in any earthly textbook.

Near Rose stood Kyle, still wearing the same casual clothes he'd favored as a delivery driver - worn jeans, comfortable boots, faded t-shirt with some old band logo. At first glance, he seemed the most unchanged of the group, still carrying himself with that easy-going slouch that had once deflected attention with practiced humor. But there was something different in the way he held himself now, a contained energy that thrummed just beneath the surface. His hands, shoved into his pockets in a gesture that should have seemed relaxed, were held too still. The air around him felt charged, as if the space itself recognized something dangerous trying to look harmless. His former quick grin had been replaced by something more measured, and his eyes - once quick to find the joke in any situation - now held the banked heat of someone who had learned to control fire by becoming it.

River stood apart from the others, her dreadlocks no longer adorned with the colorful beads and clips that had once marked her as a campus activist. Her bare feet pressed into the desert soil with deliberate intent, toes curling into the earth as if reading its secrets through touch alone. The designer eco-friendly clothing she'd once worn as a statement had been replaced by simple robes of undyed cloth, their rough texture a far cry from her former carefully curated appearance. Each breath she took seemed synchronized with the land itself, and the air around her held an unnatural stillness, as if the earth was listening to her presence. The passionate righteousness that had once filled her voice at climate protests had transformed into something older and more primal - not a student of nature, but something that had become part of it. When a slight breeze stirred the sage around them, the plants seemed to lean toward her, drawn by forces that had nothing to do with wind.

Derek stood near River, but no longer in her shadow. His gangly frame and hooked nose were the same, but everything else about his bearing had changed. Where he had once hunched and fidgeted, desperate for approval, he now stood with an unnatural stillness that commanded its own attention. The air around him moved wrong - breezes dying before they reached him, dust falling straight down rather than drifting. His robes, though similar to River's in their simplicity, carried an authority of their own, rippling occasionally without any wind to stir them. The desperate need to please that had once radiated from him had been replaced by absolute certainty. When he shifted his weight, the movement carried an echo of something vast and empty, like the hollow spaces between stars. He no longer watched River from the corner of his eye - instead, his gaze swept across the horizon as if the sky itself answered to him. In his presence, even the stars seemed to dim, as if recognizing a rival claim to their domain.

Hazel stood with the kind of perfect posture that spoke of internal reinforcement rather than years of her mothers' reminders. Her practical clothing - cargo pants, fitted jacket, steel-toed boots - looked almost military in its functionality, a far cry from the carefully cultivated aesthetic she'd once maintained at her coffee shop job. The left sleeve of her jacket hung naturally, concealing modifications that matched her original form so precisely that only the most observant might notice the difference. Her old hesitation had vanished, replaced by the confident efficiency of someone who had finally stopped performing expected roles and embraced actual capability. The half-shaved hairstyle she'd once worn as a statement of identity now served a practical purpose, revealing the neat row of neural interface ports at the base of her skull. Her eyes, still sharp with intelligence, now carried the enhanced focus of someone who could see spectrum beyond human normal, though she'd chosen to keep the modifications subtle - practical advantages rather than obvious changes.

Restless energy radiated from a figure at the edge of the group, his athletic frame now carrying a predator's coiled tension. Even standing still, something about his presence suggested barely contained motion, like a cheetah forced to move at human speed. His uniform spoke of military precision - black and gunmetal gray body armor, form-fitting but obviously armored, with sharp angular plates that emphasized function over aesthetics. Red piping traced the seams, and a silver techno styled skull emblem adorned the high collar, its empty eyes suggesting both authority and menace. Each piece of the outfit looked like it had been designed to enable swift, lethal movement while offering maximum protection. His former basketball player's grace had evolved into something more dangerous - each slight movement precisely controlled, as if the world itself moved too slowly for his comfort. Dark eyes scanned the horizon with inhuman speed, taking in details faster than normal reflexes should allow. When he shifted his weight, the ground seemed to compress slightly beneath his feet, his enhanced muscles betraying their power even in such a simple motion. The aristocratic confidence that had once defined him had been replaced by something more earned - the contained power of someone who had learned the hard way that true speed came with a price.

