Henry couldn't shake the feeling that he might have just been hearing things.

In all fairness, he couldn't really blame himself if he was. It had been a long, hard fought week to get here, and a lot of the emotional baggage that came with that sort of stress was still slowly working its way out. Perhaps he just bumped the machine's power switch as he nodded off, and the sound of static coming from the headset was just-

"This is Relief Force Joint Operative Konstantin Sidorov. Identify yourself."

He nearly fell out of his seat then and there.

Oh my God. There actually is someone on the other end.

A shaky breath escaped his lips. He wanted to believe. But, at the same time, the skeptical side of him considered the possibility that this was just an overly elaborate prank call from some guard with too much time and enough boredom to get his hands on a short range radio.

"W-wait, hang on a second," he stammered. "Relief Force? Who is this? Did Cavendish send you?"

The voice on the other end went silent for a moment. "Please hold," it hurriedly assured him, not that Henry was particularly convinced one way or another.

While he waited, he went over everything that he could make out about whoever was calling. Frankly, it wasn't much. All he could get was male, with a slight Russian accent. If this person was part of some sort of 'Relief Force', then it felt weird that of all the nations to be making contact, the Russian Federation was doing it before his own did.

Though, maybe that's the 'joint' part of that overly verbose title… damn, how bad does our situation have to be if our countries are cooperating to pull us out of the fire?

A slight sound of clamor shifting the caller's microphone brought his attention back to the line. Someone new, it sounded like. And... whoever... it was, they were clearing their throat and preparing to address him about something.

"Apologies, it has occurred to us we may need to take a step back to explain," a different, feminine voice spoke through the receiver. Close to his age, he estimated. And definitely a proper Brit. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but nonetheless he remained on the line.

"This information blackout has left us all… well, in the dark. To make a long story short, we need to learn as much about your situation as much as possible in the short time we have. So, if you have any questions, do so now before we get to the important matters."

Henry passively raised an eyebrow. He wasn't exactly a fan of being rushed, but he had to admit he was intrigued enough to see where this was going.

"...Alright," he allowed. "First off, for all I know you could be a bunch of kids running a prank call, so any way you can prove yourself not to be, I'm all ears. While you're at it - and assuming you actually are who you say you are - knowing why you've only decided to call now would be great, too. The months in here haven't been exactly kind for us."

"We're… sorry to hear that," the voice replied hesitantly. "The first part is easier shown than told... but I can fill you in on the second part easily enough."

Henry made a gesture for her to carry on, despite the recipient not being able to see it. "I'm all ears."

"Thank you. My name is Lucy Wright, head researcher for the Cloudpiercer project, an attached civilian workforce assigned to relief efforts dedicated towards the Central London Exclusion Zone." Her voice sounded like she was reading off a script, or otherwise reciting a prepared statement. "The purpose of our project was, originally, to engineer a method of countering the anomalous fog wall encircling the city center, but recent efforts have seen us pivot to using our work to help open this direct line of communication. Now that we have it, well…"

She trailed off, a low murmur of a second voice being picked up just out of Henry's earshot. He thought he might have heard a soft 'thank you' from Lucy on the other end, but that was about it.

"It seems the timing has lined up perfectly. I've just received word that the RAF is preparing to deploy a test bed of emergency supplies via airdrop as we speak. They've already finished deploying the first wave, so they would like you to confirm touchdown if possible."

"Touchdown? Where are they targeting?"

"Just Stratford, for now. It's the only place we could pull a signal from. Now, about that confirmation…?"

Now Henry was downright curious. "Hold the line," he acquiesced. "I'll give it five minutes, tops."

"That should be more than enough," her voice responded evenly.

He put the headset back down, careful to not turn off the transmission since he had no idea how to turn it back on again if he did so by accident. Swinging the door to the shack open, he minded his step on the loose floorboard and peered out over the practically condemned rooftop.

Same foggy cityscape, same crumbling ruins below and overcast sky above. It was a breathtaking view, don't get him wrong, but so far there wasn't anything up here but himself and, apparently, Robb Huxley, who was idly overturning loose stones in the collapsed stairway and chucking them down the elevator shaft.

The radio host paused, taking notice of the sudden movement from behind him before turning around. "Rest alright?", the older man said in a slightly gravelly tone.

