The Mantra Camp filed quietly out of the stadium with blow horns, guns, animals, and radio in tow they moved south. They walked slowly over the broken glass, half left by the rioters and the rest freshly shattered by the sound of the walking spheres. The town looked like a war zone that you would see on a news report about another country, not small town America. The tattered group arrived a block away from the radio station. It looked worse than the rest of the town the inside was black from being burnt out and the tower was bent in half but the light was still dimly blinking. Inside the burnt out studio was the red “on the airâ€? light lying morbidly on the floor. “He’s not here..â€? “shh..â€? said someone in the crowd, “I can ‘ear himâ€? â€?..keep a bright light handy..â€?
“He’s Here! VAN MANTRA !â€? the crowd roared forgetting the near danger of the spere’s. “No, he couldn’t make it…â€? said a man that slowly stepped out of the crushing darkness of the studio,“He was…tied upâ€? and out of the darkness came the Mezin.