Listener - [a people story]

Aero Blue · Oct 23, 2017

Listener

OOC

Starring:

Group A for Apricot
1. 'Donut' Delano - @SkittlesAndSpike
2. Sarah Pendleton - @Applo
3. Sean Tucker - @Greenie
4. Tore Leanaí an cheoil - @Psycho Of Ireland
5. Levant Morellus - @Chile

Group B for Banana
1. 'Celi' Elizondo Macias - @SoleStride
2. Michael Hansen - @Squee
3. Luke Estley - @Starlighter
4. 'Rats' Yehudah - @The Legate

Group C for Clementines
1. Alexis Acosta - @Eru
2. Akira Eto - @Joan
3. Yoru Kurai - @firejay1
4. RIley Mahir - @Shavynel
5. Artemis Smith - @Kimberlyn

Aero Blue · Oct 23, 2017

Prologue: Gentle Whispers

There was nothing in this world more liberating than a gentle breeze in the dead of night.

It wasn't true freedom, Allison Munir knew. True freedom was something theoretical, the Forever-Machine that powered itself, or something paradoxical, the Penrose steps. But sometimes life offered tastes, teasing glimpses of the realized ideal. Here, overlooking the dark blue waters at night-time, she was as close as she felt she would ever get. Her left hand toyed with the handle of her suitcase, packed full for a journey that would never begin. Her right held the leash, gently holding Scamper, and binding the two of them together. Girl to dog, and dog to girl.

Everyone needed something, after all, and there was no such thing as true freedom.

Scamper was a good friend to have, at least. A shar-pei, with his rumpled fur, and his sad, sad face. Shar-peis were quiet, and did not bark, it was said, unless something terribly wrong was occurring. That was just as well; they stood over the waters, in perfect silence, perfect simpatico. Her father had insisted on a quiet animal; her first pet had been loud and energetic, and he had disappeared one day. Allison had been told that he went somewhere bright and happy. She remembered just how much optimism her father could fit into a single lie.

"Father knows best…" She heard a gravelly voice, and turned to where she thought it had originated. Her gaze met only Scamper's melancholia eyes. Allison shook her head. She was a Listener, and the voices she heard weren't real. Rather, they were real - or were they? - and no one could explain them, and no one would deal with them, which made them just as good as fake.

"Come home. <Come home>. (Come home)." A woman's voice, soft and sweet. A child's voice, meek and desperate. A man's voice, cold and commanding. The nurturer, the abandoned, the oppressor - each of their voices faded into the next, and repeated.

They can't be speaking to me... they're not my family...

She remembered her mother, the first time she could recall her voice. Her face had been a blur then, and her voice had been sweet, but never soft. She was brash, in her own way, and perhaps she talked too much, but every word she spoke belonged to her, and she bore them with pride. And her father had never commanded her of anything. He had always killed her with subtlety. And the child-

This is a lie.

There was no other child, abandoned and in need. She was her father's only daughter, and the fact - unusually - gave her relief. She smiled then, because that meant the voices weren't for her - made it easier. Sweet relief turned into mirthful, happy laughter. It wasn't true freedom but it was something, Allison thought, as she looked to the skies, empty in their darkness though they were.

Scamper barked.

Chapter 1: Yesterday's Children

Rain slammed down upon the boardwalk of Atlantic City, pat-pating like a delicate hand upon a silver snare. The everyday city toilers would allow the morning rain to gently caress them, while others ran desperately to preserve their work-clothes. A lone man, clad in brown leather, sat idly next to his news-stand as the rain enveloped him, droplets dotting the morning headlines and the black of his coffee. He reacted with perfect nonchalance; the headlines were always the same, and the brew needed watering down anyways.

He breathed in the smell of dampened wood. Tomorrow, the sun would rise, and bake the wood dry with a humid fragrance. The next day, perhaps, it would rain again. Repetition and routine; that was how a city acquired its scent. It was a nice scent; on sunny days, it was almost bakery-sweet, and on rainy days, it was at least a comfortable stench in its familiarity. A good scent, for a good city - it smelled of home. Heaven forbid the smell ever left the city, and Heaven forbid the city, his home, ever changed too much.

And if Heaven failed, the PRIT would just have to do its job, the myriad of Powered criminals be damned. The thought of that gave the man with the brown leather and the wet newspaper and the black coffee something approaching strength. Most knew him as 'Jimmy from the old block', who sold newspapers and orange juice. The PRIT, however, knew what had happened to him after Jude retreated back within the Pacific. He had been watching the stand before, for a single flash, he swore he could hear everything.

A spat between lovers, a child begging for cotton candy on the Boardwalk, a gunshot. It had been too much, too quick and all at once. He had tasted the blood in his mouth, the blood that pumped from heart-to-brain, the rancid bite of sulfur, the taste of his own tongue clogging his throat before the blackness consumed him, and freed him from all those sounds.

Some very special people stood over him when he awoke, but all he had thought about then was the gunshot. He never did find out who, and what, and why, and the thought of that had haunted him. He had spent a long time trying to convince himself that nothing came to pass. He had broken down and succumbed before he could hear what came after the shot; no scream, no body lifelessly dropping to the ground, no harm done. That line of thought never did seem to take, which was perhaps why he had jumped upon the PRIT's offer of membership.

A drop of rain upon his nose shoved him back into the present.

Then he heard the world shake.

He heard the pained groan of steel as it bent, and bent, and broke upon itself; the screams of glass as pane after pane shattered entirely; the wailing cry of an infant fire before it grew into an inferno. He had barely heard the footsteps of the PRIT agent that approached him.

"Morning, Jimmy. What's today's news?"

Today's news was an euphemism; the location of the next PRIT warm-site. There were bigger worries at hand.

"Morning, agent," He gulped, and amidst the sounds of his own heart, and the bent steel, and the screaming glass, and the wailing fire, he swore he could heard the gunshot from so long ago. "There seems to be... a problem, Bergen and Dudley Street."

Hi! Always make sure to check the 'Scene Objectives' spoiler, as it'll list pertinent details that are either foregone or only implicit in the GM post!

Details and Objectives:
- The PRIT, for their own safety and secrecy, typically operate in any number of rotating 'bases'. The character of 'Jimmy from the Old Block' is a PRIT Operative whose primary function is to 1) keep informed of what's going on and 2) clandestinely tell other PRIT agents the location of the current site (this is what the PRIT agent approached Jimmy for). The colloquial PRIT terms for those with Jimmy's role are 'Bouncer' or 'Watchdog'.

For clarity: Jimmy's power is super-hearing, and the bit near the end is him overhearing a mass terror attack.

Your primary round objective is to introduce and establish your character. The terror attack Jimmy alludes to is intended to serve as a stage to do so. You can do this through a variety of ways; there'll be scared civilians to evacuate, trapped folks to rescue, wounded to attend to, fires to put out, criminals to subdue. Feel free to collaborate to really heighten the scene's dynamic and establish character relations.

As far as your scene antagonists go, the culprits are members of 'We Chosen Few' - which has an entry in the OOC Bluebook. Feel free to depict your character kicking their ass. It should be noted that while most of them are unsavory folk, they don't have to be; some may be misguided zealots or young ones.

Your character can learn of the attack in a number of ways (news broadcast, from an en route PRIT member). My suggestion is to learn of it while you visit Jimmy (or another Watchdog elsewhere that you can feel free to create and write), as the location of the current PRIT site will be necessary for future rounds. The rather strange location will be: "Abandoned ballroom beneath the old Thai place."

Have fun! As always, feel free to make inquiries of me.

The Legate · Oct 23, 2017

Hello! Thank you for calling Lampare Advertising! How may we help you?

Eli stood there with the cigarette still in his mouth, the tip softly burning as small embers fell onto the already dirty floor of his tiny cramped apartment. He couldn't stop staring at his own face. Or rather, a face that certainly was not his own. At first he didn't know entirely how to respond. He reached up and snatched the cigarette from his mouth as the tips of his fingers trembled. Not in fear but rather in an annoyed rage. "Yes" He said, his accent was usually well concealed at this point in his life, but the unkempt anger of the moment brought it back out to bear like a arcane relic of war well past lost. "I'm calling about one of your billboards."

Oh, yes, did you want to buy space on one? the woman asked, and he didn't answer at first. It was strange looking at it. Standing there outside his window, like a monolith to some foreboding strange alien world he had yet to understand. It looked normal and yet one, very important detail was the only thing Eli cared about.

"No... It's about one you put up outside my window, on West 45th. I'm complaining about it." He said, as calmly as he could. Given the current circumstances.

Uh... she stammered, never having someone complain about a highway billboard before. No one ever complains about billboards. Not unless they were broken in some way. Yes? What about it?

"My face is on it."

It was a billboard for cigars, as odd as it seemed. Of all the advertisements his face could have landed on, it was this one. An advertisement for something he couldn't afford anyways. And yet there he was, plastered on the large billboard, smiling back at himself, holding a cigar in a hauntingly still and familiar image. It was off-putting alone to wake up one morning, look out your apartment window and see that your face was now the mascot of a billboard right outside your home. It was even more haunting when your entire job was to not end up on billboards.

What was really scary, though, the thing that drove Eli to the brink of insanity was the grin. He was grinning on the advertisement, a wide toothy grin that said "I like to piss on the idea of sadness", a grin Eli had almost never used even once in his whole life. He had never made that smile, and somehow he was making it on a billboard he had never even wanted to be on.

There was a silence over the phone as Eli continued to stare out his window at... Well, himself. Eli trying not to lose it, the woman trying to understand the situation. You're sure it's not a reflection?

Eli blinked, even he wasn't entirely sure if it was or not. He didn't feel like he was smiling. He even bobbed his head back and forth a bit to see if the face outside his window would move with him. No, no it was definitely on the billboard. "Yes, I'm sure."

Well... She said, at a loss for words and her peppy customer service attitude immediately shattered against what was probably the only interesting call she ever had. I mean... Do you look okay on it? Her training had never prepared her for this. At this point she was just riffing and seeing where it could go.

"I mean... Yeah?" he said, shaking his head. He did look pretty good for a face that was now quindecupled in size and plastered on a roadside advertisement. "That's not the point though. I didn't give permission to anyone for putting my face on a billboard for any kind of advertisements."

Okay but is there anything necessarily wrong with the depiction of you? Why do you want your face taken down?

"I uh..." He said, now finally losing his patience. He frowned and continued as he exhaled a toxic nicotine breath from his cigarette: "I don't smoke, I would like my face not to promote it."

Oh, well, you'll have to talk to the company that put the advert up then.

"Why?! Why can't you just take it down!? זה פשוט!"

We're not liable for whatever gets put up on the adverts, we just own the billboards. She explained clearly her interest in the strange occurrence gone and her annoyance returning to her. If you're going to sue anybody, you'll have to sue them.

It was clear he was getting nowhere. He hung up and left her to answer some other customer, wondering what this meant. Was he hallucinating? Was anyone else seeing this billboard? He didn't take himself for a hallucinatory individual, and surely if it was a hallucination the image would have evaporated by now. As far as he could tell he wasn't any of those listener nutjobs and this certainly wasn't a coincidence. Of all the billboards his face had to end up on, it was the one right outside his window.

He could deal with it later. He put on his coat and grabbed his helmet. He had work to do.

-----

The ride was short, just down the street. Partly why he had the apartment. At this point he was out of things to buy. He didn't really need anything at the Wilson Farms he was now purchasing from. Such was the dying brand of Wilson, it's only existence here was for practically him and the few other PRIT agents who stopped by. He grabbed one of those pre-made Starbucks iced coffees and figured it enough. The cashier without glancing (they never did) handed him the receipt, which he explicitly asked for, before walking out.

Once outside he threw the coffee, still unopened, right into the garbage without hesitation. As several homeless individuals seemed to crawl out from the bushes, pouncing upon the waste-bin as a lion would pounce upon a gazelle, Eli held up the receipt and read what message his own little Bouncer had left him in the computer system:

And that was it. Probably there were easier ways to be alerted, and god knows there was always a chance that a wary eyed cashier could suddenly get knowledge of PRIT operations, but after all these years none had. Life was strange this way. You notice all the things that are unimportant, like your face on a billboard, and miss the things that need to be heard. Like secret government orders being relayed through a cashier machine with specific credit card numbers.

He didn't have to go very far, he just had to follow the sirens of emergency vehicles. There was sporadic gunfire too in what he was certain was an ongoing shoot out between police and super powered terrorists. An unfair fight: The terrorists had the element of suprise and the ability to defeat the normal laws of man. He could only imagine what terror NYPD officers had to face on normal every-day patrols ever since '13.

The motorcycle skidded to a halt when he turned a corner and a bullet pinged off the road in front of him. He looked down, then back up at what was once a normal shopping intersection now turned into a massive assortment of burned out cars, flashing emergency lights and dust. Enough dust that he struggled to keep his eyes open just looking at it, and he was wearing a helmet. The bomb must have been big.

He waited and hesitated, unsure of how to go about this. He looked around and realized it seemed he was the first powered responder, and he wasn't exactly the best example to set. Some of the police hiding behind their cars gave him a "Well, do something idiot" look while bullets skimmed off the top of the car like stones skipping on a pond. Guess he was going to do it his way.

