Arrival 1.3
After popping the rest of my charges to increase the speed of my rearrangers, I decided to call it quits. They now moved at a respectable meandering walk, a marked improvement over the previous pace of a dying turtle.
The focus now was on survival. Long term, I had no idea how to stretch $50 across a month living in LA, even with 2011 depressed economy prices. Counting food costs alone, I'd be out in less than a week.
In the immediacy however, there were plenty of options for the survivors of the Twins' attack. Pastors had opened their church doors to the weary, government buildings had been converted into short term shelters, and the kind people of the surrounding communities were pitching in to offer their support.
Having been a Downey resident for half my life, I opted for the comfort of familiarity and hopped on the public bus route heading west. The drivers weren't being very picky about checking for bus passes today.
We were taken well out of the way around Santa Fe Springs, but you could tell by the expressions on the passengers' faces that images of the devastation were fresh in their minds. Many shot the furtive gazes of the morbidly curious, and others were simply shell-shocked. I ignored my seat buddy, and he ignored me. Folks were going through too much right now to make small talk.
The ride was an opportunity for contemplation. Sadly, constructive introspection was a talent I lacked. I gave it a try anyway.
Looking back on events since I had woken up, everything had happened so quickly, most of all my acceptance of the situation. It was slightly worrying that I had taken the mantle of savior with hardly a second thought. Crazier was the fact that I could function as a human being right now. Mere hours ago, I experienced the worst trauma of my life. Even the universe agreed that it was horrific because it granted me powers for surviving the ordeal, yet now I was moving on like nothing happened. I remembered the panic and the dread that set in as I realized just how royally screwed I was. The memories were still fresh, but they didn't dredge up any strong emotions.
That was weird. Wasn't the whole point of a Trigger event to irrevocably tie a person to their trauma, forever causing them to be more unstable and prone to confrontation? Instead, I felt
distanced from the trauma, like there was a protective layer separating me from falling into the madness or depression I should have been in right now.
Don't get me wrong, I wasn't going to complain about it, but it reeked of Shard fuckery. My powers obviously didn't come from the paired entities, so that only left only the third, the loner entity dubbed 'Abbadon' by my newly appointed deity, Wildblow.
Or it could be some complete and utter bullshit. Who knows with these things?
In the end, I was glad to be mentally stable, and fretting over the underlying reasons would only drive me back into insanity.
For the rest of the trip, I let my worries fall away and zoned out while watching the scenery of the familiar-unfamiliar world blur past.
Ultimately, I stopped for the night at Doty Middle School, the familiar building being used as one of the emergency shelters for displaced residents.
This was the place I'd attended school from 6th through 8th grade. The courts, the rows of classrooms sticking out like legs on an insect, the colors and even the
trees awakened in me a nostalgia for all things middle school - laughter of long forgotten friends and innocent days of childish fun.
The differences between Earth Bet's version and my own made the feeling all the more uncanny, not the least of which was the prominently displayed mural depicting PRT heroes shaking hands with a stereotypical principal figure.
Upon entering, I joined the line of haggard people waiting to receive baggies of basic supplies.
"Here you go, dear. Beds are in the main wings, and restrooms are down at the end of the hall," the nice older lady said as she handed over a bag.
Not wanting to repeat my asshole behavior from earlier, I put on an earnest smile. "Thank you very much. You have no idea how much it means to me and the others you've helped that we have this support."
She waved her hand to show she thought it was no big deal, "In times like these, it's important for the community to come together. We all ought to come together more often like this country used to do back when I was a child. But you don't need to listen to this old dinosaur prattle on about the '
good ole days'" she chuckled good naturedly.
I smiled back at her, "I think that's a wonderful sentiment. Community. It's important to have people you can rely on and know that they can rely on you in turn. I hope everything turns out all right for you, ma'am."
"You as well, young man."
I could have genial conversations. When I wasn't stressing out over dimensional relocation.
I awoke very early the next morning, the predawn gloom greeting me through the classroom windows. The place was packed with refugees, but I hadn't let the crampedness stop me from claiming a restful night's sleep.
Newfound energy filled me, and I felt like I should be doing something productive, although maybe that was the seven new charges sitting in my inner sanctum. T'was no time for playing with powers though.
Finding one of the volunteers, I asked for directions, "'Scuse me, can you tell me where I can get some food? I'd go to the store, but I've only got the cash in my pocket right now, and I don't know when I'm gonna need it."
The portly man paused in his paperwork to look at me, "No worries, we've actually got meals set up in the gym and cafeteria. It's not ready yet, but if you wait until around 8:00, we're letting anybody in, no questions asked."
"Hey, I appreciate it, thanks."
"No problem," he said back.
I sped off to the entrance, raring to burn off this restless energy in a walk around the neighborhood but stopped at the door. I had a better idea.
