Well yesterday was hectic.
Let’s see. The electric star gods invaded, landing their neon pyramid ships on crucial geomantic sites and re-energising the entire planetary grid. That brought the dead back as shambling zombies and triggered earthquakes, tsunami and the magnetic-poles to shift. The very fabric of space-time tore. A temporal infarction resulting in utter chaos. Dinosaurs! Romans! Cyborgs! Dragons! Moa! 30 meter serpents and the Battle of Britain featuring the Red Baron! Mina nearly had to anoint the current messiah. Again. As well as every previous one (she says Bill Hicks was very flirty) while fighting off tentacled sex-beasts from Hell dimensions that called her “mummy”. (Not sure if it was the Hell dimensions that called her “mummy” or the tentacled sex-beasts.)
Thankfully we were prepared.
We’d keyed certain key sites to reject energisation. Or rather we did but somehow Ingress mucked everything up. So we activated Theta-Sigma. He waved his magic screwdriver around. Reversed the flow of the planetary energy grid and, before Gaia could reject that pesky infestation of humanity, the space gods were trans-phased back to dimension 12.
Team Camelot were activated so I spent most of the day fighting zombies, scary alien war-beasts alongside even scarier mythological warriors. It was a day of mostly being driven back and forth across the east coast of Scotland (I wasn’t driving myself as I’ve yet to get the all clear regarding my seizures). We had to defeat an outbreak of Zombies at Stracathro Services, Aliens in Glenrothes and we briefly lost Forfar to the Deep Ones. That’s just off the top of my head. The roads were littered with abandoned and burning vehicles. As well as bodies, many of them still moving.
Cutty spent the day with the kidtehs, the hatches firmly battened down and using the stick-o-doom to turn any threat that got within reach.
Now we’re just left to deal with a heartbroken Agent Mina and at least three different machine-telepaths claiming to have been appointed Over-Manager of the Universe.
If none of this matches with your memories of Friday then lucky you. You’re either reading this from one of those boring low-probability continua where nothing really paranormal ever happens. Or the [REDACTED] worked as planned.