THE PHRASE “LIKE a train wreck” was one that Jo had heard used multiple times throughout her nineteen years of life, sometimes in all honesty, sometimes in hyperbole. Never before had she truly understood what that felt like, but it was undeniable now.

No matter how difficult the destruction was to watch, she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the screen.

“Is this live?” Jo asked, hardly above a whisper. Her voice sounded small and scared, barely even her own. Part of her already knew the answer. Eslar nodded, a single jerk of his head, as his brows furrowed.

“As of fifteen minutes ago.”

“Shit. . .” Jo breathed, raising a shaking hand to cover her mouth, hiding her trembling lips. It didn’t seem possible. Surely it couldn’t be.

But there it was, right in front of her. A live broadcast interspersed with videos from hours ago, minutes ago, all highlighting the devastation.

Without really making the conscious decision to do so, Jo found herself dragging her feet around the edge of the couch, sitting down heavily to Eslar’s right. Her hand never left her mouth, as if holding in the silent scream ringing in her ears.

“This isn’t good,” Nico said, mostly to himself it seemed, and when Jo managed to pry her eyes from the screen for a moment, she noticed his fingers digging hard into the back of the couch, knuckles stark white beneath his skin.

Of course it isn’t, Jo wanted to say, wanted to shout, but she couldn’t seem to formulate the outburst. Instead, she just turned back towards the broadcast and absorbed everything she could, hoping that eventually it would somehow stop being real.

“. . .no way of anticipating the disaster,” a reporter was in the process of saying. “Seismographs and supercomputers proved ineffective as the warning reached Prime Minister Tomo Nakamura barely two hours before the eruption. With no proper notice, and with transportation systems indefinitely grounded, evacuations are currently impossible and first responders are left waiting for the worst of the ash and lava flows to pass.

“Of the two million people within the surrounding cities of the Hakone region, already thirteen thousand have been proclaimed dead. The number is expected to rise as relief efforts are projected to begin in the outer, safest areas in two days.”

Thirteen thousand dead, at least, in fifteen minutes.

With a jolt, Jo pulled the sleeve of her hoodie back and ran her finger along the fabric of her watch. Another ten minutes had passed since the three of them had started watching. How many more were already gone? How many more were waiting in hell for help that would never come and death that was taking far too long?

Jo looked from Nico to Eslar and back. Both men had their attention all but glued to the screen, Nico with noticeable tears in his eyes and Eslar with an expression on his face frozen somewhere between blank and tired. She wasn’t looking for comfort. She wasn’t, Jo insisted to herself. But suddenly, she couldn't help but feel cold and shaky, possibly even frightened. To call what she was witnessing “horrible” wasn’t near potent enough. Jo was pretty sure that the more she watched, the more likely she was to throw up.

“You cats watching an action flick?” Wayne suddenly appeared in the entryway to the common room, Jo’s back stiffening in surprise as she turned toward him. She caught the brief look of casual amusement on his face before he seemed to notice whatever emotion was betrayed by hers. “Everyone alright?” he asked, posture more on edge and voice more hesitant now. Before Jo could stop herself, she felt her expression crumple further, a hand reaching in his direction.

“Wayne?” she sniffed, and he was at her side in a second, grabbing her hand in a reassuring grip. His weight sank into the couch cushions next to her, a steady rock that she fell into willingly. It was physically closer than they’d been in months, but she needed him right now. He was the most familiar warmth in all of the Society.

“What’s happening?” he asked the rest of the room, with a seriousness Jo would have scoffed at were it not for the situation. Instead, she just focused on the feel of his thumb tracing the length of her knuckles in a rhythm meant to be comforting—even if it wasn’t quite. There was no comfort against something so inconceivably horrible.

“Mt. Fuji has erupted,” Eslar replied without preamble, seemingly coming back to himself. “Thousands have already perished.”

“Shit,” Wayne cursed under his breath. Perhaps it was hysterics, but Jo felt a choked and bitter laugh crawl its way up her throat.

“That’s what I said.” She thought that was what she said, at least. Everything suddenly felt hazy and distant—like déjà vu, though she was certain she’d never witnessed something so terrible. In fact, Jo could’ve been blubbering this whole time and not realized it, and it wouldn’t have surprised her.

Wayne squeezed her hand again and the room fell silent as they listened to the various reports, some of them recordings, some of them live. It wasn’t until they’d seen the same report from earlier re-air that Wayne huffed a harsh breath through his nose, breaking the tension.

“So,” he sighed, finally letting go of Jo’s hand. He leaned back against the couch cushions, arms stretching along the back behind Jo’s shoulders as if the furniture was the only thing propping him up. “Who’s going to tell Takako?”

And, because even this alternate universe seemed just as willing to kick its immortal patrons in the ass as the real world had ever been, Takako chose that exact moment to walk into the common room.

“Tell me what?” Before anyone could say anything, the woman’s eyes were drawn from her team to the television. Jo watched as a sort of quiet horror overtook Takako’s face. It was only seconds later that Jo witnessed a person shatter.