xxxxxADAxxFORREST

Ear not working. Where are you?
A brief snippet of music filled the room as the door opened and closed. Ada paused and heard heels clicking against the tiles. A cubicle door locked and Ada released a sigh of relief. Ada waved her hand over the sensor to flush the empty bowl. She would probably find it weird if she had heard someone leave a bathroom without flushing. She unlocked the door and peaked out to make sure the coast was clear.
No one else. Good, that was good. At least she wasnât about to be ambushed in the bathroom. She placed her hands under the tap and waited for the soap and water. Ada methodically washed her hands; palms, nails, between the fingers, back of the hands, 30 seconds. She moved along to the hand dryer, the warm air blasting the moisture from her hands. She heard a flush behind her and her eyes flickered up as a dark-haired woman stepped out of the cubicle. There was an awkward smile exchanged between them before Ada shook her hands and grabbed her bag to leave. The woman was probably harmless but Ada wasnât about to hang around to find out.
She left and half-walked, half-jogged back to the party. Soft, old-school swing music filtered through the room. Ada looked up to the stage and felt a pang in her chest when she saw Lucille up there singing. The lights danced off the stones on Lucilleâs dress, only adding to the dazzling show. Lucille was beautiful, everyone always said so. Her mother always said so. Up there, under the lights, she looked ethereal. Ada didnât even have to look over at her father to know the comparison was there. Everyone loved Lucille.
Well, now youâre just upsetting yourself.. Ada couldnât argue with herself. She looked around for a waiter and took a champagne flute from one as they passed by. The flowers beside her drooped slightly as she drank. âWell, thereâs no need for you to be upset as well,â she said as she stroked the petals. Her eyes swirled a bright emerald green as she conjured life back into the flower arrangement before settling to her usual olive colour.
xxxCAMERONxxJENSEN

The Cameron that was waiting by the stairs heard the gunshots echo through the building. Ah, shit. This was going to hurt. He began sprinting along the upper walkway, following the sounds of screaming and gunshots.
In the security room, Cameron watched the carnage unfold. Muzzle flash disrupted the camerasâ view of the room, and, more importantly, his teammates. A stray bullet took out a camera in the room. Wait⊠The cameras were way to high to be hit by a stray shot. No one was that bad a shot, right? Cameron looked across the control panel as screen after screen turned to static. âNow, I donât wanna alarm anyone, but theyâve taken out the cameras on the opposite side of the museum, heading down to the basement level.â
Back in the exhibition hall, Cameron was fleeing down into the carnage. Kieâs call for cover came through. âI think I can manage that,â he answered as Variants split off in every direction, an army of dark uniforms making a nuisance of themselves while Kieran summoned his ghosts. There was a brief moment of searing pain as a bullet pierced his abdomen before he was absorbed back into himself, the bullet falling uselessly to the ground, the clatter lost in the cacophony of sound around them. All around him black coats were separating and disappearing into themselves, almost dying but not. Isimir was a good enough shot to miss him so long as he was careful. Friendly fire wasnât something he needed to worry about. The delightful gentleman in front of him was another matter entirely.
Cameron closed his hand around the barrel of the gun, redirecting the rattle of bullets up and over his shoulder. The barrel was hot, even through his gloves. Cam dreaded to think how painful it might have been with bare hands. The man tried to wrestle back control of the gun and received a swift kick to his kidneys for his effort. The natural reaction to protect the wounded area meant his grip was loosened, giving Cameron enough leverage to prize the weapon away and crack the butt against his opponentâs head, sending the man sprawling. Cameron stood over him, pointing the gun at his knee. âNow I have your gun, and a lot more people than you do, so why donât you tell me whatâs going on here and you can keep your knee caps. Seem fair?â
âFuck you.â
Beneath his mask, Cameron scowled. Around him, he was fighting between and alongside ghosts and whatever else Kieran had summoned. The man began to scramble away and then yelled in agony as his kneecap was shattered into thousands of fragments. âWould you like to lose the second one?â
A Variant had made it across the room to Kieran. Not that Kie looked terrible, but Cam had definitely seen his friend look better. He reached over and held Kieranâs arm. âYou doing ok, Prince Charming?â
His voice crackled through the intercom. It was still weird hearing his own voice on the comms. âIâm heading over to the basement. If someone could come along and cover my back, that would be amazing.â