"I'm sorry, Adrian," The words left me in a quiet exhale, a mix of apology and resignation as I got out of the ute. His hand, driven by a cocktail of confusion and anger, reached out towards me, but I evaded, the soft dust around us kicked up into a swirling dance by my movements. The world seemed to pause, the dust particles hanging in the air like witnesses to our confrontation. Pivoting with the car door as my support, I faced him squarely, an unspoken challenge hanging between us. "But we need you here," I declared, engaging in a stubborn stare-down with Adrian across the roof of the ute.

Adrian, his frustration palpable, wiped at the sweat clinging to his brow. "Fuck, it's warm," he muttered, his voice a blend of complaint and disbelief, as he slammed his fist against the ute. The action was a release of his irritation, under the relentless gaze of the sun in a cloudless sky. For a moment, his attention shifted from me to the oppressive heat, providing a brief respite from the tension.

I watched him, a silent sentinel, as he took a step back from the vehicle. My gaze, cautious yet filled with an emerging empathy, followed his every move. When Adrian moved towards the Portal's vast, shimmering screen, a part of me relaxed, letting out a sigh borne of weariness and a deep-seated understanding of the familiarity of his situation. Another lost soul, the thought echoed in my mind, a reflection of the unexpected path Adrian’s life had taken.

It wasn't his fault, this unforeseen detour into Clivilius—a place as unforgiving as it was unfamiliar. Yet, amidst the desolation that surrounded us, I harboured a vision of the future—a thriving Bixbus, a beacon of civilisation and progress in the midst of vast emptiness. This vision was a guiding light, a reminder of the potential that lay in the very ground beneath our feet.

And if Bixbus was indeed destined to become the new capital of Clivilius, a cornerstone of this newly unfolding world, then the necessity of gathering all available resources and people became undeniable. Watching Adrian, his fists pounding against the Portal screen in a futile attempt to escape his new reality, I was reminded of the sacrifices and the choices that paved the way for progress.

The moment was electric, alive with an energy I couldn't have imagined. The giant screen before us, usually dormant and unassuming, burst alive—a chaotic dance of energised, swirling colours that seemed to defy the laws of physics. It was as if the universe itself had decided to put on a show, with hues that pulsed and throbbed, drawing the eye and the mind into a vortex of impossible beauty.

Paul's voice, sharp with urgency, sliced through the wonder of the moment like a knife. "Get out of the way!" His warning came from afar, his figure a blur as he sprinted towards us from the Drop Zone, desperation etching his every feature. The urgency in his voice sent a jolt of adrenaline through me, rooting me to the spot even as my mind screamed for action.

Before I could even form the words to warn Adrian, reality took a surreal turn. A bright burst of energy, like a star being born, sparked the instant Adrian's flesh made contact with the anomaly. His body reacted as if caught in a tempest, limbs flailing wildly as he was thrown backward through the air with violent force. He landed with a heavy thud, his back striking the ground hard, skidding through the dust as if he were a stone skipped across water. His momentum carried him until he finally came to a rest, a figure marred by the harshness of his landing.

My heart lurched into my throat as the unexpected horror unfolded before my eyes. A motorhome, an intruder from the kaleidoscope of colours, barrelled into reality. Its brakes screeched, a desperate cry against the ochre dust that billowed into the air, a futile attempt to halt its massive form. Yet, it was not enough to prevent the inevitable as the vehicle, a behemoth borne of chaos, engulfed Adrian's legs and torso beneath its relentless advance.

"Adrian!" My voice tore from my lips, a mix of fear and disbelief, as I rushed over, Paul's footsteps echoing my own. Together, we reached Adrian, our hands gripping his shoulders with a strength born of desperation. We pulled, dragging Adrian's lanky form from beneath the motorhome, every second stretching into an eternity.

Beatrix's voice, tinged with remorse, joined the chorus of concern. "I'm so sorry," she stammered. "Are you okay?"

I knelt beside Adrian, my hands moving with practiced precision as I assessed his condition. "I don't see any blood," I noted, a small relief in the midst of overwhelming tension. Despite the gravity of his ordeal, Adrian seemed miraculously spared from visible wounds, his state more dazed and bewildered than physically harmed.