Henry was no fashion expert by any stretch of the imagination, but Robb's physical attire put even his own lack of dress to absolute shame. An old, ratty hoodie with a few stains on it, track pants in much the same condition, and a mess of scraggly, black-brown facial hair that looked like it hadn't been shaved in months. When he said he had a face for radio, he hadn't been kidding, but his general unkempt look wasn't what contributed the most to that statement.

That honor went solely to the facial scar over the man's eye. Or, well, that general area, at least.

The skin and muscle around Robb's left eye socket was completely missing. The bone underneath protruded through, bleach-white and almost polished in its appearance. Apparently, it was from an accident in the middle-aged man's youth, but he also readily admitted he used to have a prosthetic to cover it, too. Apparently, Guillaume had seen little need to afford him that luxury, in his time. There were many worse things the former GC boss could have withheld from him, though, so he'd opted to smartly keep his mouth shut about it while the man had been alive.

Henry realized he'd been staring a bit and blinked out of his confusion. "Ah… sorry," he apologized.

"Don't sweat it, kid," Robb replied. "You wouldn't be the first, anyways. Did you need something?"

"More like… I'm keeping an eye out for something, I guess? Just inside, there was a call on the machine, and-"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"A call?!" Robb abruptly raised his one remaining eyebrow in shock. "Tell me I heard that right. You said you received a call on the radio?!"

"Yeah? What's so crazy about that? It's not like the machine was broken, or anything."

"Henry." Robb put a hand on his shoulder, looking him dead in the eyes. "You've admitted to me openly that you were a regular listener to my programme. Now, tell me: When was the last time you heard someone call in to my show?"

"Well… now that you mention it…"

He wracked his brain for even one example, but sure enough, none came to mind. Over the course of roughly half a year, not one caller had decided to phone in for any reason.

Realization dawned on him just as the first emergency flares lit up the night sky as they descended from above.

Under the monochrome lights of those fireworks, Henry was able to hope just a little more than he was able to before.

Robb was perplexed. A sight like this had only appeared once before, just before the second Witching Hour.

"...Are those…?"

Henry whooped in delight. He hadn't cheered at something so hard in… he couldn't even remember when. His voice echoed out onto the empty streets below.

"It's not a lie!", he exclaimed. "They were telling the truth!"

"Henry, just who the hell are they?!"

"No time to explain! It'll all make sense once you head inside, anyways!"

Without further explanation, he grabbed Robb by the arm and dragged him along back into the radio station, nearly full on sprinting despite the weight he was bringing along with him.

He barely even registered that weight. It felt like nothing compared to the one that he'd been carrying since the Shroud trapped him here, anyway.

Soon!

< -|- -|- >

Back inside, Henry was positively giddy with excitement. For the first time ever, they were potentially hearing from the outside world! And, better yet, they hadn't written the lot of them off, either! With any luck, this could very be the ticket out that everyone else had seemingly given up on a long time ago.

His mouth ran as fast as his thoughts did, bombarding the callers on the other side of the line with a deluge of questions that had been sitting in the back of his mind for several months now.

"I can't believe someone's actually still trying to rescue us! What season is it out there? Do you guys still have sunny weather? Oh! What about the rest of the world? There isn't a second spot like Hallow London out there, is there?"

No clear responses came from the other end, mostly murmurs of conversations that he could only pick out the general thrust of. Mostly noises of confusion, not that he was paying overt attention to that in this moment. He still had a mountain of questions.

"Oh, one more thing. The moon hasn't been acting strangely for you guys, has it?"

A firm, but polite tap on the shoulder interrupted his train of thought. Turning to the side, he realized Robb was trying to get his attention, clearing his throat.

"Perhaps we should let the lady speak, so she can begin answering you."

Henry stopped midsentence, train of thought stopped dead in its tracks. "Ah… right. Sorry, I guess I might've gotten carried away…"

Robb gave a noncommittal grunt, ceding the floor to their guests on the line.

"Thank you, mister…"

"Huxley. Robb Huxley."

"Yes, thank you. Now, we can get to some of those questions in a moment, but first, Konstantin here has just finished relaying your confirmation to the RAF and is ready to brief you on operations going forward on their behalf."