"Hey," I caught his attention again, "Is there any chance they need another volunteer for food prep. To be honest, I've got nothing else to do right now. Work is a no-go, and home is- well…"
"I get it," he said, "no need to explain to me. I can't say for sure if they need an extra hand, but I don't think they'll turn down the manpower. If they can't slot you in there, I'm sure they can direct you to someplace that does need the help. I'd try the gym crew first."
"Got it. Thanks again."
"Don't thank me. We need more people like you, willing to lend a hand even when you're down on your luck. Godspeed."
With my faith in the goodness of humanity bolstered, I made my way over to the impromptu kitchen. The gym was in a separate building from the classrooms, and I got there after a short walk across the courtyard. Inside, volunteers of all ages were hurrying to and fro, ferrying foodstuffs and equipment, or setting up tables.
I found the person who looked to be in charge, a middle aged man with a combover and a beer belly conversing with several important looking people, and made my way over to him.
I waited for a lull in the discussion after he sent the others off to their various tasks before speaking up.
"Hello," I got his attention, "I was looking to help out around here. If you need another helper that is?"
"Sure, what's your name son?" He had a distinctively Texan drawl and a confident air about him. This was a man who didn't take any bullshit.
"Kyle. I don't mind taking whatever job you need me to do. Not exactly picky right now."
"Well Kyle, that's good to hear. Joe Henderson," he gave me a firm handshake, "Call me Joe, everyone else here does. I'm gonna have you assisting Beth with anything she needs. She's the gal with the green hair in charge of setup."
It couldn't be, could it?
"Beth!" Joe called out to a girl halfway across the gymnasium, "Got another helper for you!"
Beth and I locked eyes. It could be. Green-streak, here in the flesh. What were the odds of that?
Without the coating of dust, I could make out more of her features, a round face with a button nose and bright eyes. I placed her at maybe a few years older than me. If she were on the standard track, she looked like she might have been a senior in college or graduated by now.
Beth recognized me in turn, her eyes lighting up as she looked me over. I strode over to meet her.
"Crazy guy?" she tentatively asked.
I had a nickname. Nice.
"That's me," I said with an amused grin splitting my face, "Though, you didn't really get to see the best side of me earlier." I ran my hands through my hair, a nervous tick of mine. "Actually, that's just an excuse. We were all going through the same shit, and I just couldn't hold it together. None of that makes what I did or said right, so, I'm saying it now. Sorry for my behavior back there."
Meeting her eyes was difficult, but I managed a few quick glances during the apology. Beth did not seem thrilled to see me.
She didn't respond immediately, looking at me in a way that implied she was still deciding my fate. After far too long, she gave her verdict. "You should be apologizing to the guy you assaulted after an
endbringer attack," she said harshly. "But I suppose you can't be all bad if you're helping out here." She suddenly shifted gears, "Alright, I'm gonna have you help with setup for now. Tables, food trays, utensils, etcetera. Once people start filtering in, you'll go to the back to clean out the equipment to get ready for the next round. If you've got any questions, you can ask me or Martin -he's the tall guy with the glasses, blonde hair- but don't bother Joe again, he's got enough on his plate already. Got all that?"
"Yep, setup and cleaning duty. Ask you or Martin if there's something I can't figure out," I repeated the instructions back to her. "I'm Kyle by the way, but it's probably fair for you to keep calling me crazy guy. If nothing else, it'll build my rep with the rest of the crew. I'll be a legend by nightfall."
She rolled her eyes. "Riiight. No, Kyle is fine. For what it's worth, you're doing a good thing here, Kyle. Let's get to it then."
And so we did. Beth and I joined Martin and a handful of other volunteers in moving tables and stacks of chairs into position.
"Guys, this is Kyle, and he's gonna be joining us for the morning," Beth introduced me to the group.
"You okay man? You've got a few holes there in your pants and your shirt, uh, everywhere actually," Martin had a bit of a lisp and a quality to his voice that made him sound a bit like Cartman from Southpark, which was entirely at odds with his soft face and quiet demeanor.
"I'm fine. Just haven't had a chance to grab a change of clothes yet," I said as I unfurled a folding table.
One of the others, a girl who couldn't have been older than 16 gave me a wide eyed stare. "Beth, is this the guy you were talking about?" she asked.
Beth sighed deeply, "Yes."
"Oh, I'm famous already? Or infamous rather," I grinned again, finding the dynamic too amusing to resist a little joking around. "I assure you that anything she's said about me is entirely true and, I'm ashamed to say, also entirely deserved. Though, I do have to say that it's weird running into you at the first shelter I chose. The universe works in very mysterious ways."
"Christeli, can you get a roller for the utensil boxes? Thank you," Beth addressed the younger girl. She then turned to me, "So you're staying here at the school? I'm sorry, I didn't realize how bad you had it."
