"Progress reports arriving the farms of Aerilon are burning," the Hybrid reported, as Eight and Six rejoiced, and Four stared. "The beaches of Canceron are burning the plains of Leonis are burning." Centurions stormed Leonis, dealing death on foot. "The jungles of Scorpia are burning the pastures of Tauron are burning the harbors of Picon are burning the cities of Caprica are burning the oceans of Aquaria are burning the courthouses of Libran are burning the forests of Virgon are burning..." The bodies in the streets were black, at odd angles in the streets, indistinguishable from the statues dropping from the architecture: "The Colonies of Man lie trampled at our feet." The only ones she doesn't mention are the ones protected best by the Gods, Gemenon and Sagittaron; it's a breakaway song, and nobody can hear it, because everyone is dead.
Saul was unkempt, uniform flapping as he charged into CIC; Felix set condition one on a ship that was nearly dead already, and the decks reported, and Saul assured his friend the Fleet was only playing a joke. Everywhere on the ship were tourists and dignitaries, clutching at each other, unwilling to believe what they were hearing. "It's a prank. Come on." Bill felt it coming, though. Death. Saul stared at his oldest friend, afraid to believe him; everywhere in the worlds his children were murdering the brothers he'd forded oceans to come and save.
Simon pushed through the refugees with his daughter in his arms; his brother Four stared at a man with a radio on Colonial Flight 798, listening to the reports. "We just felt another blast here. If anyone can still hear me, are we on? I'm gonna keep broadcasting as long as I can. It keeps getting closer..." The end of the world sounds only ever like confusion.
The Buccaneers were huddled in their camp, shaking and screaming. They wouldn't even listen to their coach. Sam's voice was louder.
Tory was looking flat busted as she pulled herself, broken and bleeding, out of the flipped wreckage of her car on that interstate to Delphi. She was alive because she was running late, because she was in an in-between place. They were her least favorite places, the in-betweens: She liked it better when you knew where you were. It's what saved her. She was so strong, standing in the nuclear wind as the rescue copters set down behind her. She was shellshocked but she was breathing. Something tugged at her memory and she shoved it away.
In the rubble of the Pink Moon Ellen's beautiful legs were served on a bed of blood and shattered glass and scattered snack mix, as something pushed at her: Saul, a world and a thousand lives away, tossing aside wreckage, digging down to her on Cylon. One pushed down toward her and she sighed, breath caught: "This has happened before," she said, and with a shock remembered what comes next: "Oh, Gods! Am I going to die?"