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Adrien Adjest: Definitely not named after anyone in particular. 48 year old retired pilot who lived alone on the top floor of the apartments.
Violet Jennings: Also defintiely not named after anyone... 21 year old Linguistics who likes rock climbing who lived with her girlfriend Sarah, beside Adjest.
Hart Yang: 35 year old job headhunter who lived alone on the north eastern corner of the apartment's top floor.
Kusei: 41 year old historical sword collector. Lived alone on the top floor of the apartments.
Ekatera: 17 year old high school student, TCG enthusiast and collector. Lived next door to Kusei.
Hero: 24 year old recluse who enjoys customizing prosthetic eyes.
It’s raining. Rain cascades against the windows in thick glassy sheets, dripping down the panes and pooling in the ridges of the frame. It’s too dark out to see anything but her reflection, and she studies herself idly, taking in her features with a dull sort of indifference as the rain distorts them. Occasionally, lightning strikes so often that it seems to come in pulses, like blood pushed through veins, through the darkness. Her image vanishes as the light overwhelms her vision, leaving white flashes that linger for longer than the actual lightning. Blinding, overwhelming light strains the muscles behind her eyes, pulling at the roof of her skull. She keeps looking through the dark panes of glass, waiting for the moment lightning strikes again, considering the difference between how intangible light and electricity feel from afar, and how powerful and physical they seem up close. In reality, though, they're the rambling musings of a mind trying not to think about something else much more troubling.
Forty minutes ago, her apartment building— or more accurately, the top two floors of it— had been ripped from the lower floors with her still inside. After the initial jolt, it moved at an even, steady pace. The book on her desk hadn’t slid an inch. She stayed in her desk chair. And it had started raining. Or maybe it had been raining all along? She can’t remember. There was even the sound of slow, pacing footsteps upstairs; their neighbor doing his usual tread around his room. Had it not been for the ear piercing cacophony of screaming metal and cement crumbling and the violent upwards force that had disrupted her in the first place, she’d be convinced that nothing had happened. She continues to watch the storm. The pacing upstairs stops.
An hour after her apartment had been torn from its lower neighbors, she hears voices in the hall outside, loud and agitated. A knock comes on here front door, but she stays in her room, hidden away from intrusion. Eventually, whoever is out there goes away.