He gunned his mechanical steed, turning it on a dime and blasting towards the ongoing gunfight. As he sped past the cops toward the other end of the street where the shooters were entrenched he reached out and plucked the pistol from an officer's hands. He could have made the gun himself but that took too long. The focus of fire shifted to him as he zoomed toward them like a maniac. Bullets bounced off the cars he sped by, and eventually just as Eli was on top of a group of terrorists using a concrete water fountain as a firing position, a bullet grazed off Eli's helmet.

Eli pulled his bike to the side and slid across the ground toward them, kicking up dust in his wake. He fired three times as he did. Predictably, two rounds missed. The third however struck one in the collarbone. He spun around, blood speckling the water inside the fountain before falling into it. Before the other two could take advantage of Eli's idiotic head on charge, Eli and his bike hit the fountain. The bike being heavy was caught by the fountain lip and remained there. Eli not so much, the momentum causing him to tumble into the fountain and inadvertently tackle the remaining two.

As the three began to wrestle in the fountain, the fourth struggling to stand as blood began to murk the waters, Eli realized he was outnumbered 3 to 1. That wasn't good odds at all. "God, just drown already." He muttered as he splashed around with the other two. It would be almost funny if it wasn't for the fact that Eli was probably 3 steps from dying. Eventually he stood up, grabbing and lifting one of the terrorists before pushing hard and throwing him out of the fountain. He tripped backwards over the fountain lip and there was a wet thump as the back of his head hit the pavement uncushioned.

There was a bang and Eli spun around, freezing. The one still remaining was holding a now smoking gun. It made Eli froze for a second before realizing Eli wasn't actually hit. The bullet had only put a hole in his jacket. The man made to fire again but Eli was quick. He grabbed the gun, and with one conscious thought it turned into a handful of sewing needles. The other hand grabbed his, and before he could let go, Eli squeezed.

The man yelped as he had gone from squeezing a gun to squeezing several dozen sewing pins. Eli held it for a moment, letting him bleed, before the man went for a knife under his belt buckle. Eli was faster. He grabbed it and slashed upward as he pulled it out of the man's belt, unsheathing it and gutting the poor dude as he did. The man fell and Eli turned to the last man, the one shot at the beginning of this whole exchange before realizing he was drowning. Apparently the collar bone wound had removed his ability to get up, meaning his terrible fate was to drown in maybe a few inches of water.

Eli could have saved him, could have being the key phrase. He didn't because he didn't need to and he didn't want to. He just turned and walked out of the fountain, letting the man drown.

Eru · Oct 29, 2017

PRIT ALERT: TERROR ATTACK ONGOING. ALL UNITS RESPOND IMMEDIATELY.
LOCATION: INTERSECTION OF BERGEN AND DUDLEY STREET
BRIEF: HOSTILE POWEREDS EXPECTED. ENGAGE AND PROTECT CIVILIANS.

en route, Chief. buses aren't running yet, so expect a cab charge...

"Looks to be that time of the month again. Lovely."

Alexis Acosta ○ The Rhythmancer

Rain pelted quietly down onto the windowpanes, as skyscraper after skyscraper outside stood aligned in an unending march of grey silhouettes, mixing with the clouds above as if they came down from there instead of rising up.

The location of this attack was a ten-minute's drive away from the local library, where Alexis Acosta had been quietly wandering the empty halls for a number of hours already. As he often enjoyed doing, he had picked out a few new novels, as well as the daily newspaper, and taken them to a quiet reading room, getting up again and changing locations whenever it became too crowded.

The alert had come through on Alexis' phone just as he finished the thirteenth chapter of his newest novel. Auspicious. He slipped a bookmark into place, standing up and stretching from where he'd been curled up on a padded armchair. Straightening his jacket, Alexis quickly typed his reply, and then hurried downstairs to the one-tap checkout service. A minute later, he was outside in the rain, hailing a cab lingering conveniently nearby.

Crawling inside the back seat, with raindrops glistening in his messy, curled hair, Alexis flashed his PRIT identification. His voice was quiet but clear, though it broke once at the beginning. "Intersection of Bergen and Dudley, please, driver. As close as you can. Don't stop for anything." The driver, a burly mustached man with a mole near his chin, nodded and pointed wordlessly to his payment till. Alexis swiped his card and settled back into his seat as the taxi left the curbside.

He sighed softly, fumbling with his backpack he'd forgotten to close before leaving the library. Thankfully, nothing inside had gotten wet, and so Alexis now swapped the novel in his hand with the headphones he'd stashed inside the pack. He placed these upon his head, plugging the cable into his phone's port and flipping through his music. Glancing up at the taxi's dashboard, Alexis figured he'd have just enough time to create his playlist before arrival. Alexis sunk deeper into the relatively-clean seat as he began to draw his focus inward, instead of on the world around himself. The rumble of the taxi's motor, the miniature bumps and quakes over each pebble on the road, his own heartbeat beginning to sync to a peculiar, complementary rhythm.

A few short minutes later, the taxi's brakes squealed, the driver's skill on the road being outmatched only by the pedestrian traffic now surging against them. He turned off the one-way street, pulling into a side alleyway and halting. He glanced back at his passenger, but Alexis had already begun to exit, clapping the driver on the shoulder. "Thanks for the ride," he murmured, already picking up speed. The driver stared after him, until he'd rounded a corner and was gone from sight.

Coming into the open, the scene threw itself upon Alexis' vision. Flames rose from vehicles stopped in wreckage and ruin, the destruction of a city block evident with girders still threatening to fall out of the sky. Alexis stalked forward, weaving his way between the last civilian stragglers who hastened to evacuate the area. With PRIT now joining the fray, they knew better than to loot and pillage anything that remained. The noise of the fires grew ever louder as Alexis approached, and he reached into his pocket, turning up the music.

Alexis could see across the intersection a ruined fountain where a scuffle had broken out, but it was too far to see in detail. He picked up his pace to the music's beat, but was suddenly surprised by the sharp-edged airwaves of a bullet as it crossed his field of vision, barely five feet ahead. Alexis swung around, tracking its source to a blown-out shopping window, within which were crouched a pair of men. They, seeing their target still alive, cursed and reloaded. But, turning, Alexis took one step, a second, a third, and broke into a sprint. The enemies' clothing fit the description of a select organization, "We Chosen Few" as they were called. Justice would now be carried out, and perhaps mercy.

Before another shot could be released, Alexis was nearly upon them, large blasts of air emanating from his footsteps. In one fluid motion, he planted both feet down one last time, then erupted into the sky, leaving a small crater on the sidewalk as he flew over the Chosen's heads. The shockwave knocked the Chosen over, and Alexis landed behind them with a steel supporting rod he'd wrested from the ceiling. Passing his hand over the length of it quickly to superheat the metal, he grinned slightly at the enemies struggling to stand.

"Let's dance."

*WHUMP*

Joan · Oct 30, 2017

Levant Morellus & Akira Eto, Kicking Ass | Intersection of Bergen and Dudley

A man comes to cherish the rain when he can't see the world. Green life that dotted the concrete landscape would let off their scents, wafting the city in the smell of their oils. Every street would become more pungent, accented by the small shower. And every sound was characterized by water. Raindrops would bounce off awnings, tires kicking up water as they rushed by. Rain redefined the world ever since Levant lost his sight.

Levant decided a while back that if PRIT could transfer him out there, he'd move to the Pacific Northwest. He took his family on a vacation out to Portland one autumn and it rained for most of their sta. It could be a dreary stretch of wet days for some, but for Levant it was paradise.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, his earbuds plugged in with the chord threaded underneath his shirt. One bud was in his ear while the other dangled from his collar. VoiceOver technology helped him to navigate the touch screen and find the app that would hail a driver to his location. The creep of tires and engine slowed to a halt in front of him. He felt for the handle and slid inside, setting his black work bag at his feet, the crinkling leather backseat and stale "black ice" air-freshener greeted him.
"Where ya headed?" The driver sounded old and like he belonged to Atlantic City.
"Uhhh, anywhere downtown." Levant answered casually.
"You got it." There was some vim in his voice as he shifted in gear.
"Thanks man."

Levant's phone was still in hand as it suddenly started to buzz. The VoiceOver software told him "Bell" was calling in its ubiquitous virtual voice that was programmed by Levant to be more sprightly and human, and English. David was the prorgam's name. He answered via the remote on his right earbud.
"Abella! How you doin?" He immediately exclaimed with delight.
"Hey Levant. I'm doin' good. What're you up to?" His sister's response was slightly dulled with an unmet expectation.
"I'm headin' into work right now. It's been killer lately. I'm backed up on so much paperwork." It was the truth, but it was just a deaf excuse to the child he'd made a promise to. She hadn't even said anything about it yet but he was already employing some damage control.
"Oh I see. Do you know when you're gonna be home?" There it was, that spear of disappointment she was about to impale him with.
"Nah. You know how my schedule is." He knew as soon as he said it, that he'd just messed up. Levant often felt like working for PRIT was more demanding than the training routine of an Olympic gymnast. Every single part of his being had to be wrung out into a work day, his management only pencilled in a few hours of sleep every couple of days. Most of the time, that wasn't even enough. Criminals never took breaks and the innocent couldn't ever save themselves.
None of that would matter to a 16 year old.
The car came to a stop and the door opened as someone slid in next to Levant, raindrops briefly spattering the leather seats until the door was shut. It was a woman judging by the sweet aroma that wafted around the small space of the vehicle. His hunch was right when she told the driver where she wanted to go.
"Is that why you couldn't come to my dance recital?" The spear slid home, straight to Levant's heart, quickly killing any other attempts at damage control.
"I'm really sorry babygirl."
She paused on the phone before continuing. "I know you're working hard for us Levant," there was an actual concession in her voice, "Don't worry, I'm fine. Sasha was able to come- and Alecia too." She paused again, a hint of severity building in her silence. "You should come back and see James soon. He really misses you."
"How's he doin'?"
The woman next to him shifted closer to Levant, and he could sense that she was sneaking glances at him, likely making her own guesses as to why his eyes were closed before she'd chance checking him out entirely. He was decked out, fresh to death like always. Of course ladies liked to look at him.
"He's been kinda moody lately. But he'll bounce back once he sees you. He always does."
"I'll be home soon, I promise."
"Mmm hmm." She hummed through her lips. It was a playful twist of the blade she couldn't quite let go of yet.
"I know I know. I'm a jerk." Levant sighed.
"And don't forget it!" Abella came back with some pep. "I'll let you get back to your work now."
"Alright, I'll talk to you later babygirl."
"Bye Levy!"
"I love you." It was already too late, and the only response he got was VoiceOver letting him know that the call had ended. Levant's shook his head and sighed.

"Was that your girlfriend?" The woman next to him asked. Her voice was like a silk blanket stretched over a mile, each sound she made plucked from the golden lyre of Orpheus - and it was unnatural. The sensual way she spoke made Levant swallow reflexively.
"Oh no. That was my little sister. I missed her dance recital." He chuckled nervously as he awkwardly offered up an explanation, like he was trying extra hard to convince this random woman that that was not his girlfriend.
"Oooo a family man," she purred, "I like that. Do you have a girlfriend?"
Excuse me?! That would've been Levant's typical reaction. Bitch, do I look a slice of marinated meat just waiting for anyone to come and take a piece? Hell fuckin' nah. But instead he was butter melting over her dulcet words. This wasn't normal and he was pretty certain his expression was screwed between a mix of ashamed and tickled with excitement, like a boy about to fully graduate to manhood. He could only imagine what the driver's expression looked like.
"Look, I don't even know you." That was all he could come up with to try and regain control of the situation. The attempt was pitiable.
"Awww don't be like that big boy." She put a hand on his thigh, and he immediately went to move it.
"Look lady, I said-" His protest was extinguished as she quickly mounted him, straddling his lap. She pulled his face into her hands and pressed her lips firmly into his own. Briefly he panicked. She has to be a powered. That was the last thought he had before his head started swimming, his ability to resist completely overpowered by her aroma.

The car came to a stop and the woman finished her assault on the helpless Levant. He could hear her thank the driver, lean over and plant a swift peck on his cheek. Then she got out.
"What the fuck was that?" The driver sounded equally baffled and excited. It took a moment for Levant to gain his composure, slowly sitting up and straightening himself out. "Holy shit."
"Was she hot?" He had to ask.
"You didn't see?!"
Levant waved a hand in front of his eyes.
"Oh," there wasn't a drop of remorse in his response, "Yeah. She was a solid twelve out of ten. Real knockers too. I can tell."
"That's… nevermind."
The driver shifted and the car lurched forward again. Levant reached into his mouth and pulled out a tiny piece of paper. He thumbed over the message written in Braille. It was the location of their next base.
Someone in upper management thought they were clever.

He wiped off his lips, hoping that the action would also wipe away any remaining thoughts of that woman. It only served to make him run through, play by play, of what the hell just happened to him. But then the driver's radio came to life with panicked drivers issuing a warning to their co-workers.

"Stay clear of Bergen and Dudley," one driver in particular cut through, "An explosion just went off, and there are powered criminals everywhere! I repeat, stay clear of Bergen and Dudley."

Great , Levant thought. Work starts early. He used his phone and pulled up a contact he knew would be perfect for the early morning grind.

Akira hummed softly to herself as she poked at the eggs in the pan with a spatula. They seemed about done, so she grabbed a plate, turned off the stove, and carefully slid the eggs out of the pan onto the plate. She had already visited her local Bouncer early that morning and gotten the new base location, so she felt like she had sone time to relax.

Where did I put the salt...? she thought to herself as she put a bit of water in the pan and set it on the counter. A quick search of the cabinets later and she settled down with her food, dashing the salt over it before hoisting herself up on the counter next to the pan.

