Disasters that occur in Cross originate from three basic categories: natural, supernatural, and man-made.
Occasionally, these combine in unique and interesting ways. All are deadly.
The finest, or perhaps worst, example of this is the fight that took place after one of the ethereal doors in the Cross Branch of the Miskatonic University was opened. No one ever admitted to having opened the door, and considering what occurred, I don’t blame them. Anyone with their head on their shoulders would have kept their mouth closed.
Of course, they probably wouldn’t have opened the door, to begin with.
Well, I digress.
The door was opened on a warm, Sunday in October, and soon, someone slipped out from another reality. The man was a Marine, and he went running hell-bent for election down the center of Main Street and straight for the far reaches. It was clear that he knew his way around a version of Cross similar to ours.
Word reached us that he was seen on North Road, and it was then that I gathered up the Cross Militia, and we sped on toward Gods’ Hollow.
We were too late.
The Marine had returned with a dozen of his brethren, each fitted out with a kit the likes of which I had never seen before. While they only had a few firearms among them, they were equipped with a variety of throwing weapons with which they proved to be ably trained.
The fight was short, and it was brutal, and the strange electrical storm which erupted above us didn’t help matters. For hours after the fight, the storm continued to rage, wreaking havoc on the town in general and the University in particular.
In the end, we won, although we lost two of our militia to a lightning strike. The foreign Marines were slaughtered to a man, and they were brought out to the Atlantic to be buried at sea, as a Marine should be.
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