"I'd like to be on the ground if you are going to keep asking questions."
"You would. Answer the question," Birdbrain says, unmoved.
Selina nods slowly. Anything would be nice at this point.
"Okay, I'll go look for something," the ginger girl says, and walks off, ascending a nearby set of stairs. A moment of silence ensues. The younger boy breaks it after a moment while the other one looks on uncertainly.
"So, uh, Selina. I'm Tim, and that over there's Lloyd," he says.
"Hey," the doughy-faced boy, apparently named Lloyd, says.
"Yeah, so... where are you from? Around here somewhere?" Tim asks in as friendly a way as he can manage.
Alex would look around with a long face. He would slowly begin taking a long walk towards the PCR office.
The PCR office? Showcasing hidden depths as usual, it seems!
In any case, you head downtown. If there's a PCR office to be found, doubtlessly it is there. And you might even drop by the PRT office on the way.
In about two hours of walking, you're passing right by the PRT place - you hope Kibbel's in. You'd hate to have to wait more after all this walking you've had to do, since even if you are supernaturally durable, you most certainly are not supernaturally patient. The PRT's operating on the first floor, with a bored receptionist in the lobby and everything.
Slinkimg away from the scene of the crime Steven sets up shop in a long deserted alleyway.
Standing the cover on its side and places a pair of rocks or other bits of debris either side of it to hold it in place while he crouches down behind a few feet behind it in an attempt to get his powers centre of influence directly behind it.
With his preperations complete he picks out a dumpster in the distance he angles himself slightly so he is directly facing it and fires a concentrated shockwave directly into the center of the manhole on a slightly upwards angle making sure to also fire a matching shockwave out behind him.
Shockingly, you manage to hit the manhole cover dead-on - while it does spin a little bit, and bends to a certain degree as it flies away, blown forth by your bi-directional shockwave, it flies rather precisely, a feat you're not sure you can duplicate easily, and impacts the dumpster, slicing through its metallic side with ease, though it doesn't come out the other end.
You also seem to have messed up a section of wall and pavement behind you, though less powerfully than before. Also of note is the fact that each time you use your power, you make a hell of a lot of noise, like a bomb going off, which you're pretty sure a bunch of people not too far away heard perfectly well.
Kyle opens the knife and stares at it long and hard.
"I am your master knife. You can not fool me!"
Indeed, it cannot! You stare at the knife, your knife, and ponder its deception. How does it evade your notice? What secrets does it hold? Your head starts to hurt a bit as you consider its shape, its slightly dull blade, the brown stains on it...
... you think you stabbed someone with it, disturbingly enough. It's a very vague memory, taking shape slowly as you think about the knife. It relates to your gunshot wound, this is the next connection you make. One is related to the other. You stabbed someone, and then got shot in self-defense? Wait...
attempted to stab someone, got shot, continued stabbing. That seems to fit better. The knife, though a pretty tough nut to crack at first, is beginning to surrender its secrets to you. Exactly eleven times you stabbed this one guy in the abdomen, probably slicing his guts up a bit as well as tearing up muscle. You can't remember the guy's face - it was dark out at the moment, and you were focusing on the more important things. The knife, the motions of your hand, the feeling of power as you rammed the blade into that schmuck's soft tissues. And then the way you backed away as the guy stopped putting up a reasonable amount of resistance, watching as he lay there bleeding, smirking as you wiped the blood from the knife despite the way you weren't exactly in the best of states, either.
It was at that moment that you began to suspect rather strongly that you may in fact be a more or less secretly terrible person. Maybe a little unreasonable, considering you were shot in the gut and thus primed to kill by instinct alone, even if you were the one who started the lunge and escalated the whole thing, but you were not in the best of mental states at the time. And then... then you saw something, and then you forgot. How did you forget? Did the things you see make you forget, or was it something else?
Something presses on the back of your mind as you continue to stare at the slightly stained, slightly illegal switchblade. You feel the urge to stop concentrating on the thing, to look beyond it, letting it blur as your eyes go out of focus, and taking a deep breath. It's an urge you're intensely aware of, one you're experiencing some difficulty keeping in check.
Jake goes back to check the Project Ed site for anybody to contact about joining or getting more info. Maybe that would be his in to get close to Dissent.
There's no contact info besides "ask your local project ed activist if you need info because fuck phones amirite??" written in Impact in the middle of the contacts page.
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Topic: Worm: Edwardstown (Read 135865 times)