RE: Incident [TEXT]
09-19-2013, 08:59 PM
You take a deep breath, clear your head.
This murder, while tragic, is nothing to do with you. You just need to get out of here, and compared to last night’s adventure doing so shouldn't be a problem.
Talk to the police. They’re here to help.
First discreetly checking that Zephyr has entered the alley, you slip back out of the shadows and walk up to the roadblock. A few metres away, you noisily clear your throat.
Five uniformed mercenaries turn and look at you. These are just grunts, bodies to stand around and look imposing. All the ones with any useful powers will be in the heart of the fray. You’d be amazed if there was even one Warder amongst them.
“You. Don’t come any closer. Put the flowers down on the ground. Slowly.” The speaker is a woman distinguishable from the others only by a red sergeant’s patch on her shoulder. She angles the palm of her right hand to face you, the other hand resting on her baton. The corporals around her seem to have similarly twitchy fingers, straying to the various toys hanging from their belts.
Like you said, useless powers.
You mutely put the flowers down beside you and straighten back up.
“What are you doing here? This area is off limits to civilians.”
“I didn’t realise. I was cutting through some sidestreets to get to Alder Street, only to find a wall of illusion down there-“ you gesture a little too suddenly, and they twitch, “and this roadblock here. I’d rather like to get out of the restricted area, if that’s alright with you.”
The sergeant nods slowly, as if giving the statement extensive thought. The red patch gleams, still not yet tarnished by daily wear and tear.
“Very well. You can pass, but I’d like to know where you got in. I’ll need to post someone there in case anyone else tries… tries to…”
An expression of terror dawns on her face. She’s not looking at you – rather, at something behind you.
Then she snaps out of it, and starts shouting at you.
“You! Hands where I can see them, and get down on your knees! Keebrook, find out what the fuck that is!”
You raise your hands, but turn to look at where she’s pointing. Bad idea.
The baton catches you on the jaw, spinning you around. By the time you recover you’ve fallen to one knee and the sergeant is screeching above you. You can taste blood.
“I said down on your knees!”
You say nothing and raise your hands, which fell when you did.
“Keebrook, report!” Some of the manic fury seems to have left her voice, but she’s no quieter for it.
“It’s a trail… I think – I think it might be blood? It leads in he-”
Behind you a yell is cut short, followed by the sickening crunch of shattered bones and a scream of agony a second later.
“Keebrook!”
One of the corps runs forward, the rest frozen by fear. The sergeant stammers out an order, her eyes still transfixed on the horrors you can’t see.
“Ferris, get us some backup. Tell them one of ours has been attacked.” When Ferris doesn’t respond, she spins around and bellows at her. “Quickly!”
You hear the sound of someone’s body being slammed into the ground.
“Sacerdos!” Relief.
“Zephyr?” Another, this one merely uncertain.
Ferris starts running down the street, her footfalls ringing out, presumably aiming for the wall of illusion. The noise underscores the silence. It’s taking all your willpower to stay still, which admittedly is not your most impressive trait, but fear of the inexperienced sergeant in front of you is managing to outweigh fear of a discovered and disgraced Zephyr.
A scream, and the sound of running stops. Another body falls to the ground.
“Zephyr, stop this.” It’s the strange sacerdos. Are they still trying to reason with him?
The only reply is something between a sob and a roar.
The baton falls from the sergeant’s limp fingers. She is frozen, overwhelmed. You take the opportunity to stand. Her eyes slide across you, but she doesn’t seem to register your presence. You turn.
The sacerdos in black is standing between Zephyr and the body. Keebrook is lying on the ground, completely still. Their legs are twisted and clearly broken. There’s another body slumped against a door: Ferris.
A dust spinner, low to the ground, is whirling around Zephyr’s feet. His hands are by his side but they’re open and the fingers extended, ready to draw out the wind brushing against his legs.
His hand twitches, and the sacerdos quickly steps to the side. An errant end of the stole, however, causes it to be ripped off and flung against the wall. They’re still talking, but the winds surrounding them break up the conversation and make it impossible to get hold of more than the odd marooned syllable. They dart closer, and at another twitch of the mercenary’s hands they drop to one knee. The hood is snatched off their head, and their white hair flutters in the residue breeze. They stand. The hands twitch again, and so it continues. Inch by inch the sacerdos draws closer, but so do the misses. One wrong step and the stranger will get broken like the others.
You can feel your gun pressing against your rib cage. Zephyr’s not even ten metres away from you. It would be easy.
But why should you get any more involved? This isn’t your fight. You don’t care enough to get your hands dirty. You should just quietly walk away.
You close your eyes. A dead and empty gaze stares unseeing at the sky. Her hair trails across her face and it seems like any moment she might reach up and brush it away.
But she won’t.
You open your eyes.
The spinner around Zephyr has risen to shoulder height, darkened by dust. He’s roaring at the sacerdos. You catch the last of it.
“…doing this?”
The sacerdos’ lips move in reply, but at that moment he swipes at the air out of frustration. They move, but their head snaps to the side and their dark glasses shatter and spin against the ground. Staggering, they hunch over and cover their eyes.