Robb nodded. "By all means, go ahead."

A brief pause, and Konstantin was once again put back on the receiver.

"The second wave of deliveries is prepped and ready to deliver. Expected future drop sites, in order of launch, are Vestminster, Greenvich, Hackney, Kyinsington…"

The Russian attendant was having difficulties pronouncing the names of the boroughs, but for the most part he could understand what their aim was. Prior to the Shroud coming down, those areas would have been some of the most densely populated, and thus required the most aid overall.

Nowadays, however…

"Hold on a second," Henry interrupted. "There's a lot of spots you'll be hitting that are complete wastelands if you do that. The only spot south of the river that still has people left is Walworth, and even that's getting a little sparse now. If you're going to hit anywhere, make absolutely certain you drop supplies in Hackney and Kensington. Avoid Westminster entirely, too."

"You want us to… not deliver aid to the centermost districts of London?", Konstantin asked bewildered.

"Trust me, you'll do more good focusing down to the spots where people actually live."

The listeners on the other side of the line were left to chew on the subtext of that statement for a long while. Konstantin, after a time, came to his senses and continued on with his report.

"...Very well," he conceded. "As for the supplies in question, we are prepared to provide emergency shelters, food, water, clothing, and other necessities on an as-needed basis. Is there any input you would like to provide?"

"Emergency shelters means those white tarp tents, right?"

"That is correct."

"Ditch 'em. Too eye-catching, and they get shredded through like wet bog roll anyways. Most people have something better to work with, even if they get a bit cramped sometimes."

More murmurs from the other end, and it didn't take much to guess why. Tarpaulin wasn't exactly known for being flimsy, from their perspective. Just as from his perspective, that same material offered barely any resistance at all to a sufficiently motivated werewolf.

Read as, one that has taken mild interest in the contents of a cloth tent.

"Oh, and while we're on the subject," Henry interrupted, not giving the topic a chance to move on just yet. "Double up on lights. Any kind, electric, Domain, bloody lamp oil, doesn't matter. Anything that makes it easier to see down here is worth its weight in gold. Oh, and blood bags, too. Or just medical supplies in general, if those are too hard to get in time."

The air on the line crackled with just a hint more tension, as the odd requests he was giving began raising even more questions.

"...Anything else?", Konstantin said with trepidation.

"I don't know… maybe guns?"

"GUNS?!"

A previously unheard voice – another man, definitely from the UK, blurted out in absolute shock. "This is a civilian relief operation! What the bloody hell do civvies need guns for?!"

There was a bit more commotion on the other end that Henry couldn't make out. He glanced over at Robb, who was listening in on a spare headset as everything unfolded, and simply shrugged.

Eventually, order was restored and Lucy's voice came through once again.

"Apologies," she intoned in that same, customer service-like calm voice she'd maintained. "Your requests are noted, but will have to wait until the appropriate requisitions can be made. If there is anything else-"

"Madam," Konstantin interrupted. "We've almost hit the Cloudpiercer's safety threshold."

Now it was Henry's turn to be out of the loop. "Safety threshold? What does that mean?"

"It means, we will have to continue this conversation at a later date, unfortunately," Lucy said flatly. "We will be able to contact this location again in a month's time. Until then, keep this line up and running. I'm sure there is much to discuss."

"A month?!"

That complicated things. This building was slowly coming apart at the seams, and they'd made it sound like the position of the tower's equipment might be just as important

as the timing. Which led to a rather important discrepancy on their part, since the plan had been to link up with the Palatial Remnant in Kensington after their exodus.

"Perhaps sooner, if we can source adequate mana batteries. Until then, goodbye."

"Wait, that's not going to-"

But it was too late. The line had already gone dead, the sound of static filling the air and drilling into Henry's ears. Flinching at the sudden loud staccato, he pulled the headset off with one hand, mind whirring at the new complications this discovery brought.

"Well," Henry sighed. "I suppose that throws a monkey wrench into our plans a bit, then."

Robb nodded. "We'd best fill Martin and the rest of them in on the situation. I'm sure they're already confused about the sudden appearance of fresh supplies."

"Confused? Maybe. But would that stop them from taking the turn of luck in stride?"

"Probably not," Robb agreed.

"We'd best move quickly, then."

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