"Nah, there's plenty who've got it worse than me. My family and friends are fine, just across the country. It's only my apartment that got demolished."
I wouldn't say that I could lie with the best of them, but I could make up some decent tall tales in a pinch. Best not to rely too heavily on them, however, or people would start to catch on.
"And you didn't take the first opportunity out of here?" She asked, side-eyeing me while unloading bags of plastic forks and knives.
I joined her in organizing the boxes. "I thought about it, but something kept me here. Whether that's the crazy in me or out of sheer stubbornness, I can't rightly say. I just know that I feel like I want to make a difference while I can. These horrible events, they're world-shattering to a lot of people, and I'm not excluding myself here. I feel like everything changed for me, you know. It's all topsy-turvy, flipped upside down, and now I've just gotta find a new way forward. That was probably too much rambling, huh? You don't need to listen to me blab on about early life crisis."
"No. I get it. I really do." Beth stared straight ahead.
I'm sure she was remembering the nightmare we went through, experiencing her own set of crises.
After a minute of silently working, she spoke, "I didn't lose anyone, thank goodness, but… I don't think anything could have prepared me for… that. I don't think anybody
could be prepared. It's just all so senseless, and- and wasteful and horrible." She took a breath, calming herself after getting worked up. "I'm out of a job now, so I know how you feel about needing a place where you can do
something to help others."
"Me too," I commiserated. "The job thing, I mean. Let's just say I'm very grateful that there are so many wonderful volunteers to help people in situations like mine."
Our group worked in relative lack of conversation for a while, systematically removing chairs from the stack, unfolding them, and placing them around the tables.
"Alright everybody," Beth called us all to attention, "this is a good time to break for a meal, and I do suggest you eat
before we start serving, because it's gonna be a busy day. The cafeteria sent some eggs and sausages for us." She indicated the large metal tubs sitting on the serving table by the back wall.
Looking at the school's sports banners decorating the wall, patterned with a stylized red and white knight's helm, I was glad to see we were the Doty Knights in this reality too.
I hadn't eaten a scrap beyond the granola bars from last night's care package, so I was feeling hungry enough to load up my plate. A gourmet buffet, this was not, but it would be sufficient to fill me up.
I joined the rest of our group around one of the circular tables and began scarfing down bland but sustaining breakfast staples. The dry food was washed down with a chug of incredibly refreshing orange juice.
Though I had grabbed the most food out of everyone, my plate was the first to be emptied.
Sitting there while watching the others eat, I realized I hadn't said a word yet to half of the people here. It was time to rectify that situation.
I spoke to the trio sitting across from me, "I don't think I've introduced myself yet. I'm Kyle. It's nice to meet you all, though it could be under better circumstances."
"I'm Edgar. It's crazy, huh?" He had a polite manner of speaking.
Edgar was college age, Mexican heritage with a close cropped beard and mustache, and spoke with a light Spanish accent.
"Yeah, it really is," I engaged in the smalltalk. "Coulda been a lot worse though. The heroes had a damn good response time."
"Did you see them? The endbringers?" one of the remaining unnamed boys asked.
He looked like your typical LA highschool student. His 'beard' was a small collection of scraggly hairs, he appeared to be mixed race, and he had a few unfortunate breakouts of acne dotting his face.
"This is not the time or place," Beth scolded him with a look on her face that spoke of disappointment and promised punishment if he pushed any further.
"Too soon, man," Edgar concurred.
"It's alright," I said, "What's your name?"
"Devon." He pronounced it like Dev-ahn.
"Well Devon, I didn't see them. Missed the fighting completely, just caught the aftermath. But you know what? I'm grateful that I did. I don't need those nightmares added on top of everything else. Trust me when I say if you can see an endbringer, then you're too close."
The others were looking at me with a range of expressions from respect to incredulity to thoughtfulness.
"Dang bro," Devon sounded impressed by my obvious comment, "that's still more than I saw. My whole family was stuffed in a shelter with like a thousand other people for the whole thing. It smelled like ass, it was so hot in there."
They took refuge in an
underground bunker for the attack by
Bohu, the terrain altering Shaker? I didn't voice my objections to that plan of action because it would only be a dick move that made them all more afraid. And really, what other options did they have? Run out in the streets?
"I'd much rather have been in a shelter," I said seriously.
Maybe then, I wouldn't have triggered, and I wouldn't feel obligated to concoct a suicidally foolish plot to save the world.
"Let's drop this, please," Beth shot an uncomfortable glance at me.
Right, she was dealing with the awful memories too, and this talk would only make her relive the traumatic events. From there, the conversation shifted to lighter topics. No more endbringers, and no more death.
Volunteer work did the soul good when you could directly see the results of your efforts. I'd put in the hours for scholarships, but it had never felt rewarding. Back then, it was just another chore, something to check off the list and maybe have fun doing it with your friends.