Paul leaned in, his concern manifesting in a direct challenge to Adrian's consciousness. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he demanded, thrusting three fingers into Adrian's line of sight, a simple test laden with the weight of his anxiety.

As Paul's enthusiasm pierced the heavy air, my eyes couldn't help but roll. It felt unnecessary, almost misplaced given the circumstances. Adrian, on the other hand, barely seemed present, his response muted under the influence, his eyes a glazed mirror to his confused mind.

"He's high," I informed Paul with a glance that carried all the weight of our current predicament. The words felt almost hollow, stating the obvious. "And most likely a bit dehydrated. You'd better take him back to camp." The urgency in my voice was a thin veil over my concern. Adrian's well-being was paramount, and every moment we delayed could only compound the challenges he faced in acclimating to his unexpected new reality.

Just then, Nial and Kain arrived, their presence a reminder of the community we were striving to build in the face of adversity. "Everything okay?" Nial's voice was tinged with concern, a stark contrast to what had just unfolded.

Paul, seizing the moment of their arrival, quickly delegated the responsibility. "Can you two take him back to camp?"

"Shit! Adrian. What the hell are you doing here?" The shock in Nial’s voice, coupled with the action of slapping Adrian's face, was a jarring but deeply human response. It was an attempt to connect, to break through the haze that enveloped Adrian.

"You know him?" Paul's inquiry, though innocuous, hinted at the layers of interconnectedness that defined our existence.

Nial gripped Adrian's shoulders firmly. "Let's get you to camp," he told him.

"We'll come back," said Kain, assisting Nial in getting Adrian on his feet.

Paul nodded silently, and a sombre air enveloped us as the three men distanced themselves.

"What's going on, Luke? Why the hell is Gladys in a bloody car chase with the police!?" Beatrix's eyes burned with ferocious intensity.

"Things didn't go quite according to plan with Adrian," I began, carefully choosing my words, wary of playing with fire.

"Clearly," Paul said, and Beatrix rolled her eyes.

"We chased after him when he took off," I explained.

"You couldn't just let him go?" Beatrix questioned.

A commotion from the three departed men momentarily drew our attention to Adrian's unmoved ute. "I'm just getting the rest of my gear," Adrian snapped, pushing Nial away.

"He'd already seen the Portal," I said, redirecting Paul and Beatrix's attention. "I know he's high, but I didn't think it was wise to let him go. Who knows—"

"Wise?" Beatrix scoffed, her voice cutting through the charged air like a sharp blade. "You didn't think it was wise to let him go, yet you had no qualms with racing through the streets and attracting the attention of the police?"

I fumbled for words, a realisation settling that Beatrix had a valid point. Hindsight now painted our actions with the brush of foolishness, an uncomfortable truth I couldn't deny.

"And how did you finally get him here?" Paul inquired, his eyes probing for an explanation.

"We came through a wall of the toilet block at Myrtle Forest," I replied, the image of the makeshift portal flashing vividly in my mind.

"And my sister?" Beatrix's sharp gaze intensified, drilling into me.

My brow furrowed, and my face reddened with the weight of the confession. "I told her to run,” I admitted, the words carrying a burden of regret.

"Fuck's sake, Luke!" Beatrix huffed, her movements swift as she hurried toward the Portal, which erupted in a riot of vibrant colours.

"Where are you going?" I asked, a genuine concern for her safety colouring my words. "It's too dangerous, Beatrix. The police were right behind us," I answered my own question, assuming her intent.

With a swift middle finger and no words, Beatrix vanished, and the Portal's vibrancy dissipated, leaving behind an unsettling stillness

"You're not going after her?" Paul asked me.

Shaking my head, "she'll be back pretty quick."

The bickering of the three men continued near Adrian's ute. A door slammed shut, and the engine roared to life, its growl a sharp contrast to the tension in the air. Nial stood in front of it, hands braced on the bonnet, a silent sentinel in the midst of ongoing conflict.

"Ridiculous," Paul murmured softly, his voice carrying a mix of exasperation and resignation.

Grabbing Paul's shoulder, I spun him back around as he attempted to leave. His questioning eyes locked onto mine.