If you’re going to do anything, it has to be now.
What do you do?
This murder, while tragic, is nothing to do with you. You just need to get out of here, and compared to last night’s adventure doing so shouldn't be a problem.
Talk to the police. They’re here to help.
First discreetly checking that Zephyr has entered the alley, you slip back out of the shadows and walk up to the roadblock. A few metres away, you noisily clear your throat.
Five uniformed mercenaries turn and look at you. These are just grunts, bodies to stand around and look imposing. All the ones with any useful powers will be in the heart of the fray. You’d be amazed if there was even one Warder amongst them.
“You. Don’t come any closer. Put the flowers down on the ground. Slowly.” The speaker is a woman distinguishable from the others only by a red sergeant’s patch on her shoulder. She angles the palm of her right hand to face you, the other hand resting on her baton. The corporals around her seem to have similarly twitchy fingers, straying to the various toys hanging from their belts.
Like you said, useless powers.
You mutely put the flowers down beside you and straighten back up.
“What are you doing here? This area is off limits to civilians.”
“I didn’t realise. I was cutting through some sidestreets to get to Alder Street, only to find a wall of illusion down there-“ you gesture a little too suddenly, and they twitch, “and this roadblock here. I’d rather like to get out of the restricted area, if that’s alright with you.”
The sergeant nods slowly, as if giving the statement extensive thought. The red patch gleams, still not yet tarnished by daily wear and tear.
“Very well. You can pass, but I’d like to know where you got in. I’ll need to post someone there in case anyone else tries… tries to…”
An expression of terror dawns on her face. She’s not looking at you – rather, at something behind you.
Then she snaps out of it, and starts shouting at you.
“You! Hands where I can see them, and get down on your knees! Keebrook, find out what the fuck that is!”
You raise your hands, but turn to look at where she’s pointing. Bad idea.
The baton catches you on the jaw, spinning you around. By the time you recover you’ve fallen to one knee and the sergeant is screeching above you. You can taste blood.
“I said down on your knees!”
You say nothing and raise your hands, which fell when you did.
“Keebrook, report!” Some of the manic fury seems to have left her voice, but she’s no quieter for it.
“It’s a trail… I think – I think it might be blood? It leads in he-”
Behind you a yell is cut short, followed by the sickening crunch of shattered bones and a scream of agony a second later.
“Keebrook!”
One of the corps runs forward, the rest frozen by fear. The sergeant stammers out an order, her eyes still transfixed on the horrors you can’t see.
“Ferris, get us some backup. Tell them one of ours has been attacked.” When Ferris doesn’t respond, she spins around and bellows at her. “Quickly!”
You hear the sound of someone’s body being slammed into the ground.
“Sacerdos!” Relief.
“Zephyr?” Another, this one merely uncertain.
Ferris starts running down the street, her footfalls ringing out, presumably aiming for the wall of illusion. The noise underscores the silence. It’s taking all your willpower to stay still, which admittedly is not your most impressive trait, but fear of the inexperienced sergeant in front of you is managing to outweigh fear of a discovered and disgraced Zephyr.
A scream, and the sound of running stops. Another body falls to the ground.
“Zephyr, stop this.” It’s the strange sacerdos. Are they still trying to reason with him?
The only reply is something between a sob and a roar.
The baton falls from the sergeant’s limp fingers. She is frozen, overwhelmed. You take the opportunity to stand. Her eyes slide across you, but she doesn’t seem to register your presence. You turn.
The sacerdos in black is standing between Zephyr and the body. Keebrook is lying on the ground, completely still. Their legs are twisted and clearly broken. There’s another body slumped against a door: Ferris.
A dust spinner, low to the ground, is whirling around Zephyr’s feet. His hands are by his side but they’re open and the fingers extended, ready to draw out the wind brushing against his legs.
His hand twitches, and the sacerdos quickly steps to the side. An errant end of the stole, however, causes it to be ripped off and flung against the wall. They’re still talking, but the winds surrounding them break up the conversation and make it impossible to get hold of more than the odd marooned syllable. They dart closer, and at another twitch of the mercenary’s hands they drop to one knee. The hood is snatched off their head, and their white hair flutters in the residue breeze. They stand. The hands twitch again, and so it continues. Inch by inch the sacerdos draws closer, but so do the misses. One wrong step and the stranger will get broken like the others.
You can feel your gun pressing against your rib cage. Zephyr’s not even ten metres away from you. It would be easy.
But why should you get any more involved? This isn’t your fight. You don’t care enough to get your hands dirty. You should just quietly walk away.
You close your eyes. A dead and empty gaze stares unseeing at the sky. Her hair trails across her face and it seems like any moment she might reach up and brush it away.
But she won’t.
You open your eyes.
The spinner around Zephyr has risen to shoulder height, darkened by dust. He’s roaring at the sacerdos. You catch the last of it.
“…doing this?”
The sacerdos’ lips move in reply, but at that moment he swipes at the air out of frustration. They move, but their head snaps to the side and their dark glasses shatter and spin against the ground. Staggering, they hunch over and cover their eyes.
If you’re going to do anything, it has to be now.
What do you do?
Spoiler