Before she could take more than a couple bites, however, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She dug it out and glanced at the screen before frowning slightly and setting her food aside. As she picked up the call, she swung herself off the counter and headed for the door.

"Levant, what's up this time?" She headed down the stairs out of her apartment building and paused at the door, the frown still on her face.

Based on her tone, Levant assumed she didn't want to pulled away from her morning so soon, and he definitely didn't want to be the bearer of bad news-- although his morning so far had gone pretty well all things considered -- but duty called. "Hey Akira. I wish I had something good to tell you...," he paused, considering his next words, "I need you to meet me at Bergen and Dudley. We got a situation."

"What kind of situation?" She started walking and raised her hand to flag down a cab. "I can safely guess Powereds are involved since that's our job, but what else?" A cab stopped next to her, and she climbed in, pulling the phone away from her mouth for a moment. "Bergen and Dudley, as fast as you can." As she spoke, she dug out her PRIT ID and showed it to him, and while he looked like he would normally have refused, he closed his mouth and started driving.

"We got Chosen, and they blew up some bombs in the buildings. Big bombs. We need to get down there." He put it as succintly as he could. Powered criminals were especially dangerous when civilians were near, but the "Chosen Few" were different. Superiority was their driving motivation. A need to see others as lesser, so they feel more. They are always especially dangerous when there aren't any other Powereds around to balance out the odds.

"How fast can you be here?" Levant's driver had dropped him off two blocks from the scene a moment ago.

"Shit," she mumbled under her breath at the mention of Chosen. They were always a handful, even when they weren't blowing things up. If Levant needed her, that also meant there were civilians in the area that needed shielding, which just made the whole thing that much more complicated.

"Judging by how fast this guy is driving, I'll be there in about 30 seconds." She didn't live far from the scene, thankfully. "See what you can do until then, yeah?" After another moment, she added, "Who else is already on-scene?"

"Not sure yet. I hear bullets flying though, and lots of commotion. Shit's goin' down bruh." You can take the boy out of the South, but you can't take the South out of the boy. His southerner Na' lans' accent bleeds out into the way he speaks especially when his adrenaline was pumping. Levant wasn't the most combat oriented member of PRIT, at least when it came to charging into the throngs of battle. One, he couldn't see and two, his ability was unpredictable in who it affected. That's where Akira came in.

For the moment he ducked down and used his ears and nose to assess the situation. Bullets weren't flying his way, which was good, but their echo off of steel skyscrapers made it difficult to pick up on anything else. An echo, however, made its source trackable. He pulled his silver collapsable cane out of his backpack and began walking up the sidewalk, keeping to the side of the building.

"Right. Keep me posted. Switching to comms now." Akira pulled a comm out of her pocket and clipped it into her ear before hanging up the call. Before putting her phone away, she found a tracking app Levant had had her install and activated it, knowing he would get an alert that would tell him her position. With that done, she pocketed her phone and glanced out, trying to gauge how much farther it was. She could see the smoke rising from there. Judging from the apparent size and distance, it wouldn't be much farther. She kept her eye on it, and soon enough, she spotted Levant on the sidewalk.

"Stop here," she called out to the cabbie. He obliged, and she hopped out a few paces behind Levant after paying the cabbie. As she moved forward, she bent over slightly and pulled the shadows around her to form a sort of thin armor around herself. Once she was close to Levant, she spoke up again.

"What have you picked up so far?"

"Not much. Do you see anything?" He asked.

"I think most of the action is at the end of this block, judging from the sounds and from the flashes of gunfire." She considered their options for a moment. "I can scout ahead and find out where they're shooting from, and we can sneak up on them, or we could just run in and hit anyone we find. Stealth is slightly safer, but if civilians are in direct danger, we need to take out the threat as fast as possible." She glanced at him. "What do you think?"

"Let's move quickly. Just let me know when I can... look." Akira and Levant had a working relationship already where they knew how to work with one another. It's why he called her, and its why he liked having her around. She had a no-nonsense professionalism about her that was often hard to extract from the more emotionally charged younger PRIT members, who were mostly there by virtue of their powers alone. Levant was too, although he also provided software programming, but ultimately his and Akira's abilities, weren't exactly oriented for modern warfare in the streets.

"Right, here we go." Akira started forward, not bothering to look behind her to see if Levant was keeping up. They had been working together long enough that she knew that if he fell behind or had any problems, he would let her know. As she moved, she gathered more shadows around them, forming a thick cloud that she could see through easily, but Levant wouldn't be able to harm anyone unless she parted it. It was the most effective way to isolate the effect of his powers, as she had found out over the time they had spent working together.

When they rounded the corner, she immediately spotted a group of about four Chosen, all armed, threatening a pair of civilians that had the misfortune of being still stuck here. There were no other civilians in immediate view. She quickly pulled the shadows away from in front of Levant and formed a wall around the young couple, calling out to her partner the moment they were safely inside the wall.

"Go!" She purposefully raised her voice to attract the attention of the Chosen, and it seemed to work pretty well. They turned to look her way, raising their weapons to fire.

It would be wrong to say that Levant didn't relish these moments. Despite the fact that he was in certain danger, that people were armed and dangerous and even more people were susceptible to great harm, including himself, he wanted more moments like these. Times when he could open his eyes and see. Something he couldn't do unless it was the situation he was in.

He opened his eyes. There was a blurred ball of shadow on the ground that Akira had cast over some civilians, and then there were the four Chosen, all armed with weapons. He could also see the devestation, the rain falling, burning cars literring the streets, the shattered steel viscera of a building that had its bottom floor blown out; all of it was his peripheral vision as he looked at the four Chosen from under a furrowed brow.

They began to contort as they looked into his glowing eyes. Two of them specifically passed out immediately, another heaved over and began to vomitting on the street, the remnants of whatever criminals eat in the morning splashing onto the broken pavement. The fourth, and boy it was annoying when this happened, clutched his head for a moment, staring straight back at Levant. His teeth clenched together and his face twisted in way that human faces shouldn't twist. Chosen or not, he was more than feeble prey for the Basilisk gaze. He shook his head violently and threw down his weapon, raising his hands and spreading out his arms. His upper body hollowed out in his stance as hard spikes of bone began to tear through his skin which had begun to turn a charcoal brown. The Chosen reached back and pulled at one of the bones, freeing it from his body and putting it into his hand.

"You have powers too?!" He screeched it at them, the terror lingering in his voice, "Well let me show you what I can do!" He lowered himself and began to run at them.

"Oh shit!" Levant cursed under his breath after closing his eyes again, lowering himself into a defensive posture. He wasn't the best at fighting but he didn't have much of a choice. Running away, blind as he was, was never his strong suit.

With a nod, Akira darted forward, bending down to snatch up the first weapon that came to hand. She came up with a slightly unwieldy metal beam that had no doubt been part of the building next to them at some point. Not ideal, but it'll do.

She reached the Chosen and ducked under his first swing. Bringing the beam up, she hit the arm that wasn't holding the bone, and he grunted in pain before swinging at her again. She twisted away, dropping the beam so she could move fast enough, and summoned shadows in front of his eyes. That earned a small cry of terror from him, no doubt enhanced by the lingering effects of Levant's abilities. She couldn't help feeling faintly satisfied as she moved in again and clocked him across the chin. She moved back again, but not quite fast enough to avoid his blind attack, and she gritted her teeth as the bone made contact with her upper arm. Most of the force of the impact was blocked by her shadow armor, but she still felt it, and that wasn't good. Getting hit wasn't good.

The Chosen swung again, slightly more confident now that he had struck home once, and she ducked under his attack, sweeping her legs under his. He went down, and she straightened, grabbing the beam again and swinging it down on his head. His arm came up last moment to block it, and with a grunt, he kicked out in her general direction, forcing her to step back again long enough for him to get back to his feet.

Somewhere in the chaos, the shadow had separated from his face, and he eyed her warily before throwing the bone at her. She ducked again, but this time, while she was ducked, he moved toward her, yanking another bone from his back. She managed to roll under his next swing and snatched up a large handful of rubble, which she then threw directly at his face. Blinded once again, he let out an angry cry as he flung the new bone at her once again. His aim was off, as was to be expected, and she grabbed the bone from where it lay beside her and jumped to her feet. She swung and connected with the side of his head, and he went down, for good this time.

"He's down. Eyes shut." She turned to the civilians and oulled the shadow away from around them, pointing in the direction she and Levant had come from. "You're going to want to get out of here. There'll be more where those four came from, trust me."

"It sounded like you kicked the shit out of him. Has anyone ever told you that you're a badass? Cause you're a badass." He was taking deep breaths and chuckling through his sentence.

The civilians ran off, and Akira allowed herself a small smile. "Well, we're just getting started." She turned back to the chaos in front of them and sent a signal to PRIT asking for somebody to clean up the Chosen they had just incapacitated. With that taken care of, she reformed the barrier around her and Levant. "Let's move."[/hr]

Greenie · Oct 30, 2017

Sean could tell it was another gloomy day as he opened his eyes that morning. The old and thin curtains in his studio apartment usually let in the blaring sunlight he usually counted on to wake him up even before his mobile alarm clock. Not today it seemed. As he groaned and sat up groggily in bed, his bleary eyes caught sight of his desktop monitor, the bright red digits moving back and forth on his screen showing that he had slept half an hour more than he usually did.

"Bloody hell..." Well, one day off schedule wasn't a big deal, though he knew he'd feel like he'd wasted time today... even if that time was usually spent just looking through his mobile at various funny pictures and texts. Of course, he always made sure to see if there were any important message that were work related. Today seemed rather quiet, which was fine by him.

It took a hot shower and that just brushed teeth feeling to finally clear Sean's mind. That and of course the incessant meowing of his cat Cathulhu. "I swear, you're gonna end up screwing my mind as much as your namesake's s'pose to." As for the cat, she simpled purred and rubbed herself against his legs, leaving a trail of fur on his jeans. "Awh man, c'mon..." Still, Sean couldn't resist scratching the little beast behind her ears as he watched her eat for a little while, enjoying the happy twitching of her tail.

His stomach soon reminded him it was time to eat as well. Coffee was always a must for Sean, but he didn't actually like it for its taste, just the kick it gave him to start his mind. As such, his morning drink was more a cocoa infused with enough coffee to make it seem as if he was drinking a mocha latte. With a croissant by his side, Sean had his breakfast 'equipped' and ready to use. He settled down at his computer desk, shaking the mouse in the process so that he could type his password. His morning habit usually involved breakfast in front of the computer while reading at least a few pages of whatever book he had bought online (Night Watch) and then working on his own stories and plots. It was usually around the latter part where he'd be interrupted due to some message from PRIT.

No news is good news, he thought to himself as he put on his reading glasses. If it was already this late in the morning, hopefully he could get a decent couple of paragraphs down-

A desktop notification popped up at the right hand corner of his screen. "Oh, come on... Seriously?!" A loud sigh left Sean as he forced himself to click on the notiff. "Well flippity flap and fudging hell." Yes, those were his exact words; Sean had always tried to censor his cussing due to his little sister, and the habit remained even though he lived far away from her. Cussing done, he grabbed his mug by the handle and grumpily downed his still hot drink in a few gulps, ignoring the pain of his now scalded tongue.

By the time he had on his jacket, socks and shoes, he had finished his croissant as well. Dusting his hands first, he pushed his mop of hair back and plonked a cap on his head. "Bye, you little monster." This was addressed to his cat as he grabbed his keys and hurried out of the apartment.

Sean wasn't much into driving. With a mind like his, he was sure he would a) be the driver everyone hated and b) be the cause of accidents from panic attacks. No, it was best that he simply sat in the backseat of a car and played on his cellphone until he reached his destination. He managed to flag down a taxi easily enough and deposited himself into the backseat as quickly as he could.

"Bergen and Dudley," he said to the cab driver. "Thanks." Letting out a sigh, he settled back and pulled out his mobile to send a text to the rest of his team.

Hey guys ^_^" looks like we got something going down. Well... Eh... u lot probably know but whatever. see y'all there.

That done, he waited impatiently for his destination, fingers tapping against his knees. He hated the waiting period, the time it took to actually reach where he needed to be. It allowed him to think about his life and why he was purposely putting himself in such situations. Oh, he had a power alright, but it could easily be that the troublemakers would trump him in that department.

Maybe I should ride a bike like Sarah, he thought to himself, staring at the passing buildings. 'Course, that'd involve actually learning. Note to self, don't mention in front of her that you can't ride a bike. Actually... don't mention it to anyone.

At last the taxi was one measly block away, but this was enough for Sean. "Here," he muttered, pulling out more money than the ride was probably worth. "Keep the change." The driver wouldn't be getting out of this mess soon, so he felt the need to compensate. "Thanks and sorry about..." He waved vaguely in the direction of the crowd of panicked people, stopping when he realized the Canadian in him was trying to apologize for something he hadn't done. "Take care..."

That said, Sean hastily left the taxi, carefully weaving himself through the rest of the cars. The smoke and heat of the fire was rather odd with the morning rain, probably adding to the commotion. He paused when he reached a sidewalk, gathering his thoughts and deciding what to do. He had the strength to beat up bad guys but he knew others would be getting to that already. For his part...

He could feel the energy building in his hands as he raced forward, following the sound of a crying child. "Sh-sugar!" Beneath a toppled car he could barely see the leg of said child poking through an open window. A deep frown found its way on his face. Mother-effers who did this better pay! With that thought, he easily used his now enhanced strength to lift the car and set it straight, making sure the child was no longer in any danger.

