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September 24, 2011 11:15 PM Nick Cimitiere tended to the main hall of the Parkhurst. He knew full well the ghosts would've been happy to help, but he'd decided to give them the night off. They were back in their quarters, passing the time, while he waited for some sort of miracle. He took a look over the Parkhurst - it was still hard to believe that, six months ago, it was effectively abandoned. The ghosts had kept it in order, but it was still a husk, soaked through with the essence of tragedy. Now it had become a formidable center for magical thought. The workshops were fully functional, the dimensional portal hadn't yielded up anything hideous yet, and the scrying crystals mostly stayed on target. It was a tribute to what could happen if a bunch of like-minded mystics put their mind to something. He hoped tonight would have similar results. It had been four days since the Gorgon had appeared in the skies above Freedom, issuing its dread ultimatum. In the time since then, Freedom City had fallen into panic, and it had taken most of his strength for Nick not to follow with them. In his line of work, he was familiar with multiple apocalypse scenarios - molten steel drowning the earth to burn the wicked, giant wolves eating the sun, and other such cheery scenarios. For all of them, though, he'd never heard of the possibility of the earth ending in stone. Bet Frost is kicking himself for not thinking of that one, he thought to himself as he finished up preparations in the main hall. He'd borrowed a few pastries from the Black Petal's freezer; the rioting hadn't spread to Riverside yet, and the store had stayed open, wanting to remain loyal to its customers during the "brief emergency." That was the Freedom City way - stand defiant in the face of angry gods. It had worked against Omega, against the Grue, against Hades... He just had to hope it would work this time. He took his seat, and waited for the others to arrive.

As the young man in the long black coat, beaten fedora and concealing sunglasses strode purposefully through Lantern Hill, it looked at first as though he would walk right by the Parkhurst Hotel, ignoring just as everyone else did. Instead, however, it seemed he was only traveling further up the street to get a better lay of the land around the apparently decrepit building before returning to its entrance. Trevor Hunter was quite so susceptible to the subtle suggestion of apathy rolling off of the building as the average person and he had taken pains to make sure he was in the right place. Without further pause, he knocked three times on the door, solid and sure.