Safe Mode (Worm)

Chapter 4 Results
The Stranger wants to help if possible.
The Stranger is too claustrophobic to seek better shelter.
The Stranger hasn't noticed the voice.


5




For a moment, the stranger sat, paralyzed and listening to the chaos erupting outside. Then he started to move: the laptop had managed to get enough of a charge for another hour or two, so he pulled the makeshift power cords out of the wall and gathered up the computer before moving to the cracked glass of the store's window and peering through it. It was too damaged and clouded by dirt for a reliable view, so after a moment's hesitation the stranger opened the door and stepped outside. The light he'd spotted was indeed a fire, but the flames moved in ways they decidedly shouldn't have, getting caught in sucking whirlpools of air and debris that formed a horrible miniaturized tornado in the center of a crater that had replaced one of the street's stores. Fire simply didn't work that way, so the stranger had to assume there was probably parahuman involvement. That meant he needed to not be near it, in case the cape responsible was one out to catch him.

But it also meant there might be other people near it.

The stranger hurried closer to the vortex, as close as he dared, to look for survivors. If there had been anyone where the crater now stood, they'd been consumed, and everyone who could pick themselves up and flee had already done so. Anyone else needed help. The stranger couldn't remember if he knew first aid or not, so dragging the few people left over to the abandoned store he'd been in was the best he could do for now. Maybe he could find some emergency responders and direct them there... It was awkward to carry the laptop open and active, let alone try to modify it while walking, but he needed it. If he could tap into the police radio frequencies, he'd be able to find help.

That was the plan, anyway. By the time he'd downloaded a listening program, set finding a public safety broadcast, and reworked the scavenged wires from its had-once-been power cord into an extension for the speakers, he actually spotted a fire truck next to a couple of smaller vehicles with red-blue flashing lights-- not police cars, exactly, but clearly someone involved with them; it looked like a smaller and not-as-durable fire had started from another explosion, and the firefighters were hosing the area down with water. The stranger quickened his pace towards them, trying to get there before the worry set in and made him stop. Would they have heard about his theft? Would they care at all about the people taking shelter? Would they even talk to him?

He actually stumbled a bit, over that last thought, though not over the worry that the police wouldn't talk to him: it was the sudden realization that, to his knowledge, he had never spoken to anyone. Any saliva in his mouth dried up at the sudden, irrational enormity of the task before him. The stranger tried to call to them, and couldn't quite manage it. He stepped closer and quickly tapped the nearest firefighter on the shoulder, instead. The man turned around, startled, and the stranger pointed back the way he'd came.

"Um... f-four people. Two blocks. Next to the c-cafe."

"Are they trapped?" The firefighter asked, mercifully focusing on the stranger's message instead of the delivery. The stranger shook his head, then nodded when the responder asked if they were injured. "Okay, we'll go get them. Do you need help, sir?"

Maybe. The stranger shook his head 'no' again. "Then sir, please return to your home and avoid public areas if you can."

Well, that wasn't an option, but perhaps there was more he could do to help? He was about to ask when a motion caught his eye and he turned to look. Another flying person, also in white, though from here with so little light he couldn't tell what other colors they may have been wearing. They passed overhead and took the stranger's forthcoming offer with them.

"Y-yeah... okay." Time to move on.

The stranger walked away, trying not to seem like he was in a hurry. A few more blocks away from where he'd spoken to the firefighters, he spotted streetlights still on, and made that his goal. It would take too long to build a radio receiver from scratch, especially when there were likely programs already online for it, so the stranger hurried towards the signs of working electricity. Once he found an out of the way place to sit and work, he did-- on the ground next to a decrepit phone booth. The phone and its mechanisms were quietly cannibalized for spare parts while he waited for the laptop to download what he needed.

Eavesdropping on the emergency dispatch lines was easy, but it also didn't give him much information. He'd been able to guess the explosions were parahuman-related, though not how many of them had detonated already. It seemed a bit more important to realize that the bombs hadn't stopped yet, even after a dozen explosions spaced all around the city. There wasn't any connection to the targets being named that he could understand... beyond the obvious, he supposed: all the bombs so far had gone off in public areas, not residential. The sorts of places where there'd be more people. He overheard an ambulance dispatcher frantically trying to arrange evacuation buses for a hospital that had been hit, and felt sick to his stomach.