"Where're your parents?" he quickly asked.

"I dunno..." The little girl whimpered as she wiped tears from her cheeks.

Staring at her, Sean could see himself in a completely different situations with a completely different girl. Not now Sean.... not... freaking... now. He shook his head before focusing on the girl once more. "Alright, I'll take you to a police officer, they'll get you to your parents, alright?" There was nothing more he could do, and hell if he was going to leave her here without anyone responsible to look after her. "Come on."

SoleStride · Nov 3, 2017

Araceli Elizondo Macías & Luke Estley

"I think you mean 'miss'." The annoyed voice cut across the street to the two men just on the other side. "It's: 'You have a nice ass, MISS. NOT Mami. Not baby. Not sugartits." Celi waved an arm at the two in aggravation, flipping the men off. "And proper grammar goes a long way. Have some class!" The girl had put on her New York accent just for this interaction, so she could yell at the guys who'd been ogling women from across the street and calling out which body parts they liked. "Pigs." She muttered, huffing out a breath and stopping off at a hotdog vendor on the street.

"Gimme three dogs with everything and a side of hot sauce." 'A side of hot sauce' was the code phrase for this cart which did not carry hot sauce for its "gourmet" frankfurters. The young woman slapped some bills down on the cart and took the three hot dogs she'd ordered, dripping with all kinds of sauces and relish. She unwrapped one, stuffing the food into her mouth and looking at the inside lining of the wrapper. On the inside written only: Bergen and Dudley with a little picture of a mushroom cloud surrounding the words.

"This guy gets me." With a smirk, Celi chowed down on her food and jogged toward the indicated streets, decreasing the gravitational pull on herself so she could run faster. The girl skidded to a stop as she rounded the corner of a building to see the mass destruction before her. "Oooooo!" Her wedge ankle boots hit the side of the building she'd turned as the girl took off running up the side at full speed, taking a bite of her last Oscar Meijer. When she was above the site of destruction, watching the gunfight below as some dude drove in on a motorcycle, the girl turned her back to the scene, her gravitational pull keeping her horizontal to the ground as she pulled her phone out and opened up Snapchat.

Araceli snapped a selfie with the chaos beneath her, her mouth full of hotdog and a thumbs up before sending it to one Mr. Luke Estley with the caption "Bergen & Dudley

". He'd be upset if she didn't at least let him know. She tucked the phone back into her pocket and descended the building wall, walking out behind some cops who were under fire and ducking behind their police car. She was still chewing on her food as she approached the cop car they were pinned behind and proceeded to lift one side of it off the ground, effectively giving the cops more room to stand and move.

She did this while groaning much too loudly and acting like she was struggling with all her might, but really, she'd just drastically decreased the gravitational force on the car until she could lift the side up and decided to put on a show for fun. The cops certainly looked freaked to see the small-framed female doing that sort of work, but probably just took her to have some sort of super-strength power and continued about their business. "Might want to let us handle the homies with guns. Looks like they've almost got it under control. Probably best to prepare search and rescue." She pushed the car off to the side and out of firing range, with the police officers scurrying behind it until they were in the clear.

The brunette girl pulled out a hair tie and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. She peeked back out to see only the motorcycle guy standing out there now, noting that his foes were down, but there were more PRIT agents arriving on the scene and more enemies popping out of the woodwork as they did. So she jogged on out and toward the destruction, tapping hiding citizens as she saw them and directing them away from the fighting in small groups. When all those capable of moving had made it to a safe distance, Celi went for the closest pile of debris, beginning her search for trapped citizens. While others were fighting the bad guys, whoever they may be this time, people were being crushed under debris from the explosion. For once, maybe she could help people instead of just beating people up. She wasn't very good at the actual medical care, but she could sure unbury someone in a jiffy, and without even putting weight on them by climbing on top of them.

"We're coming for ya. Let me know if anyone's there! Call out!"

Bzzt bzzt. bzzzzzzzt.

Irritated to hear his phone going off when he was less than five minutes away from meeting with his usual watchdog, Luke pulled over to the curb to answer it. Fishing the offending device out of his pocket, he was greeted by a snap from Celi that should have surprised him more than it did. Judging by the angle, she was halfway up a building where it looked like a full on war zone was underway. Muttering a soft profanity under his breath, he replied in chat. On my way. Try not to blow anything up before I get there. He pulled back into traffic and floored it to Bergen & Dudley - if the speed limit qualified as 'flooring it'. Meeting up with the watchdog would have to be foregone for today; he could get the newest location from Celi after the situation was under control.

When he pulled up to the curb a block and a half away, full fledged chaos was in progress.He slammed the car door and jogged down the street, scanning for Celi. He saw some guy in black and a motorcycle first, as well as a few vaguely familiar PRIT faces going toe-to-toe with other Powered. He spotted Celi digging away at a pile of debris, and started calculating the best way to reach her. This kind of situation was where he felt like joining PRIT may not have been in his best interest; he wasn't good at kicking butt or running headfirst into a firestorm - but he was good at scaring people, which translated to distracting people. Hopefully that would be enough to cover her.

Luke pressed his hand against the window of the building he was standing next to - Booker's Bergen Bakery - and melted into it. He moved at a run, no more than a blur of coloured movement visible to other's eyes. He jumped out of the mirror and landed on the pavement a few steps away from Celi, and shot her a look devoid of good humour.

"You called?"

"Look at this mess-I had NOTHING to do with it this time!" Celi shot a pointed glare at Luke, certain he'd make some comment which is why she rushed to get there first. He raised an eyebrow, but made not a peep of verbal judgement.

She was standing on a pile of debris, a leg sticking out from beneath the large chunks of building she was shifting over. She weighed next to nothing at the moment and her presence on top of the pile would be no more than that of a feather. The girl's eyes scanned the pile as she moved about, strategically picking piece by piece which chunk of debris to move next. Every time she touched a piece, it would slowly begin to move up and away from the pile.

"Move these to the side, will ya?" Her position was far too compromised to be able to move the pieces far enough to the side herself and she worried that something could happen if they were left just hovering above a trapped citizen. If she lost control for even a second, all the weight would come crashing back down all over again. Luke obliged without complaint, glancing over his shoulder to scan the area for any imminent threats before laying hand to stone and moving the offending chunk well out of the way.

Like always, the girl began to talk while working, and as she did Luke kept watch on their chaotic surroundings, moving in to assist her with moving pieces of rubble when it looked like she needed it. "So like… I was picking my way down Lugar Street yesterday, right?" 'Picking' - her term for scamming people out of money and possessions with slight of hand magic tricks. "And this hulking beast of a dude-" She stopped a moment to flex and puff out her chest to mime some bodybuilder before going back to work, prompting a momentary snigger from Luke, "-caught me dead in the middle of swiping some bozo's watch. And he was all like "Don't mess around, little girl!"-" Yes… she mimicked the voice… "And I was like 'Come at me, tiny! I'll crush you!' " Celi boxed at the air a few times to show Luke her 'mad skills'. Another piece of building hovered into the air and Celi pushed it in Luke's direction so he could move it aside. "So, I was showing him my mad skills by socking him in the face a few times. Dude just topples over like a deflated Weeble Wobble and the cops show up and I had to be like 'This man is a suspect in a case. He assaulted an officer - I had no choice but to knock him out.'" Again, with a different voice - professional and formal this time. "And I had to grab the fatass and drag him down the street to where I told the cops my car was parked." She shook her head, laughing to herself. "I just dropped him by some dumpster - I hope he smelled bad when he woke up."

Luke turned away from their excavation project to face the street again, a frown darkening his features. "I admire your ingenuity…." he trailed off momentarily, tracking a havoc-wreaker who momentarily veered in their direction - "But somehow I don't think using federal authority to circumvent the consequences of assault is any more legal than the assault itself." Despite the chiding edge of his tone, a bemused grin lingered as an indication of his approval. Even if in both practice and principle he disagreed with her actions, there was no justifiable condemnation for a story like that.

Meanwhile, Celi continued to dig, knowing that Luke would have her back if anything happened that she couldn't see. "Fine. And I was gonna get you a watch for your birthday." Finally, the last piece of rubble was removed and Celi stared down at the body beneath. He's breathing. The voice cut in and Celi responded out loud, but quietly. "Yeah..." Albeit, very shallowly, she thought. "We can't move him. Hey-" Celi tapped Luke on the shoulder, though it was more of a light shove. Slightly off balance, he turned quickly to steady himself and take stock of the injured civilian. Celi continued, suspecting his gaze for something it probably wasn't. "If you want to go fight, then you can go. It looks like more baddies are crawling out. Or maybe it'd be better to split up and dig people out - we might be able to save more that way." Luckily, more PRIT were showing up and taking on the appearing Chosen. "Or maybe I should go fight…" She muttered to herself, her fingers itching for the violence.

Luke shook his head emphatically, protesting the idea almost before Celi finished expressing it. "We should stick together….." he trailed off, balancing precariously on the rubble and scowling as he crouched over their newly unearthed victim. "Actually…. Go; I can handle getting this guy some help."

"Are you sure…?" Celi stared off into the remaining chaos as PRIT members fought. "Actually… there are probably more people buried." You need to fight. Celi's head twitched to the side as if looking for something. When she saw no one there, she turned her attention back to Luke. "No. There are more people to unbury." Celi jogged away from the downed citizen to find another pile of rock and metal so she could start the removal process all over again.

Applo · Nov 4, 2017

≋ Sarah Pendleton ≋

The sound of her phone rattling on her bedside table cut through the last whispers of Sarah's dream. Her eyelid were still too heavy with sleep to open so she groped blindly until her hand connected with the offending object and proceeded to launch it across her room, hearing it clatter of a wall and fall to the ground, it's buzzing now muffled by the carpet. Peace restored Sarah rolled over and tried in vain to drift back off to sleep. While she dearly wanted an extra hour or two in bed her body treacherously had other ideas. After a few minutes the urge to pee became too great to ignore and with a yawn Sarah dragged herself upright till she was sitting on the edge of her bed.

After a moment to to pinch the bridge of her nose Sarah opened her eyes and looked around her room. The debris of the night before and several other nights before littered the floor, she'd have to tidy up at some point she knew but it probably wouldn't happen until she couldn't find something important. As she padded across the room towards her en-suite she noticed that her phone was still competing against the sound of wind and rain but she ignored it. Whoever it was could wait till she was feeling a bit more human. Thirty minutes, a hot shower and a change of clothes later Sarah slipped into the kitchen and flicked on the radio before diving into the fridge for an iced coffee.

"This is channel 37 news. We have reports of a large explosion at Bergan and Dudley. Police and emergency responders are on the scene and from what we can gather this seems to be being dealt with as a terrorist incident. Information is thin on the ground at the moment but we've heard unconfirmed reports from survivors that powered individuals are responsible..."

"Shit!" Sarah's mind flashed to the discarded phone and she raced into the bedroom and flicked it open. "Oh really fucking shit!" The screen was filled with alert notifications from PRIT as well as a slew of missed calls and a painfully understated text message from Sean; he sounded like a fourteen year old trying to secretly organize a party in the woods for heaven's sake.

Less than five minutes after opening her phone Sarah felt the door of her building slide shut behind her. She hadn't need to grab much, only her keys, bike, shoes and a couple items she kept in the drawer next to her bed. The idea of hailing taxi hadn't crossed her mind. At this time in the morning they were normally pretty busy and besides in this city, for someone who kept in shape a bike was probably faster anyway. For someone with their own personal supply of oxygen it was definitely faster.

Sarah knew she was near the site of the attack from the sea of people standing around with their phones out and the fleet of press vehicles. Admittedly the plumes of thick, heavy smoke were also a dead give away. The first person who tried to stop her from crossing the police cordon got a PRIT ID shoved half an inch from their nose, a bicycle thrust into their arms and an explicit run down of exactly what would transpire if they lost said bicycle. After that Sarah conformed to the millennial stereotype by pulling out her phone and opening up every social media account she had. It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for. Sarah smiled. People were wonderfully predictable sometimes.

Five minutes later Sarah was hunched behind a burnt out car watching a fight taking place a little further down the street. She didn't intervene because A: the PRIT agents she was watching seemed to have things in hand and B: because her target was what remained of a doorway halfway between herself and the fight. She was waiting for the natural flow of the battle to move the combatants in such a way the as few people as possible would see her make her dash for the building. What she was about to do was going to be hard enough without some terrorist twatbag waving a gun in her face. Still she couldn't wait to long, the ever growing cloud of smoke streaming from the building was proof of that and the next time the battle shifted so that the terrorist had their backs to her she decided to chance it.

Once inside Sarah didn't stop, charging up the stairwell till she reached the fourth floor. She could feel heat now and sweat started to bead on her forehead. Carefully she rested the back of her hand against the door that exited the stairwell on this floor. It was warm but not burning hot and so cautiously she pushed it open a crack and peeked into the corridor beyond. Flames were licking their way along the walls and a thick acrid smoke filled choked the air. Closing the door Sarah pulled out her phone and sent a message and less than thirty seconds later she could hear muffled thumping and banging coming from the hallway. Without wasting anymore time Sarah stepped into the corridor, pulled her hoodie up over her face and advanced towards the frantic noises.