"They'll be fine," I assured him, my fingers pressing into Paul's shoulder as I tried to convince myself of the words I spoke.

Paul frowned, disbelief etched in the pout of his mouth.

"Wait here for her, won't you?" It was more of a directive than a question, an unspoken plea for someone to anchor themselves in the tumult.

"And you?" Paul inquired, his nod carrying reluctant acknowledgment.

My brow furrowed as I pondered my next moves. What a tumultuous day already! I chided myself, mentally compiling a list of actions. Nial can settle Adrian, I noted, glancing over at the ute. Beatrix can handle finding her sister, if she hasn't been arrested already. Shit! The fence order. I forgot about that!

"I need to go back to the Owens'. The first delivery of that fence order you and Nial made yesterday is supposed to be delivered today," I informed Paul, hastening toward the Portal.

"Is that safe?" Paul called out, rooted to where he stood.

"I don't have a choice. You need that delivery."

Paul sighed. "Be careful, Luke."

"Always," I responded with a forced, cheery grin, burying the tightening knot in my stomach, a forewarning of the imminent peril I was about to confront by returning to the property.

I had taken a reckless gamble, relying on the hope that the Owens' house wouldn't be swarming with police as I slipped in through the same portal Karen and Chris had used for their unexpected exit. So far, luck had sided with my audacity. Ignoring the lively, chattering voices emanating from the kitchen, I tiptoed through the dim passageway, swiftly advancing toward the front door. The wooden floorboards beneath my feet felt like treacherous ice, threatening to betray my presence with the slightest misstep.

"Shit!" I hissed, instinctively ducking into the bedroom as the front door swung open. The sudden intrusion of light from the hallway felt like a spotlight, exposing my every flaw, every doubt. Perhaps this was indeed a foolhardy idea, a thought devoid of logical reasoning. With heavy footsteps passing the doorway and fading down the hall, I slipped behind the bed, my heart still racing from the close encounter. Pressing my back against the bedside table, I rested my head in my hands, gently rubbing my temples. The texture of the wood against my skin felt grounding, a momentary anchor in the storm of my thoughts.

How am I going to get outside? I mused, the question lingering in the heavy air. Do I even need to get outside? A better question emerged, like a beacon through the fog of my panic. On hands and knees, I slid across the polished wooden floor toward the window, the coolness of the boards a stark contrast to the warmth of my flushed skin. If the fence delivery hasn't arrived yet, I reasoned aloud, peering between the peach-coloured curtains, there's no immediate need to step outside. I can wait here until the police depart, then move freely to greet the delivery driver. That's a much better solution.

The relentless downpour outside painted a grim portrait of the day, the kind of weather that seeps into your bones, uninvited and unforgiving. As I peered through the slightly fogged glass of the bedroom window, the scene on the front verandah unfolded like a silent movie, the lone officer a solitary figure against the onslaught of nature. Watching him shake the raindrops from his black umbrella, a brief, almost whimsical thought flitted through my mind about the futility of such actions against the deluge that enveloped the world outside.

A short-lived sigh of relief escaped me as I noted the absence of a truck in the yard, a small victory in the grand scheme of things. However, that sliver of relief was swiftly replaced by a knot of anxiety in my stomach as the sound of heavy wheels crunching on the gravel driveway announced the arrival of the large truck. Its hulking form loomed through the sheets of rain, a beast awakening, its wheels carelessly navigating the pothole-ridden path, indifferent to the chaos it wrought.

Cussing under his breath, the officer hastily abandoned the shelter of the verandah, racing toward the oncoming truck. It was almost comical, watching one arm struggle to maintain the umbrella over his head, while the other waved frantically for the driver to stop, a dance of desperation and duty.

"This is it," I muttered to myself, bracing for the nerve-wracking minutes ahead. The very idea of leaving the sheltered confines of the house, my temporary haven, and dashing into the thundering rain was anything but appealing. Yet, the stormy conditions, while daunting, provided a fortuitous distraction, a cloak under which I could make my move.

The officer engaged the truck driver in a lively conversation, their words completely drowned by the roar of thunder, nature's own version of privacy. Not wanting to risk being seen from the hallway, I cautiously opened the bedroom window, the slight creaking of dry hinges thankfully masked by the timely thunderclap that rolled across the property with the authority of an ancient god.