At the circle's northern point stood a figure whose stance spoke of hard-earned combat experience rather than natural authority. Gone was the casual outdoor guide who'd once joked about rafting safety. In his place stood someone who'd learned to survive through careful preparation and tactical thinking. Alexander's gear looked professional grade but practical - a mix of reinforced clothing and modular armor, each piece chosen for functionality. Weapon holsters and equipment pouches were arranged with practiced efficiency, nothing excessive but everything necessary within easy reach. A mesh of subdermal plating was barely visible at his neck, disappearing beneath his collar like a second skin. His face carried new lines of experience, but his eyes remained alert and calculating, taking in every detail of their surroundings with military precision. When he shifted position, the movement was deliberately controlled, each action economical and purpose-driven. His former guide's easy confidence had hardened into something more proven - the bearing of someone who'd learned that survival often depended on having the right tool for the right moment.

Near Alexander, a compact figure held herself with the kind of stillness that suggested coiled violence rather than peace. Isabella's former rafting guide attire - the moisture-wicking polo with the company logo and quick-dry shorts - had been replaced by close-fitting dark clothing that allowed for quick movement while concealing whatever lay beneath. Her practical braid remained, but now it seemed less about keeping hair out of her face during river rapids and more about preparation for combat. She stood with the balanced poise of a practiced fighter, though no obvious weapons were visible on her person. There was something both familiar and wrong about the way she held herself - like a predator mimicking human movements. When she shifted position, her hand unconsciously moved to her side, as if reaching for something that wasn't visibly there. The compassionate confidence that had once marked her as a healer still lingered in her eyes, but it was now tempered with something darker - the look of someone who had learned that sometimes healing required destruction first.

The figure to Isabella's left stood unnaturally still, as if movement might betray what lay beneath his carefully maintained facade. Nathan's attempt at normal clothing couldn't quite hide the way his skin occasionally rippled, hinting at the grafted tissues beneath. When he did move, it was with an unsettling fluidity - multiple acquired reflexes fighting for control of each gesture. Patches of hardened crystal gleamed briefly through his skin in the starlight, like diamonds embedded in flesh. His frame, once lanky and unremarkable, now suggested something pieced together from stronger materials. The analytical gaze of a computer science major remained, but now it held a predatory edge, as if constantly calculating the structural weaknesses in everything around him. When he shifted his weight, muscles moved in ways human anatomy never intended, a symphony of supernatural grafts working in barely concealed harmony.

Time itself seemed to bend around one figure in the circle, reality rippling subtly in his wake. Daniel's once-dark hair had turned pure silver, falling past his shoulders in stark contrast to the deep blue and bronze of his robes. A century of studying temporal magic had left its mark - his face bore the weathered dignity of age, yet his movements carried an unsettling fluidity, as if he were experiencing multiple moments simultaneously. The simple programmer's slouch had been replaced by perfect posture that somehow seemed to occupy slightly more or less space than it should. His eyes, once focused on computer screens, now held the depth of galaxies, occasionally shifting focus to things no one else could see. When he moved, it was with deliberate grace, though sometimes his gestures left afterimages in the air, like echoes of movements he hadn't made yet. At his belt hung an object that hurt to look at directly - a puzzle box that seemed simultaneously tiny and vast, its geometries suggesting dimensions beyond normal space.

Among the gathered figures, one stood with a grace that somehow bridged organic and artificial. Liv's movements were precise but not mechanical, each gesture carrying the same natural confidence she'd had before, just filtered through enhanced capabilities. Her appearance was flawless but distinctly her own, as if someone had taken her former sorority sister polish and elevated it rather than replaced it. When she shifted position, her motions flowed with practiced elegance, maintaining her original personality's flair while operating through synthetic means. Her eyes, though still the same shade of brown they'd been before, now held both human warmth and digital clarity, processing the world around her at impossible speeds while missing none of its emotional resonance. Even her breathing, though no longer biologically necessary, maintained the natural rhythm of her former self - not a programmed simulation but a preserved habit. The confident social butterfly who had once ruled campus parties was still there, just operating through different means, her quick wit and empathy now enhanced rather than replaced by digital processing.

At the edge of the circle, a tall figure held herself with the rigid posture of someone trying to take up less space despite her height. Where Tori had once commanded attention with platinum blonde confidence, she now seemed to shrink from it, despite standing over six feet tall. Her skin held a pale blue sheen that caught starlight like polished ice, and her once-bleached hair now fell in metallic waves that shifted between silver and gold with each slight movement. Ruby-colored eyes, too precisely faceted to be natural, darted between the others before focusing on the ground. When she moved, it was with a predator's grace she seemed desperate to hide, her enhanced frame and subdural armor visible beneath clothing chosen for concealment rather than style. The former sorority queen's poise remained, but transformed - no longer about drawing eyes, but avoiding them. Only her hands, with their barely visible retractable claws, betrayed her tension as they clenched and unclenched at her sides.