The stranger didn't really think he was much of a demolitionist, but a few things came to mind. It was relatively easy to make something that was capable of exploding; the hard part was getting it to explode when and where you wanted it to. He needed to examine the detonator of one of those bombs. Of course, that ran the risk of having it explode in his face. Maybe he'd look for the remains of a few spent explosives, examine them for hints on disarmament, then look for a live one? Well, that's slightly more reasonable, but I still don't think that's a good id--

Clomping footsteps pulled the stranger's attention away from his devices, as a squad of people dressed all in black came out of a nearby alley, moving together as a group. The stranger's heart skipped a few beats as he looked for the white lettering—he didn't see any—then noticed the group's weaponry. The guns they were holding looked futuristic, for lack of a better term, though he didn't get much of a look as the group hurried along. One of them turned to look at the stranger, sitting in a nest of repurposed electronics, and was still for a long moment. Then they gestured to their squad, and left, off on whatever mission they followed.

The stranger exhaled slowly. Not PRT. Not PRT, it was okay, he was okay. He certainly wasn't going to stay here in case they came back, though. The stranger gathered up his materials and the laptop as quickly as possible—the whole mess of it was becoming rather unwieldy—and set off in the opposite direction of where the soldiers were going.

The stranger kept an eye out for signs of fire, or plumes of smoke, though it was getting hard to see as night truly fell. The first bomb site he found wasn't for another twenty minutes of walking, and it was surrounded by a ring of police and yellow caution tape. The stranger kept his distance, and kept going. It was getting harder to maintain a quick pace, instead of just dragging his feet. He felt drained, bruised, and he found himself starting to cough more and more frequently. Hopefully it was just from dust, but the heavy feeling in his chest and growing sense of heat on his skin and in his sinuses suggested otherwise.

Another ten minutes of shambling onwards. Maybe it was more? He still didn't feel sleepy, exactly, but the thought of finding somewhere to just stop and close his eyes for a bit was getting so appealing. Yes, good, you should do that. But he still hadn't found a discarded bomb he could use... they were probably all going to be closed off and watched by police, weren't they? Or worse, by the PRT, since they were 'tinkertech.' But... but maybe he could just...

"Hey, watch where you are going," a voice, as well as a heavy hand on his shoulder, jolted the stranger from his thoughts. He spun around and stumbled backwards, away from the extremely large man he'd nearly walked into. "A fire was near here, from one of the bombs. I extinguished them, but it is still not safe."

The obese man had an accent he couldn't identify, and in the unreliable light of a flickering streetlight some distance away, it kind of looked like he had lumps on his face. Like something was growing there, on his skin... gross. The stranger tried to back up another step and nearly lost his footing. He thought the large, unhealthy-looking man might have frowned. "Are you hurt, or merely startled by my appearance?"


It is Friday, April 15th​, 2011
It is Night


What now?
[ ]Write-in

Chapter 5 Results
The Stranger is curious about other parahumans.

Friday, April 15th​, 2011
Night

6


"Sorry. Um..." The stranger willed himself not to back up any further. The large man didn't seem very appreciative of his hesitation, either. "What happened?"

"A bomb, as I said. They are all over the city. I suggest that you go somewhere that is safe," the large man said. His warning was almost entirely lost on the stranger, who had finally gotten a good look at the pallid face in front of him.

"...I c-can see your skeleton."

There was a long moment before the large man sighed. "Yes. I am a Case 53. Much of my body is translucent."

Case...? What did that mean? It wasn't the side effect of one of the bombs? There had been some very worrying reports over the stranger's listening device. If there weren't mutagenic explosives buried around the city that would be a relief. "What's that?"

"Case 53. It is a term used for the so-called 'monster' capes such as I. Parahumans who have lost their memories and have altered bodies. Does that quell your curiosity?" There was a slight edge to the obese man's words, perhaps hinting that no, the stranger should not continue asking questions if he wanted to be safe, but the menace failed to compare to the sensation of ice water filling his veins. Parahumans that lost their memories, and had abnormal bodies. The stranger could speak for the former, if not the latter. Though he didn''t seem to need to sleep, so maybe it didn't have to be something visible?