Rain pelted the verandah's corrugated iron roof, transforming it into a cacophony of sound, a drumbeat that was louder and more insistent than I had initially realised. With a deep breath, I slipped through the window, my heart pounding in my chest as I moved left, jumping the railing to land with a squelchy thud in the mud beside the verandah. The ground beneath my feet was a quagmire, eager to claim my boots as its own.

Surrounded by the dense foliage of native bushes, I stayed crouched, a shadow amongst shadows. Every movement was calculated, every step taken with the utmost care to ensure I remained hidden from the prying eyes of the driver and officer in the front yard. The rain was both my adversary and my ally, soaking me to the bone while masking my movements with its relentless symphony. I crept along the side of the house, a spectre in the storm, driven by a mix of determination and the primal urge to evade capture. The world around me was reduced to the sound of my own breathing and the relentless patter of rain against foliage, a reminder that sometimes, the line between hunter and hunted is as thin as the veil of rain that shrouded my escape.

"You need confidence, Luke," I mumbled to myself, the words barely audible above the symphony of raindrops pelting the leafy canopy overhead. My hands were shaking, not just from the cold but from the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I was trying to untangle the knot of fear and uncertainty in my gut, to convert it into something that could propel me forward, something that felt like resolve. "Do it for Henri," I whispered into the damp air, a renewed determination coursing through my veins, mingling with a sharp stab of pain in my chest. The memory of losing one fur baby was a wound still too raw to heal; the thought of losing another was unbearable.

Wiping rain from my eyes, I dashed across the puddle-filled grass, each step squelching underfoot, heading for the edge of the native forest a few dozen meters from the house. The sprint left me panting and soaked to the bone, but the dense foliage offered a semblance of shelter, a brief respite from the relentless downpour. Catching my breath, I pressed on, weaving through the trees and bushes, the underbrush tugging at my clothes as if trying to hold me back.

Securing a clear line of sight to the truck from my makeshift cover, I took another deep, steadying breath. "I'm outside... but now what?" I questioned aloud, the words hanging in the air, mingling with the mist. The truck, with its promise of fencing, seemed like a beacon in the night, calling to me through the rain. I have to get to that truck!

From my vantage point, I could see the conversation between the officer and the driver had shifted closer to the house. Their voices, loud and laced with annoyance, carried through the air, punctuated by the occasional frustrated gesture. It was clear things were escalating, and my window of opportunity was closing fast.

Bracing myself for the mad dash back into the rain, I knew that even if I only managed to activate the portal on the back of the truck, it would be enough. I could return later for a more thorough investigation, when the odds might be more in my favour. Barring any unforeseen changes, I couldn't see any other viable options. Attempting to steal the truck was out of the question; a vehicle that size would never escape a police pursuit, not without drawing even more attention to myself.

In that moment, nestled among the trees, with raindrops weaving paths down my face, I felt a mixture of fear and exhilaration. The storm raged around me, both a literal and metaphorical tempest, mirroring the turmoil within. Yet, beneath it all, there was a spark of something that felt like hope. For Henri, for myself, I was ready to take that leap, to dash through the storm and seize the sliver of chance that lay within my grasp.

A loud jingle from my pocket shattered the rain-soaked silence like a glass pane meeting the unforgiving ground. Panic surged through me as I fumbled to silence the intrusive noise, fearing it would herald my discovery. My wet fingers betrayed me, slipping across the phone screen in a hasty attempt to dismiss the call, inadvertently answering it instead. Instinctively, I brought the phone to my ear, heart pounding against my ribcage like a prisoner yearning for freedom.

Beatrix's voice rushed through the line, a beacon of urgency in the midst of the storm. "I'm at the Collinsvale property," were the first words that pierced the fog of my mind. My eyes widened in alarm, frantically scanning the forest surroundings and then back to the house, searching for any sign of her. She was nowhere in sight, her presence as elusive as the shadows dancing between the trees.

"The police are taking it very seriously, Luke. They've bagged evidence and everything," Beatrix continued, her words slicing through the ambient noise of the rain and thunder. A sense of foreboding tightened around my chest, a noose of realisation that the stakes were higher than I had anticipated.