The flames flickered and died at her approach and while the fire sprung back to life behind her the floor and walls around Sarah were a cool grey colour. The door from behind which the banging and thumping was coming had been weaken by the fire and what had been meant as a gentle kick caused the burnt wood to splinter and give. From inside the smoke filled room five faces looked up at Sarah in confused motionlessness.

"Come on!" she whispered while hurriedly motioning for them to follow her. Vacuums had always been harder for her to maintain and one large enough to choke the fires in this corridor was a real strain. The journey back to the stairwell was much quicker. With the civilians following right on her heels, Sarah ran back along the length of the corridor and heaved open the metal fire door, letting the civilians pile through before smartly pulling it closed behind her.

"FUCKING FREEZE!"

Turning, Sarah found herself staring along the barrel of a gun into a pair of demented eyes surrounded by a ski mask. On the landing between the third and fourth floors stood a heavy set man pointing a pistol at the group. Slowly Sarah took a step down the stairway, putting herself between the gun and the people she had just rescued.

"Easy with that thing ok, no one needs to get hurt here." Sarah heard a quiet little grunt from behind her and more importantly she saw the man with the gun wince. Now it was just a matter of playing for time.

"Why don't you put that thing away and get the fuck out of here, you haven't done anything really stupid yet and I'm sure none of them could pick you out." As she spoke she swept her arm backwards towards the people she had just rescued before letting her hand come to rest in the back pocket of her jeans.

"Shut the fuck up limey and stay fucking still" spit flew from the man's mouth as he shouted though the gun stayed unnervingly still. "Are you fucking powered?"

"What?" Sarah feigned genuine surprise at the question in attempt to drag out the conversation. As long as the bastard was talking he wasn't filling her with lead.

"I said are you fucking powered, it's a simple fucking question. Do you have powers, yes or fucking no?" The gunman's eyes were starting to look glazed and unfocused but he was keeping the gun still and level.

"What would make you think that"

"I saw your ass run in here and you don't look like no damn cop so you must be one of those PRIT rejecters."

"And so what if I am, what difference does the make to you?"

"It means I kill you first bitch, the only thing worse than a normal is a fucking rejecter."

Sarah felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. The conversation had very definitely reached an end and unless something happened soon so had she. Part of her mind began to wonder how much getting shot was going to hurt.

"GET ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES TRAITOR!"

"SCREW YOU!" There was no way in hell in Sarah's mind that she was going to die on her knees begging for her life.

"I FUCKING SAID GET ON YOUR KNEES BITCH!"

That was when the thing Sarah had been waiting for finally, the barrel of the gun dropped as the fog that was enveloping the man's mind finally had an effect. Sarah didn't hesitate, the tension in her legs unwound in one go launching her into the air. The man's reactions, dulled from the pressure, were too slow to bring the barrel of his gun up before Sarah crashed into him, the momentum slamming them into the wall. Before anything else could happen a steel tipped fist smashed into the side of the gunman's head and he went limp.

"Bastard" Sarah spat, slipping the knuckle dusters off her fingers and massaging her hand as she stood up. "Has anyone got a belt or something?" When there no answer Sarah looked up the stairs and saw five pairs of bleary eyes staring back at her.

"Oh right" she mumbled letting the pressure begin to dissipate. "You'll be fine in a minute." After that Sarah set to securing the gunman, she needed to be doing something right now and not letting her brain wonder on what might of been. Once that was done she grabbed the gun and shoved it the waistband of her jeans and then looked back up at the civilians. They still looked groggy but there was comprehension behind their eyes now.

"Feeling better? Good! Let's get the hell out of here."

Squee · Nov 6, 2017

Traffic among the streets of the city was nothing beyond the ordinary, Michael Hansen drank from a thermos filled with a hot, brown, and still fresh brewed liquid. It was hard to go throughout a day without a little caffeine to kick his ass in gear. While it was by no means necessary for PRIT operatives to patrol, Michael had made a habit of taking the long way around just to get a good look at the city. Terrorists certainly would not be so generous as to attack when it was convenient, so it was best to always be ready. Driving around in his Ford Edge he'd been issued by PRIT, the roads seemed calm. At least, as calm as city raods could be.

The radio on his console played some old light rock from over 20 years ago, something he'd listened to a lot of in college, a bit of music he'd call classic. It wasn't that he disliked new music, it was that when he'd listen to anything from his younger days it would fill him with memories, both good and bad. Today, however, the music that played at a rather comfortable volume faded slightly as a gentle chime rang over it. Glancing at the touch-screen display, he saw a brief message sent to him from another PRIT operative, though no name was given, just an unrecognized phone number, and likely one he'd not see again.

"Bergen and Dudley. Bring arms."

Immediately, Michael's palms began to clam up. These calls were never good, they always made him very nervous. Not only were these messages the confirmation of PRIT's necessity in whatever location was listed, but whenever asked to bring arms it meant by the time Michael even got there, it would be too late to save everyone. When he was new to PRIT he'd only feel the danger after he'd left the scene, only then realizing just how dangerous his job was. Now, however, he knew exactly how deadly what he was doing was, he'd seen so much but knew he'd never be able to see it all.

"This job's gonna kill me," he muttered to himself. Reaching for the console, rather than closing the message, he hit a little box in the upper left-hand corner. Immediately the music stopped and from every window of his car came flashing lights of red and blue, the universal sign of an emergency vehicle and the accompanying siren to bring attention to himself. There was no indication that this was a PRIT car, it could have just as well been an undercover police car, but Michael immediately changing direction to go towards Burgen and Dudley might have given him away to anyone who knew what was happening.

Driving was easy, especially if you could do what Michael could do. Pushing the gas pedal to the floor would make it hard for normal people to react to everything, but Michael had the wonderful ability to slow down. No, time wouldn't slow, but the way he processed information sped up so as to make it easier to respond to obstacles in the road. Dodge the taxi, careful for that driver too busy texting for him to notice he nearly cut you off, the lights are about to change, check if everyone stopped for you.

At best it should have taken 6 minutes to get to his destination, but checking the time Michael assumed perhaps he'd been a little slow as he noticed it had been 9 minutes. It was hard to keep track of time when everything, including yourself, slowed down to a snails pace.

Pulling in and coming to a stop too gentle to befit the situation, Michael calmly opened his glove box and grabbed 2 guns, one of which was a revolver, particularly a model 500 and the other a Smith & Wesson M&P40 Shield. The M&P40 was for more of a self defense weapon, while it was one of the best concealable guns on the market, it wasn't exactly a long range handgun. The model 500, however, that's when things were serious.

Stepping out of his car, Michael gave the police officers making sure no civilians walked through a nod and held up his badge. "Officers," he greeted as they let him pass, giving him a strange look. Buildings had fallen where he now was, civilians being escorted, most injured and nearly all of them coughing from inhaling the debris. Michael also seemed to let out a little cough after inhaling powdered stone from the air, covering his mouth and nose with a small bit of fabric popping up near the collar of his jacket.

Just like that, everything began to slow down. Analyzing the situation, Michael could see the fire department doing their best to snuff the flames that burnt the landscape, police officers were focusing on escorting people to safety, medics were both bringing people into ambulances and helping the people that were pinned. This scene was disastrous for sure, but it wasn't Michaels job to mourn over the dead, but rather to make sure there weren't any dead to mourn. In the distance he could hear gunfire and what was possibly a powered slinging abilities to and fro.

For now, it was decided that Michael would go deeper into the danger, he wasn't paid to gawk. Still, while jaunting over ruble it was very clear he had been a bit late. There were many other PRIT operatives here, and so Michaels first task in his head was to group up. Strength in numbers was always reliable, and some of these kids he'd worked with didn't have the field experience to know what he does.

firejay1 · Nov 7, 2017

Yoru had been speeding around the city on his relatively new, foldable motorized skateboard. Running everywhere before had been slow and a pain, taxis cost money his shitty salary didn't really cover, and public transportation usually stopped working at the precise time he needed it to. Yes, this was nice. He had an earbud in one ear connected to his main luxury item - a smart phone currently blasting Dream On by Aerosmith and poking out of a pocket in the black backpack swung over one shoulder. A belt was slung around his hips, unconnected to the black plants he was wearing. Instead, a police radio and a katana secured with a slipknot hung from the belt, turning it into a makeshift tool-belt of sorts, Yoru-style. He had contacted one of the Bouncers earlier today and gotten the new location, but honestly days like this were boring. He stayed home, ate when he felt like it, practiced Iaido by himself. Nothing interesting was going on besides the occasional Incident that cropped up in the police radio. He didn't pay too much attention to the chatter, most of the time, since most of them were false alarms. There were times when it was useful, however....

Noise crackled through the police radio. An explosion. Dispatch such and such. They needed back up at the intersection of Dudley and Bergen. Reports of Powereds in the area, exercise maximum caution and wait for PRIT. The notification ping that interrupted his music was more than enough confirmation for him. Finally, something to do. Yoru swung his skateboard around so quickly he almost crashed into someone. Ignoring the swears he left behind him, he barreled down the street towards the source of the trouble.

When he arrived, the trouble was evident. The explosions looked mostly over, but people were running around like frightened ants. A little girl tripped over right next to him and someone else running away carelessly looked like he was headed for her. Without pausing to think about it, Yoru hopped off his skateboard and kicked the man in the stomach with all his might. "Watch where the fuck you're going, fucktard." He snapped, before folding up his skateboard properly and stowing it hastily in his backpack. "Get up, you shitty pipsqueak." The girl looked even more like she was going to cry. No wonder, really. His weapon was in plain view, and he must have made a sight with his dark clothing and single earring, and the bar gag hanging around his neck. He snorted and turned his back on both of them, taking the rest of the way on foot.

The closer he got to the heart of the action, the slower he went, as there were more people who needed taking care of. He picked up people who had fallen, transferred smaller bruises and scrapes to himself, and moved the ones for whom it was too late. He couldn't afford to be trying to heal the really terrible fatal wounds right now, and those with a little more time needed to be taken to the first-responders as soon as possible. He had just made it to one of the ambulances with a bad patient in tow, when a machine gun spray had him dropping to the floor, patient sprawling on top of him. "Shit." The Japanese boy crawled over to the nearest person and shoved the patient on top of one of the first responders. "Get her in the fucking car and drive, I can handle whoever this asshole is." The stunned man seemed about to protest, but someone else apparently recognized Yoru and left it to him.

Yoru shot upwards. "HEY DICKWEED." He held up his PRIT identification and waved it wildly in the general direction of the shooter, running away from the ambulance as he did so. "COCK-LICKING SON OF A BITCH, COME AND GET A PIECE OF PRIT IF YOU THINK YOU CAN, NORMIE." He had only been PRIT for a couple of years, but it had been evident almost as soon as PRIT came into being that Powered criminals hated them. To his surprise, however, no shots came after him. Not at first, anyways. Yoru stopped, realizing he was surrounded by about six people dressed identically in hoodies, scarves covering their mouths. He loosed the slip knot that held his sheathed katana in place. He held it loosely in both hands, turning his head this way and that to have a good view of all six guys. A little too identical, these people... maybe a Powered with the ability to create clones or illusions of them at least. What a fucking waste of his fucking time. "Kakattekoiya." (Come and get me.) He muttered. Simultaneously, all six figures raised a gun and aimed it at him. A bullet sent fire exploding through his leg before he had a chance to react. He fell to one knee, gritting his teeth against the pain and glaring up at the men as they all came towards him at the same time, almost curiously not firing. It was like he was planning to capture Yoru or something. What an amateur. This looked to be a slow, boring fight.

Likely puzzling the man, he closed his eyes and began to turn slowly, blood making a little circle as hepainfully turned. There were some advantages to the limitations of his powers. He couldn't transfer wounds to an apparition. So... Yoru turned to one and blasted the real man with his power, instantly switching his leg's condition with this Powered's. Howling, the terrorist fell, dropping his gun. Before he could recover, Yoru sent his foot flying into the man's face repeatedly. If the guy got up from that, it was going to be as a zombie, as his power told him the man's head had nearly been bashed in.

Unfortunately, or perhaps it was fortunately, the guy wasn't alone. More Powered opponents cropped up as he ran around, seeming to target him because of his confrontational attitude. He got a stab in the gut from a Powered who seemed to have some minimal teleportation abilities (who had almost fucking broke his new skateboard, too, fuck; he was going to come back and defile the man's corpse if he found a scratch on it later), and a thoroughly crushed left arm and ribs for his trouble against a hulk-like man who could change bits of his body to stone. Fuckers didn't really seem to like it when their own inflicted wounds got returned back to them. "Ah shit, FUCKING UZZAI." (annoying) He had attempted to heal someone too critical to move who still had hope. Said patient had been impaled right through the chest by a thick piece of the structure it had taken him forever to pull out of the almost-dead guy, and now a hopefully non-Powered terrorist was charging him with what looked to be a home-made shiv. "UZZAI UZZAI UZZAI." He yelled, as he hit the man hard in the chest with the butt of his katana. His fingers reached out, and he gripped the man's skull as he transferred the fatal wound to this troublemaker.

Most Powereds were on the rescue or fight path, his job was to heal AND fight at the same time. No one fucking appreciated what he did to maintain order in this hellhole.

Shavynel · Nov 8, 2017

"There was an explosion!? Honey, are you alright? Where are you?"

Riley pulled her head out of her towel, hair still wet from the laps in the pool and then the shower afterwards. Usually, she tried to avoid overhearing locker room conversations, but life had sort of changed since joining PRIT. For a couple years after the criminal activity had picked up in the area, she'd have taken explosions as a sign to stay away from the place, but now it was sort of her job to respond to the odd happenings.