And on the heels of that: this was a parahuman. Not one the stranger had seen in the photos of the local Protectorate, either. And he wasn't wearing a white uniform. What did that leave, the white supremacists? Somehow that didn't seem to fit. Were there other parahuman gangs he hadn't heard about, or did some stay separate and--

The stranger suddenly remembered he'd been asked a question and never responded. What was he supposed to respond with? There were so many things on his mind. He grasped for the one that was most immediate. "Uh... the bomb. Where...?"

The Case 53 parahuman pointed off to the side, then said, "As I warned, it is dangerous. I do not recommend approaching it. Good evening."

With that, the obese parahuman lumbered off, leaving the stranger to fret in silence. Should he follow him? Would that be dangerous? Possibly, though I don't know if I've ever heard of Gregor the Snail being particularly violent; even so, you should be careful. If the stranger didn't follow him, then there'd be little chance of finding him again, the stranger decided. So even if it led to nothing it was worth the attempt. Oh, but the bomb. The stranger turned and headed in the direction the Case 53 had pointed, and quickly found a partially-collapsed street with a bunch of sticky-looking foam over everything. Revulsion shuddered over the stranger and left cold sweat in its wake. The sight of the foam made him think of his panicked flight from the PRT building... though, had he seen anything like it there? He'd certainly heard wet sounds behind him, as he ran. Maybe he just hadn't noticed.

The stranger braced himself, then gingerly stepped into the crater. Even if it was making his hands shake, he needed to take a look around at this one, before the police got to it. The chunks of concrete and asphalt were still warm, enough to feel it through his pilfered tennis shoes, and when he finally picked a few pieces of twisted metal from the wreckage they singed his hands; he pocketed them anyway. He'd need to spend time examining them later, for now he wanted to catch up to the Case 53. The stranger clambered out of the crater as quickly as he could, got some of the foam residue on his pants, and hurried away in the direction the obese parahuman had gone.

The stranger caught sight of him soon enough—he was rather hard to miss—and breathed a sigh of relief. He held back as far a distance as he could reasonably keep an eye on his quarry, and followed the parahuman for several blocks, stopping only once to duck around a corner and wait while the Case 53 fished a ringing phone from his oversized coat and answered it. They continued on in this manner until the Case 53 reached his destination, a three-story, flashy sort of building with a giant neon sign on the front that read 'Palanquin.' The Case 53 nodded towards a burly-looking man standing outside the wide front door, then continued to a smaller service entry and stepped inside.

The stranger stopped tailing the man and paused to consider his options. Just wandering inside seemed ill-advised, but perhaps he shouldn't give up on this so quickly. Maybe there was another entrance, or a rooftop access? If nothing else, he could take a look at what, if any, cable or telephone lines were hooked up to this building, and see if any ideas came to him about cracking them. It'd also be a spot to stop and continue working on his eavesdropping program to try and get a bead on the PRT. Maybe take a look at the bomb fragments, if he could get some better light, too.

The stranger nodded to himself, then crept up towards the building and started circling around the side of it, looking for a fire escape or a maintenance ladder, or even just a particularly-climbable wall. He passed the service entrance, still craning his head to look upwards, then whipped around when the door opened back up. The stranger saw the Case 53's large form start to step out of it, and he turned to run.

"Gotcha!" A hand grabbed the collar of his shirt, and then a second pressed itself against his chest and pushed him over to the wall. Someone had snuck up on him, creeping around the other side of the building until he'd been distracted by the obese parahuman re-opening the door. That someone pressed harder, keeping the stranger pinned: all he could really see of the second person in the dark like this was ruddy-colored skin and the bright yellow dishwashing gloves that were covering the person's hands.

"Stop-- no, let me go, let me go!" The stranger struggled, and his captor moved their gloved hand to his throat instead. They didn't squeeze, but the warning was clear. The obese parahuman lumbered closer, until he stood beside his dark-skinned compatriot.

"So. Perhaps you will explain what you are doing, sneaking around here?"


It is Friday, April 15th​, 2011
It is Midnight


What now?
[ ]Write-in