The final figure in the circle stood a full seven feet tall, her vulpine features impossible to hide or disguise. Zoe's transformation had taken her far beyond human appearance - her elongated digitigrade legs ending in paw-like feet, her ears swept back in a fox-like curve, silky fur catching starlight along her arms and neck. A tail, perfect for balance, swayed behind her with unconscious grace as she shifted position. Her bartender's casual confidence had evolved into something more primal, every movement suggesting both power and precise control. When she lifted her head to scent the air, the motion was purely predatory, nothing human remaining in the gesture. Her enhanced senses were evident in the way she tracked every movement around her, ears swiveling to catch the slightest sound, nose twitching at traces of scent too faint for others to detect. Only her eyes, though changed in shape, still held a spark of her former self - the sharp intelligence of someone who had learned to read people across a bar, now adapted to reading prey.

No words were exchanged as the circle broke apart. Alexander moved first, his tactical awareness evident in every step as he oriented west. Hazel fell in smoothly behind him, her movements showing the same military precision, technical enhancements allowing her to match his pace exactly. Daniel's steps seemed to blur slightly, as if he were walking through multiple moments at once, his robes flowing with impossible grace. Isabella moved like a warrior monk, each motion controlled and purposeful, her feet placing precisely as if following kata steps written in memory and blood. Kyle hung back slightly, his movements hesitant and withdrawn, shoulders hunched as if expecting judgment from the very air around him. Zoe brought up the rear, her digitigrade legs forcing an odd, rolling gait that somehow remained predator-graceful, her height and vulpine nature making her loping stride seem both efficient and alien.

The remaining seven watched this first group's departure, their own alignments already forming without conscious thought.

The college group oriented themselves southwest, their formation less structured but heavy with unspoken tensions. Rose took point without hesitation, her movements betraying none of her former timidity - instead showing the confident stride of someone accustomed to leading research teams through dangerous territories. DeShawn moved with barely contained frustration, his military training bleeding through despite his attempts to affect a casual swagger, enhanced speed making even his deliberate slouch seem unnaturally precise.

Nathan's gait suggested internal conflict, organic grace warring with grafted reflexes as crystalline muscles shifted visibly beneath his skin. Behind him, Tori tried to make her towering frame smaller, each long-legged stride a study in self-conscious grace as she hunched slightly, attempting to minimize her height and alien coloring. Liv moved with mathematical precision, each step perfectly measured, her artificial body maintaining flawless balance while somehow preserving her original personality's characteristic gestures.

They spread out in an unconscious pattern - close enough to suggest their shared past, but with careful spaces between them marking their transformations. The group moved like a broken constellation, each member caught in their own orbit but still bound together by invisible forces.

River and Derek turned south with synchronized grace, no longer leader and follower but two primal forces moving in concert. River's bare feet pressed into the desert soil with deliberate intent, each step carrying the weight of connection rather than command. Occasionally, the sage brush would shift slightly in her wake, responding to forces that had nothing to do with wind. Her dreadlocks and rough-spun robes moved with subtle purpose, suggesting power held in careful check.

Derek walked beside her, his presence equally restrained but fundamentally different. The air around him behaved strangely - breezes seemed to skip around him like water around a stone in a stream. His gaunt height was emphasized by robes that caught unfelt winds, their movement suggesting awareness of atmospheric layers far above. Each stride carried him forward with an efficiency that seemed to deny earth's usual hold.

Together they carved a path southward, their powers distinct but complementary - her steps sure and grounded, his almost floating. Their matching expressions held the absolute conviction of those who had transcended human concerns for elemental truths. They moved through the scrubland like weather systems given human form, their influence subtle but undeniable, leaving only faint traces of their passage in the desert night.

The night settled back into its familiar rhythms as the three groups disappeared into the darkness. Crickets tentatively resumed their songs, their chirping spreading outward like ripples in a pond as natural order reasserted itself. A coyote's howl finally found its answer in the distance. The circle where they had appeared remained pressed into the scrubland soil, thirteen sets of tracks leading away from its circumference, but already the desert wind was beginning its patient work of erasure. Above, stars wheeled through their ancient patterns, indifferent to what had transpired beneath them. The empty stretch of Eastern Washington returned to its accustomed solitude, as if eager to forget the impossible moment when reality had bent and thirteen lost souls had found their way home.

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End Chapter!

Full Story begins next chapter!!!

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