"I knew that area wasn't safe. Get out of there, okay? Don't be a hero. You just be safe. I need you to get out of there, baby. No, no, no! Stay on the line!"

Well, nothing like an awkward locker room introduction to start off the day, right? Riley slipped on the rest of her clothes -- protective vest, collared shirt with buttons undone, suit jacket, tie slung around her neck -- before popping over into the next row. She felt like a mess.

"Miss, hi, um..." Riley colored slightly, averting her gaze once she saw she had captured the other woman's attention. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," she apologized to locker 304, making her hands busy buttoning her shirt and knotting her tie. "Where um, did your, um, where'd they say the explosion was at?"

"Dudley. Dudley and Bergen."

Riley nodded. That wasn't even that far from here. Here being the closest gym with a pool to Jimmy's stand, from whom she'd gotten the location of the next base just before heading in for her morning swim. "Thanks, miss. I--" Riley cut off, turning back around to the woman who had grabbed her forearm for a split second before looking away again, and then back. Caught between compassion and propriety was not a place Riley enjoyed being.

"Oh my god, is she going to be okay? I hope she's going to be okay. Those Powered scum..."

Powered? Then she really ought to be going. "Yes, um, I'll make sure she's okay. I'm with --" Although, perhaps she shouldn't mention she was with PRIT seeing as the woman had sort of lumped all Powered people together, which was exactly the sort of thing that would normally cause Riley to go off on a bit of a rant, but there was an explosion and Powered scum, as the woman had said, to deal with. "I'm with the law," she announced instead, "I'll go check it out. You should probably stay in the building." Even if they were close, if they hadn't been hit yet, they probably wouldn't. With Jimmy's stand so close, there had to be a couple more agents just accidentally in the area already.

Riley extricated herself and dashed away. First up, though, she had to grab her firearms from the safe in the office, which was also locked, behind the front desk, which she wasn't supposed to go behind unescorted. The gym management hadn't exactly been happy about her bringing guns into the facilities at all, but at least they'd come up with this solution. Maybe this would convince them having her firearms with her at all times was necessary.

"Hi, can you let me into the office?" she requested of the desk attendant, and when she realized she'd interrupted an old man trying to get a day pass, she hastily added, "My apologies. Please, there's an emergency down the street." This was awful. She hated being impatient. She hated being impolite. But more than anything, she hated being irresponsible, and she had a job to do. Why had she taken this job?

The desk attendant, thankfully, seemed to get her hurry and practically lept out of his seat. Shooting the old man another guilty smile of gratitude, Riley slipped into the now open office, dialed in the code, grabbed her equipment, and darted back out again.

"Sorry, sir, about that," she apologized once more to the old man, and then to the attendant added, "Please let this man in on one of my guest passes!" It was really the least she could do having made him wait. Seconds later found Riley out on the street, running toward Dudley and Bergen, pulling out extra gear -- arm guards, shin guards, gloves -- from her bag and strapping it on as she went. It really was a hassle to have to lug that much gear with her, but this wasn't the first time she had found it useful to have it on hand. And she knew better than to hope she could get away without it in a fight.

She hadn't even gotten to Dudley and Bergen before she hit trouble in the form of a couldn't be out of highschool girl with a knife in one hand and a ball of green flames ready to throw in the other, screaming, "Stop!"

Riley did, unfortunately unarmed since she hadn't expected to run into complications this far from the site. She'd thrown up her hands instead as if they could act as a shield against thrown fire, that same way people held their hands out as if it could stay off rabid dogs. True, the gloves she had donned were fireproof amongst other properties, but green flames suggested chemicals. And as fond as she was of chemistry, she prefered her chemical fires stay in the lab. Not to mention, the girl could be burning copper, boron, molybdenum, tellurium, any number of things, and most of the toxic. As if burning weren't enough.

"Turn around."

This, though, Riley did not comply with. She wasn't about to show her back. "Who are you with?" she inquired instead, gentle. This wasn't an interrogation, but a conversation, or so Riley hoped. And even if it came down to interrogation, Riley wasn't sure anyone would actually be intimidated enough by her to give up answers.

The teen returned a smug look, drawing herself up another inch. "We're the Chosen. The Chosen Few."

Riley raised an eyebrow. "And they stationed you out here?" She'd read every scrap of information about every group she could get her hands on. They didn't usually issue warnings, didn't usually have scouts or a perimeter -- not this far out anyway -- and they didn't have very many women.

The girl faltered slightly, face slipping just a second. "I'm better than you."

"Yeah," Riley agreed wholeheartedly, "Yes, you are." A little bit of flatter never hurt anyone. She took the opportunity to inch closer. "And that means you can make a difference. Do so much more than stand out here."

"You're a no one. I've been chosen! You better stop there."

Riley paused again, reassessing. Still too far out to make her move. "You're out here, which means they didn't trust you enough to be in there. You want trust? You want to be in the fight? Come with me."

"I don't have to listen to you."

"They've never given you the chance to really shine," Riley was guessing, but looking at the girl's reaction, she had hit near enough to the mark. "Never given you anything real to do. I know you're more than that. I know there's more you can do, more than me, because, you said it, you're better than me."

The flame fizzled. "You better not forget it."

Riley breathed, not quite believing what she had said had worked. Getting threatened by kids was never going to get easier for her. Working with kids was also a bit strange, to be honest, but the ones threatening, the ones she worked with ... It was true. They had something she didn't. And as far as she knew, the best way to even have a chance of having them listen was to respect them like they were adults. Riley reached out a hand to shake, "I promise you. I won't," though really, she meant to get herself close enough to cuff the girl, bag the teen's hands so there was no chance of throwing fire.

The girl grasped her hand, solidly, returning the promise, and in that instant, Riley changed her mind. This girl was looking for someone who trusted her. It was a risk, leaving the teen with the ability to do as she pleased, but Riley had only been threatened, not attacked.

"They're still going to have to take you down to the police station. They'll ask you what you know, but I'll make sure they know what you can do." Riley glanced to the side, having caught a glimpse of something else burning green beside her. It was overturned trash, spilling out of a trashcan, but beside it was a moaning figure. She gritted her teeth, hating the fact she couldn't just deal with that, too. Her hands were currently full with a rather delicate issue, one that had a high potential of becoming worse. Talking about which -- Riley darted a glance at the girl, who'd stepped back a bit, hands rising and ready for conflict over this new scrap of information. "If anyone comes at us, you know," Riley continued, still conversational, like there wasn't a threat shoved up in her face, "I'm going to need your help." And that seemed to direct the girl's attention forward again.

"Yeah."

"Yeah," Riley breathed.

Spekkun · Nov 8, 2017

"Please stand clear of the doors as they close, and remember to keep all personal belongings near you for your safety, and thank you for choosing AMTRAK for your transportation needs!"

"You're welcome." Donut quietly replied as the train doors slid shut and the train slowly pulled away from the station, resuming its commute. Even though the woman on the intercom couldn't hear him, he would always reply, it was something he found to be funny, like pretending someone in a film was talking to you instead of another character within the film. Of course, he always whispered it lest the other people in the car think of him as crazy. There were enough horror stories about mentally-ill people getting on trains and attacking its passengers to last a lifetime and then some. Thankfully, he hadn't met any unhinged people yet, and he hoped it stayed that way.

Normally he would take a cab or a bus, but because of the distance he had to go to meet his Bouncer he opted for the train; it was much cheaper than a long-distance cab ride and much easier than taking multiple buses. He could spend more time reading a book or watching a film on his cell phone and less time looking out for his next stop or eying the meter. But this time around he was just watching the buildings and people outside whiz past.

"Hey, kid." An old man sitting across from his called out to Donut. He didn't get a response the first time; Donut was too busy moving his fingers along the buildings and wires, pretending as if someone was running and jumping along the constructs. "Hey, kid!" This time he got Donut's full attention. "What made ya dye your hair like that?" He asked, hand motioning to Donut's hair. "It's weird." The man's clothes were torn in some places and dirty in others, and he couldn't seem to stay sitting upright no matter how much he fixed his posture. His words were slurred but not past the point of understanding.

"Oh uh…Hi." Donut put his hand in his hair, a little self-conscious. "I didn't dye it." He was used to getting questions like that. Pink was by far an unnatural hair color and, as far as Donut knew, wasn't a popular color choice for hair dye. "It's natural…kind of. I didn't dye it; it just happened one day." It was a sheepish answer, but the truth nonetheless.

"Well it's weird, and I don't like it." The man grunted, slumping slightly in his seat. "The whole world don' went and got weird. A giant monster showing up and no one knowin' nothin' about it, people running around with powers, it's all weird and dangerous." Donut listened as the man ranted, scratching his head. Was his hair actually being used as a segue into this kind of conversation? With a stranger on top of that? To Donut, the man was rude, plain and simple. But from his posture and slurred speech he assumed it was because the man had a bit too much to drink. "It just ain't right, ya know?" The man continued, pausing to burp and then yawn. "People should just be normal. No powers, no monsters, just normal. It ain't right, it ain't natural, ya know? It ain't what God intended."

"Well…I don't know about natural or right or anything like that," Donut started, treading carefully, "But it had to have happened for a reason, right? Nobody asked for powers. At least…not expecting to get them." He chuckled. The subject was a sensitive one. You heard the same statements all the time on the Television, radio and even on the streets. A lot of people seemed to hate the idea of others having powers, whether it be "unnatural" or just a fear of a shift in power to those who had actual power. But Donut knew it was just fear, people were just afraid of what they didn't understand, and almost no one understood how those with powers got those powers. "It's something that happened, and we all just have to…see it through I guess."

"Yeah, deal with it." The man snorted, crossing his arms. "Well, it ain't gonna go well. You already got people ruinin' the world with their newfound power. They don't answer to no one. Not the police, not the government and not no' PRIT." The train shook suddenly, and the man almost fell over in his seat, holding on to the edge of his seat to stay upright. "Damn train driver…" The man grumbled, shaking his head. "Swear they tryna' kill an old man. They' lucky I can barely walk. Had too much to drink, otherwise, I'd be drivin' home. "

"I think its automated." Donut laughed a little, choosing not to continue the previous conversation. Maybe if he didn't say anything the man wouldn't continue the discussion? It was a conversation that made him uncomfortable, especially considering that he was one of said powered individuals. He was just about to go back to pretending a man was running on the lines when the train shook again, this time far more violently. The tremor threw him, the old man, and other people from their seats. Even some people standing and holding on to the poles were thrown to the floor. The train came to a sudden and screeching halt, throwing its passengers around once again.

"Please remain calm and stay in your seats. We will be making an emergency stop. We will keep you informed of the situation."

"What's going on?"

"Is there a service issue? I'm already late as it is!"

"There's a fire outside!"

"Terrorist attack!"

"I'm calling 911!"

As the passengers picked themselves up and panic began to settle in, Donut stood up and immediately looked out the window. "Oh…" He was glad he had the sensibility to keep somewhat quiet. The destroyed buildings, flipped cars and fire raging in the streets almost sent him into a panic. Almost. He didn't know if it was the work of anyone powered or not; he just knew he had to get in there and at least do clean up. "Alright everybody, stay here and stay calm. Don't panic. But do call 911." He spoke up, flashing his badge. He wasn't sure if that would make the panic worse or not, but it at least gave some weight to his words. "Don't leave the train though."

Donut approached the doors, pausing before them when they didn't open. Of course, they wouldn't, the operator just declared an emergency. Luckily the train was mostly metal. For Donut, opening the locked door was as simple as waving his hand. As his hand moved to the side, the door slid open and he stepped outside.

It didn't take long for Donut to find out why the train stopped. Whatever caused the destruction, probably a bomb, had ruined the rails, meaning the train couldn't move anymore. That explained why the operator wasn't reversing, but that also meant that he might have to start herding the people out and away on foot if the situation got any worse. "Hey..!" Donut turned around, seeing the old man from before step outside of the train. "I knew you was' weird! I knew it! No wonder you were defendin' those powered folks!" He approached Donut, wobbling with every step he took. Either he hit his head, or Donut's previous assumption that he had been drinking was right.

Donut made a face inwardly; he probably should have closed the door behind him. It wouldn't be long before more people would filter out of the train. "Uh, sir could you please go back inside? I don't know if its safe for you to be out here right now." Oh how he wished he had a more commanding voice, then this guy probably would have stayed on the train. A badge could only do so much apparently.

"Oh my god!" The old man cried out, suddenly becoming aware of his surroundings. "It really was a terrorist attack!" He could only see so much from the train windows but now that he was outside he could see just how bad it was. It was enough to clear his head if only a little.

"Don't panic, I'll do my best to make sure everybody gets home okay." Donut told the man, flashing a reassuring smile. "For now, I need you to go back in the train and wait until some more help comes." If he wasn't preoccupied with the man before him, he might have heard the footsteps behind him.

"Light em' up!" Donut whirled around in time to see three armed men, rifles aimed directly at him and the old man. The muzzles of their guns flashed, and a barrage of bullets flew through the air. It was overkill, the amount of lead they sprayed for just two people, but if they were willing to set off a bomb, then it apparently didn't matter how many shots they fired. They just wanted bodies.