The loud metallic rattling of the truck's back being opened snapped my attention back to the immediate task at hand. It's open! The thought surged through me like a bolt of lightning, filling me with a renewed ambition.

"Get the hell out of there, Beatrix," I hissed sharply into the phone, attempting to keep my voice low while conveying the urgency of the situation. My breath fogged the screen in quick, nervous puffs, betraying my rising panic.

"I will as soon as I hang up. Where are you?" asked Beatrix, her voice laced with concern. I paused, deliberating whether to confess my location, the weight of my decision heavy in the air between us.

"I'm at the property," I admitted, a reluctant confession, hoping it might encourage Beatrix to leave, to put distance between herself and the danger that clung to this place like the dampness in the air.

"Where?" she pressed, her determination piercing through the static of the call.

"I'm going to save that fencing order," I replied, withholding the specifics of my location, a guarded secret I was not yet ready to share. My gaze lingered on the truck, its open back a silent invitation and a daunting challenge.

"Let me help you," Beatrix offered, her voice a mix of resolve and worry. But the risk was too great, the stakes too high for both of us.

"No! Go to Clivilius. You need to continue with the missions Paul is giving you," I insisted, my words a desperate plea for her safety, for the continuation of our cause.

Beatrix mumbled something unintelligible, a sign of her frustration or perhaps resignation. And then, as an afterthought, a realisation that jolted me like a cold splash in the face, I added, "And you need to find your sister!" Gladys had momentarily slipped from my mind, a critical piece of the day’s puzzle momentarily overshadowed by the immediate crisis.

"Luke, stop being such a stubborn prick. You can't do all of this yourself,” Beatrix’s voice, laced with frustration, cut through the torrential backdrop like a knife. Her words, meant to pierce my solitary resolve, only served to reinforce the weight of the responsibility I felt.

"You think I don't know how much trouble we're in?" I scolded in reply, my voice a mixture of exasperation and determination. The stakes were impossibly high, and the margin for error was nonexistent. "But if we lose that fencing delivery, those caravans you are sourcing are the camp's only line of protection."

Ending the debate, I powered off my phone with a decisive click, the action symbolic of cutting off any further distraction. The device, now silent, felt like a small, cold stone in my hand - a tangible reminder of the isolation of my chosen path.

With the officer moving behind the far side of the truck and the driver following after him, I swiftly surveyed the area. The coast was momentarily clear, a fleeting opportunity. Seizing the moment, my feet splashed through ever-expanding puddles, each step a grim reminder of the harsh conditions. The irritating feeling of soggy socks against my feet was a minor discomfort compared to the looming threat of discovery, yet it gnawed at me with every squelch.

An unfortunate miscalculation saw my foot catching the edge of a small hole hidden beneath the deceptive surface. Arms outstretched in a futile attempt to brace for impact, my palms slammed into the soggy ground, sliding through the mud as my knees landed with a heavy crash. The world momentarily seemed to slow as I processed the jarring impact, the cold mud seeping through my clothes.

"Shit!" I hissed, the urgency of the situation leaving no time to assess for injury. Through the curtain of rain, a pair of heavy, black boots headed for the back of the truck came into view. I was only a few meters short of the destination, yet in that moment, an instinctual calculation warned me that I was still not close enough.

Extracting myself from the mud with a grimace, I kept a low crouch to the ground, the muscles in my legs protesting as I covered the remaining distance. Finishing off with an awkward drop to the ground, I rolled beneath the truck, a desperate manoeuvre to evade detection. Beneath the metal beast, the ground was a mix of oil, water, and mud - a small price to pay for the shred of cover it provided.

Lying there, heart pounding, I took a moment to catch my breath, the cold, wet ground an uncomfortable contrast to the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The proximity to my goal and the imminent risk of discovery melded into a potent mix of fear and determination. The stakes were clear, the mission critical - not just for me, but for all those counting on me back at Bixbus. In the shadow of the truck, amidst the storm, I steeled myself for what was to come, driven by the knowledge that failure was not an option.

