33 Apocalypse Avenue, Tuesday Midday

Jack had gone to check the board listing off the missing early that morning, and wished he hadn't. Dinah was gone now too -- her and George and Nina and an unfathomable list of others. It seemed impossible that the person who had explained the situation to him had been swallowed by it mere days later.

It made him realize he had others to check on back at home.

Cautiously, he pulled out his phone and dialed his roommate back in London. (It was a sad state of affairs when he'd be happy to talk with Kevin about his latest workout routine or who said what on which chat show the night before, but there it was.) No response, not even a beep, just dead expectant air.

He tried his adviser at college then. His friend Alistair. The Detective Inspector's Office within the London Police. The pizza shop down the road from his flat. It didn't matter; none of those calls were getting anywhere, and (when he checked it) his emails from home had gone suspiciously silent.

And then he gave up, closed his eyes, and rested his head on Ronan's kitchen table. They'd get through this. He knew that. He was just running very low on hope, and he'd never expected to be the last of his world.

[OOC: Open for phone calls or those staying there!]

33 Apocalypse Avenue, Tuesday Midday

Jack had gone to check the board listing off the missing early that morning, and wished he hadn't. Dinah was gone now too -- her and George and Nina and an unfathomable list of others. It seemed impossible that the person who had explained the situation to him had been swallowed by it mere days later.

It made him realize he had others to check on back at home.

Cautiously, he pulled out his phone and dialed his roommate back in London. (It was a sad state of affairs when he'd be happy to talk with Kevin about his latest workout routine or who said what on which chat show the night before, but there it was.) No response, not even a beep, just dead expectant air.

He tried his adviser at college then. His friend Alistair. The Detective Inspector's Office within the London Police. The pizza shop down the road from his flat. It didn't matter; none of those calls were getting anywhere, and (when he checked it) his emails from home had gone suspiciously silent.

And then he gave up, closed his eyes, and rested his head on Ronan's kitchen table. They'd get through this. He knew that. He was just running very low on hope, and he'd never expected to be the last of his world.

[OOC: Open for phone calls or those staying there!]