Thankfully, the call for the squad to start shooting and the distance between them and their targets gave Donut enough time to react. As if by instinct, he held both his hands in front of him and spread them apart. It wasn't visible, but he was creating an electromagnetic field between and around his hands. It wasn't as big as he wanted it to be, he didn't have the time to expand it, but it would suffice. He didn't have to catch the bullets; bullets were made from lead and lead was a diatomic element. So the moment the bullets hit the field they were repelled and deflected away from him and the man. Some rounds ricocheted off the train, causing the passengers inside to scream, while others were sent back where they came from, ripping through shooters.

Only when the shooting stopped and the last body hit the ground did Donut drop the barrier. It was an indication that the threat was over, but it wasn't a guarantee either, he had to make sure they wouldn't be getting up and taking any more surprise shots at him. He took a few steps towards the bodies, keeping some distance between him and them. The sight of dead bodies made him feel sick, but it came with the job He didn't have to look for long though, the bodies were riddled with bullet holes through the chest, arms and even the head.

"Hhngh..." Donut was so busy performing his semi-autopsy that he had forgotten about the old man. The man was sitting on his butt, holding his shoulder. Blood dripped down his arm and over his hand, staining the skin crimson. "They shot me man..." He stated the obvious, rocking back and forth. "It hurts...I can't move my arm..."

"Sorry!" Donut apologized immediately, moving to the man's side. "I got as much as I could, but I guess some slipped past." He looked to the train as he knelt down to check the man's wound. There were a couple of dings on the train, but it didn't look like any of the bullets pierced through the metal chassis despite how thin it was. Even if they didn't hit the magnetic field he had created it still should have changed the trajectory a little bit, which would explain why there were only dings and not holes. "Stay still, please. I need to see if the bullet passed through." He didn't have to look directly at the wound, just the arm in general. He blinked once, twice and finally a third time, his vision changing with each blink. On the third time, he finally found the wavelength he was looking for: x-rays. "It went through but it...it shattered bone."

"It hurts..." The old man groaned, rocking back and forth. "Get me help, get me help! I need an ambulance!" He almost fell over backward, but Donut caught him, wrapping an arm around his back and placing the man's good arm around his shoulders. As he hoisted him up and walked him back to the train, he thought that it was a good thing the man had been drinking, otherwise, the pain would be a lot worse. He might have even gone into shock and died.

"Here ya go..." Once they were on the train, Donut lowered the man onto a chair. "Just hang on, help will be on the way." He patted his shoulder before tearing a piece of his sleeve off. "I'm just gonna use this to stop the bleeding." He warned the man before gently moving the hand covering the wound and wrapping the fabric around it, tying it tightly. "There you go. That should tide you over until the paramedics can do more."

The old man stared at Donut, the only sounds leaving him were a couple of pained groans. "I guess even a weirdo is good for somethin'..." He muttered before looking away and burping slightly.

It wasn't a thank you, but Donut would take it. It wasn't like he was looking for one anyway. It made him want to laugh a little, to be honest. He may have been stuck and shot at, but that wasn't enough to keep the old man's political opinion at bay. He looked from the old man to the other passengers. "Alright...did anyone call 911?"

"I-I did before you left." A woman spoke up, raising her hand from the crowd of people. "They're on their way but..." She paused before launching into her questions. "Who was shooting at us? Why were they? Are we gonna be okay?" Her questions prompted the whole crowd of people to ask their own, and the cacophony was almost too much for Donut to handle.

"Look, look, you'll all be okay! I'm not gonna leave until some help comes!" Donut assured them, heading back towards the train door. "I don't know why they were shooting at us," Well, he had an idea, but he didn't need the people to panic more than they already were, "I just know that they were. I took care of those guys, but there'll be more I'm sure. Just...please, stay inside." With that, he backed out the train door.

It was funny in a morbid kind of way. He went from having a pleasant train ride to an attack on the public in the blink of an eye. "The world works in mysterious ways Donut; the world works in mysterious ways." He shook his head before looking around. He got lucky last time but this time, he would have to be more alert. Maybe it was better to be more proactive than reactive, so he decided to have a look around for any more would-be assailants.

He took one step forward but stopped midstep, "Ah wait!" He turned around and, with a wave of his hand, the train door slammed shut behind him.

"Alright...time to get to work."

Rae · Nov 8, 2017

Damn. What the hell happened?

Ari groaned against her the ridiculous silk of her pillowcase, her head pounding as she opened her eyes into slits. Glancing at the lump of a naked man lying next to her, she muttered obscenities about life, hangovers, and terrible sex. The alcohol-induced adventures of the night before came back to her in a rush of fractured images, and she scowled at the nearly empty whiskey bottle on her nightstand. That shit had been expensive; had she really let this no-name bastard partake in her stash? Damn, he must have really laid his "great qualities" on the thick.

Heaving a sigh, she crawled out of the sheets, dressing quickly before snatching up her ever-ready bottle of tylenol. As she downed the pills, the "sleeping prince" finally deigned to wake from his slumber. His scruffy good looks were to die for...but that was all he was good for. She shook her head in pity as he tried his best to give her a sexy smile. "Just get the fuck out of here, man." His smile fell instantly. "But...but why? We had a great time last night!"

"Get out." she repeated, her irritation spiking. She hated it when they tried to talk their way back into her pants. He just kept on babbling, moving at a snail's pace as he picked up his own clothes and dressed himself as sexily as possible. She wasn't fooled anymore. "Get your ass out!" she finally snapped, lightning striking in time with her words. They both jumped, as Ari had been too hungover to realize that it was a gloriously rainy day.

The poor man finally ran for it then, getting the hint that he was way in over his head. Ari cursed under her breath, downing two glasses of water before finally checking the incessant alerts on her phone. She'd have checked them earlier if it weren't for that damn idiot.

Situation on Dudley and Bergen. Looks like good weather.

"Shit! That's the last time I fuck a pretty face!" Who was she kidding? Artemis Smith had two weaknesses: good whiskey and good-looking men. Too bad the sex was only a fifty-fifty chance of being good. Grabbing her keys, she practically sprinted to her building's parking garage, not even bothering to wait for the elevator. Because she had money to burn, Ari had bought herself a Corvette only a couple years before. It was her baby, and it certainly caught attention whenever she arrived on-scene. Besides, the car was damn fast when it needed to be.

Racing down the streets (and relying on pure stupid experiences to get through traffic), she made it to the scene of terror in record time. Alas, she was still one of the last ones there. "Damn. This doesn't look too good." Blinking rain water out of her eyes, she looked to the skies, smiling at the sheer luck at having a rainy day. Forced to park a block down the street, she raced towards where the police were halting the stupidly curious citizenry. Flashing her badge, Ari raced towards the worst of the fires. Piece of cake.

Shaking her hands first for some damn reason (really just a force of habit), she focused on the minor storm above their heads, feeling its power building at her behest. A smirk drew up the corner of her lips as the rain began to pound the streets, and torrential winds began to beat against the buildings. She frowned, holding out one hand as if to tell the winds to hold back. The last thing they needed was for the burning buildings to collapse. Nevertheless, she used the wind to direct the rain towards the fires inside the buildings, using the holes in windows and walls to her advantage. Within minutes, the fires were nearly extinguished. Ari couldn't help it; she laughed in triumph.

Shit. Pain seared through her shoulder as a bullet cut clear through it. She turned, glaring at the bastard who had finally figured out what Ari was doing. He aimed again, determined not to miss her head this time. He didn't get the chance. With a snap of her fingers, lightning connected with the ground, right at the spot where the terrorist stood. He screamed as white hot agony tore through him, stopping his heart almost instantly. Other terrorists turned, some angry and others fearful. After all, it's not everyday you see someone electrocuted with lightning--even among crazy Powered people. Gripping her shoulder with one hand, she hid behind one of the abandoned vehicles, the blood loss (and the damn hangover) making it difficult to produce more lightning. She counted. Three more of the bastards. She could probably manage to kill two of them, but that still left the third.

Fuck. So this is why the bastards at the base always tell me to bring a gun just in case.

Psycho Of Ireland · Nov 9, 2017

Tore walked down the streets as he whistled away a jaunty tune, he had just spend a good few hours busking on the sidewalks of the city. Sure to some it might seem rather weird but like he always wanted he was letting people hear his music, As he continued to walk his phone went off. Reaching into his pocket he saw that he had a few messages from PRIT, apparently there was a terrorist attack going on. ''Bhuel tá an cac bhuail an lucht leanúna(1)'' he snarled out as he secured the guitar he carried onto his back and started to run down the road.

As he dashed along the sidewalks and weaved in and out of the many people who gave him strange looks he checked his phone again. 'Where was it as again?,Dudley and bergan? wonder if there is going to be a blond kid who looks like a beachball there' he thought to himself as he gulped in large lungfuls of air as he felt the burn in his legs. This was going to be his first time in an actual combat situation, normally he just did odd jobs and ran memo's for PRIT. After all he had no training in combat of any kind so he would have just been a hindrance to the other's.

Glancing up at the sky the rain pelted his face, 'Great can't use my lighting in this situation, the charge would carry to other people'
he thought to himself.

As the minutes passed the burn that was in his legs moved from there, slowly he could feel it start to affect his chest which meant he was going to be out of breath soon. Deciding that time was off the essence he harness a slight bit of his power of lighting and had it affect his muscles. This effectively supercharged them, but it also mean immense amounts of pain once he was done. His foot speed increased as he ran harder.

Soon enough he came to where the throw down was happening, he could see the fire and the chaos, the people dead in the streets. this only served to remind him of the Troubles, his rage built up as a bluish white aura surrounded him. He walked forards doing his best to help those that were hurt out, a quick lifting of a fallen bit of debris here, cutting through a fallen wooden beam there, that sort of thing. As he made his way forwards he could fell the pain start, gritting his teeth eh soldiers on until he came to a sight that had him look on in shock.

He watched a woman with short hair blast a guy with lightning killing him before ducking behind something as the other ski-mask clad people looked on. Stepping forwards he readied himself as he started to do what he felt he was made for. Singing.

''Tabhair dom Fuaim do mo spiorad Sirona
Tabhair dom leigheas do mo spiorad, do mo chroí
Tabhair dom Fuaim do mo spiorad mo chara
Deisiúcháin ceoil i mo anam i mo chroi(2)''

What he sang was a simple chant one that was about healing and sound and it did what he needed it too do. All three turned around to see Tore, who stood with a whitish blue aura around him as he slowly came forward's. His Hand's glowed slightly from the small sheen of plasma that coated them, slowly this sheen grew into a ball that floated right off his palms until he threw his arms forwards. The orbs of deadly super heated gas flew forwards, one splashed onto the right arm of the closest terrorist while the other hit the chest of the one closest to him.

the terrorist whose arms was hit started screaming in agony as the plasma slowly ate through his arm, drop of melted flesh dripped onto the ground as he fell onto his knee's and died of shock.The other terrorist barely had time to react as his entire chest cavity melted into goo, seeing that he had just taken two lives Tore was sickened, but that could be dealt with later as he dashed behind the same car that the woman was hiding behind. ''You alright?'' he asked her.

(1- Well the shit has hit the fan)
(2-Bring me sound, Sirona
Bring me healing for my spirit, for my heart
Bring me sound, my friend,
Musical healing for my essence, for my heart)

Aero Blue · Nov 9, 2017

Infernos turned to smoke-traps, extinguished by rain funneled sideways. Still, bedlam reigned on a bleak Atlantic City day. Glass and shattered brick littered the scene, blown outwards by concussive forces. The cries of the wounded, the maimed, or simply the helpless echoed amongst police sirens. The perimeter, at least, had been contained at this point, police-cars and PRIT vehicles arranged to provide maximum coverage.

Emergency medical dispatch made their way through the gaps, paramedics armed with suture and stretcher. They moved like drones towards those wounded or in need; to Sean, and the little girl; to Celi, Luke and their wards; Sarah and her evacuees; and to far too many others, their bodies strewn about.

The cellular phones of the PRIT came to life as one, screens flickering on. Those without cellular phones found the nearest electronic devices trembling and stirring into life. A singular voice emanated from the machines, bent and altered with mechanical combobulation, "Agents, this is Control. Establishing on-site connection."

Control, the nameless, faceless technomancer who consolidated PRIT communications, linking device to device, parsing what was unnecessary, and making sure that each and every member of the PRIT could contact one another.

"Pardon me for a second… ah, I now have eyes and ears. How wonderful."

voRRRRRoom

A truck materialized from within the center parts of the carnage, crashing through the storefront of a ruined sushi and tempura establishment. It accelerated, threatening to tear through the perimeter - vehicle, person, and all that stood before it. A tattooed man poked his head out from the passenger window, yelling wildly: "We the Chosen!!"

Almost impossibly, another truck crashed out of the same storefront.

And another.

And another.

A swarm of semi-trucks emerged from a building that could not possibly have been able to house all of them. Each of them accelerated at full throttle, aiming to tear through the perimeter, targeting separate angles and directions. The voice of Control sounded through the machines, severity and urgency evident even through the mire of the voice's mechanical obscura.

"Stop them."

Part 2 of the act-opening chaos unfolds! All Player Characters are now able to connect with another, remotely or otherwise, thanks to Control.

At the moment, a veritable fleet of trucks are pouring through a ruined restaurant, escaping We Chosen Few hooligans in tow. They're driving rather wantonly, and will cause a fair bit of *ahem* roadkill if left to their own devices.

Michael Hansen's analytical powers will note - amongst other things - that one of the trucks seems to be built differently. (Mostly, more rigidly; it appears to be almost armored).

Here's an ugly, but hopefully somewhat useful map of the scene. Your positions on the map are a combination of what I inferred from actions in the post, and also some arbitrary choices by me over which direction you came from.