My filthy hands, now canvases of dirt and grass debris, smeared across my face in a futile attempt to wipe the worst of the rain away. Clumps of dirt stubbornly clung to the back of my head, an unexpected but silent gratitude for keeping my hair short whispered through my mind. It was one less thing to worry about in moments like these.

"Who's there?" an authoritative voice shattered the relative silence, slicing through the rain and my thoughts like a cold blade.

Shit! Somebody must have seen me. My heart slammed against my chest with the force of a drum, sending waves of panic coursing through my veins. Panicked eyes frantically searched the underbelly of the truck for any nook, any cranny that might serve as a suitable spot for a quick portal getaway. But there was nothing! The stark realisation hit me like a physical blow, bracing myself for the inevitable discovery of my hiding place.

"Fuck's sake," a deep voice growled, frustration lacing the air with tension.

Water splashed as two sets of footsteps diverged, heading in different directions. "Beatrix!" I whispered under my breath, a sliver of hope igniting at the realisation that the first voice hadn’t been calling out to me. My eyes tracked the slow, deliberate movement of the officer’s feet as they approached the verandah, each step a measured beat in the cacophony of the storm.

Turning my head to look behind, I caught sight of the driver, continuing to cuss as he chased after a small piece of paper whisked away by the wind. The sight, oddly mundane in the midst of my plight, offered a brief distraction from the direness of my situation.

Sliding myself toward the back of the truck, icy, dirty water seeped through the layers of my clothing, sending shivers down my spine as it finally made its way to my bare skin. The cold was biting, a reminder of the lengths to which I had gone, the desperate measures I was willing to take.

Ignoring the uncomfortable clinging of my sodden clothes to my body, I pulled myself from beneath the truck with a determined grunt. The act felt like emerging from one world into another, a transition from the hidden to the exposed, from the observer to the participant. My movements were quick, calculated, driven by a need to act before any further chance of discovery.

Still distracted! I told myself, stealing another glance at the driver's comedic battle with the wind and paper. I couldn't help but use the moment to my advantage. My fingers fumbled for the Portal Key, the cold metal feeling alien against my skin, numbed from the relentless rain. Stealing a quick glance to ensure I remained unnoticed, I readied myself to fire it against the back of the truck and leave this current debacle behind. The sight of the back of the truck, only half closed, was like a beacon of hope in the gloom. With a fresh burst of adrenaline surging through my veins, I hoisted myself inside, the action more desperate than graceful.

Navigating my way deeper into the dark confines of the truck was like moving through another world, one of shadows and unseen obstacles. My knee connected with a metal pole in the darkness, sending a sharp pain shooting through my leg. I bit down hard on my lower lip, the taste of iron flooding my mouth as I stifled the cursing that fought for release. The silence was my ally, and I could not afford to break it now.

Wrapping my cold, nearly frozen hand around another pole for support, the chain-link fence clinked loudly against its counterpart as I attempted to squeeze past. The sound was unnervingly loud in the enclosed space.

Then, the back door rattled and closed with a definitive thundering that echoed throughout the truck, leaving an unpleasant ringing in my ears. The sudden plunge into even thicker darkness was disorienting, a momentary void that seemed to swallow every sense. I stood still, stunned, with the unexpected realisation that my movements inside the truck had gone undetected. The silence that followed was a tense, pregnant pause before the truck's engine rumbled to life, a low growl that spoke of imminent departure.

As the darkness gave way to the rainbow colours of the Portal, their dancing lights reflecting buzzing excitement around the crowded space, a sense of surreal accomplishment washed over me. Dripping water across the truck with every step, I couldn't suppress the broad grin that spread across my face. The thought of the driver returning, only to find the truck empty, was deliciously satisfying. He would be left grappling with the impossible task of explaining where the goods had vanished to, a puzzle with no logical solution.

The truck, unknowingly, would be used again, becoming another unanticipated resource for a Guardian to plunder at some future time. This interception, executed against all odds, was a silent victory in the shadows. I smiled to myself, the satisfaction of the moment a warmth against the cold, a light in the darkness, a silent testament to the ingenuity and resilience of those who operate in the unseen. This was more than just a mission accomplished; it was a statement, a declaration of our continued resistance and adaptability—The perfect interception!