The squiggly arrows represent the trucks. The 'armored one' Squee notices is the particularly twisting one going straight down the middle.

@SoleStride @firejay1 @Eru @Joan @Kimberlyn @Chile @Greenie @Applo @Psycho Of Ireland @SkittlesAndSpike @Shavynel @The Legate @Starlighter @Squee

SoleStride · Nov 19, 2017

Araceli Elizondo Macías & Luke Estley

Luke released a long, slow exhale as a team of paramedics approached where he and Celi stood guard over their inert patient. He stepped back out of the way, careful of his footing on the loose rubble. Satisfied that the medical professionals had the situation in hand, he maneuvered around them to stand beside her as she muttered an exasperated "Finally…", raising his voice over the noise of sirens and yelling mixed with screams, all dampened by the wet atmosphere turned muggy by the heat of fires and explosion.

Celi huffed out a breath and placed a hand on her hip, pulling her phone out of her pocket to check the voice. Control's voice sounded from the speaker, causing Celi to quirk a brow at it. She couldn't figure out why, but for some reason the ever-mysterious Control made her laugh, and she did so now as he, she, whatever, took a moment to adjust his connection. This person also seemed to her like this crazy powerful, unknown being that was always watching and listening to them. Apparently, the idea of it just tickled her silly. Utterly oblivious to her amusement, Luke gestured toward the medics.

"They've got this; let's - "

VrooOOOOmm

His jaw went slack as truck after truck began pouring out of the shattered window of the sushi joint, barrelling through the scene like plows through snow. Weaving erratically, a truck veered sharply in their direction, aimed to cut straight between them. Before the girl could even respond to Control's words, the loud roaring of engines blazed to life, effectively cutting off Luke's words.

"These jokers still…?" Her frustrated gaze turned to Luke. "Damnit, really?!" Control sounded from her phone again: 'Stop them', causing Celi to stare at her handheld device blandly. "Oh. Really? Never would have thought to do that…" The sarcasm in her voice was overwhelming. Luke rolled his eyes, undecided whether her comments were a welcome alleviation to the inherent stress of the situation, or irritating.

He turned in a full circle, gauging their position and the resources they would be able to reach in the seconds they had until the truck bulldozed through them - and the paramedics still attending the wounded. He jumped down from the rubble pile and hit the ground running towards the bakery, whipping out his phone and hollering into it. Meanwhile, Celi stared after him in confusion.

"I can trap them in the front window of the shop over here - if you can throw them my way and not turn me into bug squash." Already rethinking his gym schedule to figure out how to up his running game, he heaved a heavy breath and muttered, "I really don't want to be bug squash."

Did he really want her to be able to angle a massive truck that precisely? "You can't expect me to..." The girl muttered into her phone. But what other choice did they have? "Damnit…" Celi jogged off to the side and turned in time to see the truck whizzing by. "Hurry up!" She reached a hand out toward the vehicle, hand splayed, and latched on to the feeling of it. Once she had it, Celi took off running alongside, yet at a distance, forcing a gravitational pull in her direction that would course-correct the truck to run parallel to her. Just like that, she sprinted toward the shop window. "Do it, do it, do it!"

With too much momentum behind him to make a controlled stop in time, Luke slammed straight into the glass front of the bakery, knocking the breath out of his lungs and momentarily dazing himself. When he turned around to see the oncoming face of death, the truck was less than a foot from his face and there was no time to react any other way.

I'm an idiot for letting her slingshot a bloody truck at me tarnation I'm a goner.

Luke was a split second away from closing his eyes and reciting the Lord's prayer, but he didn't. First of all, Celi would kill him - and secondly….. Celi would kill him. By the miracle of reflexes and coincidental timing alone, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around the front grill and relaxed back, falling into the reflective coating on the window. The truck sank with him, sucking out of the third dimensional world and falling completely flat in a very literal sense.

Now situated in a realm far more malleable to his will, Luke moved fast to avoid the floundering of the Chosen Few trapped inside the truck, still grappling with their unexpected inhibition and the shift out of three dimensions. He dodged sideways to avoid the truck landing on him, and lurched forward out of the mirror, falling flat on his face next to the sidewalk.

"Oh, shit!" It was the only response Celi could give as Luke wasn't able to move out of the way of the truck and instead got smashed into the mirror realm. "Oh, god! Pretty Boy!" Celi rammed right into the window, unable to slow herself down before slamming into it. She pressed her hands to the glass, watching Luke's 2D form on the other side.

When the guy finally plopped back out onto the road, Celi pounced on him quickly, shaking him. "I didn't mean to, Luke! I swear! Please don't be dead! Don't die, Pretty Boy!" Celi shook his shoulders furiously, yelling at him a bit too dramatically. Even though she was hamming it up just a little, her true concern was evident on her face as she pushed the guy onto his back.

The young woman raised a hand, ready to smack him across the face - like they do in movies to wake unconscious people up - and let her palm sail across his left cheek hard enough to leave a decent blotchy, red mark. It took a second, but after a minute of stillness, Luke began to stir by way of groaning quietly.

"Ow that hurt" he murmured in a soft slur, shifting to sit up a bit and rubbing the side of his face. "Did the truck graze me before….." His eyes narrowed, landing on Celi's upraised hand, "No, no no….. no way you did not!" He yelled, his voice rising to a high pitch that served only to prove her Pretty Boy nickname was well deserved.

He slumped back down with a groan, letting his arm slide over to grab her hand and give it a gentle reassuring squeeze to let her know he wasn't about to kick the bucket.

"You owe me dinner sweetheart" he grumbled, "And a pass to Disney World." The man's response caused Celi to slump in relief and she just landed on him limply, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. Continuing her dramatized reactions, she flailed pointlessly a little before standing up and turning to glare at the window that contained their enemy.

Pointing at the glass, and the men she assumed were still somehow stuck in the truck on the other side of it, Celi vented. "You almost squashed the Pretty Boy! What would he do without that face?! I should break you into a million pieces!" The girl pulled back a fist, shaking it angrily. "I hope some government feds torture some juicy info out of ya, ya freakin' skeezeballs!" Celi pulled her zipties from her belt and waved them about while pushing at the glass as if she'd be able to get through it. "Let me at 'em, Luke! I'll arrest those guys in 2D so hard that they'll beg to lose another dimension!"

Muttering a curse, Luke scrambled to his feet. "Uh, no, not today….." Shoot first and ask questions later was one thing, but shooting after they'd already shot once and hit the bulls-eye wasn't an option.

Celi desperately needed a distraction; so, he cleared his throat and started rambling.

"Anyway. Places to be, things to do, other bad guy butts to kick…" he pointed up into the sky and exclaimed, "Oh hey look is that a flying pizza? Sorry my bad; never mind. Let's go this way…." He placed a light hand on her shoulder, and began guiding her slowly away from the window.

"What?" Araceli blinked in confusion at Luke as he started rambling about weird stuff and then directed her away from the trapped traitors. "Are you sure you're okay? You didn't like, hit your head or anything?" She asked, sounding more suspicious than concerned at the moment. The girl glanced back for a second, but became distracted again by the flying pizza comment. "Huh? Pizza?" Celi glanced around in confusion. With the abilities people had these days, she wouldn't be too surprised if something like that happened. Even she could make a pizza 'fly'. "Don't we need to secure the prisoners or something? And where's Gramps? Have you seen him? With these crazy trucks, he could get killed." She started to look around again, trying to spot Hansen.

"Trust me, those prisoners are more secure than….." Luke trailed off, shooting her a quizzical look. "Gramps? Who's that?" He glanced over the street, and came to a halt mid step with a scowl on his face. It was hard to tell from a distance, but could it be…. "Professor Hansen?" He muttered in surprise. "What's he doing here?"

"You mean the old man?" Celi questioned. "Uh...He works with us…?" Her tone only going up with inflection at the end because of her surprise that Luke hadn't run into Hansen yet. Biting his tongue, Luke kicked at a loose rock, sending it flying across the street.

"Well fuck."

Applo · Dec 2, 2017

Out of the burning building and on the street, the group of survivors Sarah had rescued huddled around her as they weaved their way between anything large enough to count as cover. Sarah couldn't see any more chosen on the street but she wasn't going to push her luck any further than she already had today.

"Ok once we get past that taxi your best bet is to make a dash for it." The face's looking back at Sarah told her that the owners thought their best bet was to stick with her. "You'll be fine. There's enough coppers over there to deal with anything, besides I'm going back that way." Despite the obvious message of what she had just said, the whole group looked at the smoking ruins that Sarah was pointing to. As if the universe wanted to make a point, at that moment a lorry smashed it's way out of the building they just come from before being quickly followed by more.

"FUCKING RUN! NOW!" Sarah shoved a couple of members of the group to get them moving before turning to face the where they seemed to be spawning from only to find forty tonnes of steel and rubber bearing down on her. For a moment Sarah was frozen as she tried to work out what to do, or if whether running was her best option too. Nothing she could do would slow a truck down let alone stop it. Maybe she could burst the driver's ear drums, if they'd left a window open; but that might just make the situation worse.

It was then that she felt the gun she'd taken from the chosen she knocked out in the stairs digging into her back. With the truck accelerating towards her she didn't hesitate, ripping the gun out from her jeans and leveling it at the oncoming vehicle. She'd never used a gun like this before but it wasn't that different from one of her shot guns from home, just smaller, and she started to unload bullets into her target. In every movie she had ever seen this would have caused the truck to come to a stop in a cloud of steam. She quickly realized this was really only a movie thing when the truck kept coming with no signs of slowing down.

Sarah held her ground as long as she dared, firing all the time, before faking a sprint to the left and then diving right at the last second. As she hung in the air time seemed to stand still, then she crashed to the floor and it rushed back all at once. As the truck thundered past inches from her feet Sarah grabbed her phone.

"Truck heading east right by the buildings. I couldn't stop it!"

Eru · Dec 5, 2017

Alexis Acosta ○ The Rhythmancer

Whump. With a dull thud, the steel rod connected to the torso of the second Chosen, and he went down with a grunt next to his partner, a searing scar beginning to show on his abdomen through the rips in his clothing. Alexis, however, hadn't taken a hit yet. He grinned and took his headphones off with his free hand, giving the downed trio a final once-over. "I wonder if I took it too far?" he said aloud. A motion made him focus; the first Chosen was propping himself up on an elbow and reaching for a broken brick. "Guess not." Alexis whipped his metal rod around and passed it before him again; this time, he ran his hand across it to literally freeze it, hardening it into a brittle substance. He smashed this over the Chosen's head, and now he dropped for good. The rod shattered into countless pieces, sprinkling the ruined building with frozen metal shards. It mattered little; it'd likely be consumed by the oncoming flames if they could do nothing to prevent it.

Taking a moment to breathe and readjust himself to the sounds and motion of the environment, Alexis heard his cellphone awaken.

"Agents, this is Control. Establishing on-site connection."

"Pardon me for a second… ah, I now have eyes and ears. How wonderful."

And then, the engines began.

"Stop them."

The concern was palpable, even in Control's mechanically twisted voice. Alexis dashed outside of the unsteady building, picking up one of the Chosen's revolvers on the way out, but leaving them behind.

The engines grew louder the moment Alexis stepped out, and he could see the source of one now. A cry came from his cellphone; another PRIT agent, calling for help.

"Truck heading east right by the buildings. I couldn't stop it!"

Before she'd finished, Alexis had seen it -- the cab segment of an eighteen-wheeler, horn blaring and driver glaring in a wicked grin, with Chosen hanging out of the windows as it sped in a rush amidst the rubble and ruin upon the street. Behind it, in the distance, survivors had dodged to the left and right to evade its onrush. Alexis was the last person in its way.

Alexis dropped to the ground, summoning the molecules of the asphalt, the stone, the dirt itself to mold according to his vibrations. He pushed, he pulled, he gave one great tug, and the earth ripped. A crack emanated in the road from where Alexis' palms touched; it spread and rushed at blinding speed to reach the oncoming truck. Just a few feet away from contact, Alexis suddenly yanked the road itself up into the air; the road buckled, lifted, and curved, separating itself from the ground and rising into the air in the form of a tilted ramp. The semi truck had nowhere else to go, and it sped up the makeshift ramp as the road cracked under the strain. The truck flew into the air, passing over Alexis, and seemed to hang there for a split second before smashing into the ground again on the other side. Due to the curvature of the ramp, it landed on its side, and skidded along for a fair distance in a cloud of sparks and smoke, while the shouts from inside had now turned into screams of desperation.

Exhaling, Alexis dropped the road back into place and fused it together. The truck was out of commission, but from Control's message, there were sure to be others. He took one last glance at the smoking cab behind him, then dashed toward the center of the district, planning to stop any other vehicles in the same way.

"It's taken care of. I see another on the next street; I'm on my way."

Search

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Listener - [a people story]

Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice

Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice

The Legate

Guest

Eru

Guest

Joan

"You'll never be alone."

Greenie

Follow the Strange Trails

SoleStride

Black Horse

Applo

Beautiful like a Forest Fire

Squee

I'm one of those "details and implications" guys.

firejay1

The Phoenix

Shavynel

Edgenoble

Spekkun

Definitely not a Fekfox

Rae

Queer as Fuck

Psycho Of Ireland

My Voice is my Violence

Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice

SoleStride

Black Horse

Applo

Beautiful like a Forest Fire

Eru

Guest