You connected with people too, I realized. In one day, the number of acquaintances I had on Earth Bet shot all the way up from zero to six. I'd argue that's an impressive showing for someone recently dimensionally displaced.
Beth had been right, and the work did ramp up a lot once people began showing up. Turns out we were the overflow seating for folks who couldn't grab a spot in the cafeteria. There were a lot of refugees from the affected area - I think the news coverage mentioned something like fifty thousand displaced residents. That seemed like a high amount, but there were a few pockets of affected areas out east as well, and the government wasn't taking any chances. It added up quickly.
Morning turned into noon as I scrubbed and washed and scrubbed some more. We had a whole system to ferry clean trays back and forth between here and the cafeteria. Edgar made for a good conversation partner at least.
Lunch came around for us and the refugees, and I basically ate while I worked. Hotdogs and chips, it was as American as it got.
By the evening, I was bone tired, yet at the same time I was bursting with energy. 13 whole packets of the stuff, eager to become the paint on my canvas. It was tempting, oh so tempting to go off and find a quiet place to spend my charges, but I knew there were other things I wanted to do with my night. For one, I needed to get a handle on my potential enemies as soon as possible - I needed to research
all the past and present Slaughterhouse Nine members so I knew what I could be facing come battle time. It was going to be a horrid task, but a necessary one if I wanted to prepare for any unexpected snares. I already had my evening planned. Surprisingly, I'd learned from Beth that the Downey City Library was still operating under relative normality, so I'd have a few hours on their public computers to pursue my morbid research, brush up on my knowledge of the psychopathic, mass murdering nomads, and plan countermeasures accordingly.
I was going to have the best time ever, I just knew it.
I was having the worst time ever. I hated it.
The descriptions and what little imagery was publicly available of the Slaughterhouse members' crimes were revolting, but that wasn't the main issue.
No, the reason I was sitting at one of their work stations, despairing, was because preparing for every possible cape they could throw at me was beyond unreasonable. It was simply impossible with the resources I had available to me.
Forget about defense. In no reality could I devise a counter to every single type of attack they could bring to bear. Time loops, poisonous illusions, blunt force trauma, piercing trauma, fire, ice, acid,
power canceling, Stranger effects, whatever bullshit the Siberian was pulling, various forms of mastering, the list made for chilly contemplation.
That still wasn't the worst part. I could forgo defense for a glass cannon build with some sensory related stealth powers. Except, there were
no Stranger powers I could build with my budget that could handle every type of sensory ability the S9000 could throw at me.
Normal senses like sight and sound? Sure, and I bet I could make it an area of effect too, blocking them out all at once. What about super strong senses of smell or taste that Crawler might have, or detection tech that could be a part of Mannequin's arsenal. I didn't know for sure if they had those capabilities, but I couldn't afford to gamble on them
not possessing those counters.
Oh yeah, and there could always be Harbinger clones to really mess up my day. I was about 90% certain Jack brought some Harbingers to Los Angeles with him, and how the hell was I supposed to make a power that countered his number reading?!
At the very least, I counted my lucky stars that I wouldn't have to deal with Cherish's long range emotion-sense on top of everything else,
Whoopty-doo.
I strained my brain to recall who exactly Jack brought with him, to the point I must have looked constipated from my scrunched up face.
Crawlers definitely, Mannequins highly probable, Grey Boy for sure, Hookwolf too, Siberian 99.99% sure, confident on Nyx clones, very confident on Harbinger clones, tack on Nilbog creations for good measure. The rest, I couldn't say for sure. Some Psychosoma clones sounded right, meshing well with Nyx's power, and so did Miasmas. Poisonous gas and illusions was one of the main things I remembered from my sole readthrough of the fight. That, and Jack getting trapped in a Grey Boy time loop.
The other events were hazy and vague. There was a monologue between Jack and Theo at some point where the poor kid got cut to shreds by Jack Slash's titular slashing power. When did Zion show up, and how long did it take for Jack to convince it that torturing humanity would be a fun pastime? Also, was that before or after he got trapped in the loop? I had too many questions and too few answers.
This was going to be tough, but I could try to narrow down the strategies I knew for certain they would use.
My worst nightmare scenario involved me using my rearrangers on a Nyx illusion of Jack, giving up the game and getting me splattered into paste.
I needed a way to detect illusions. Or better yet, I could opt for a detection power that
bypassed illusions. What if I went with some sort of sensory ability that didn't rely on the senses that got covered up by Nyx's gas? Sight based abilities were out, and so was sound. Smell and taste could both be fooled as well, even if that seemed unlikely.
What were some unique markers to each individual human? Wait, that was the wrong question. What were the unique identifiers to each
parahuman?
I knew the answer: Shard data. Outgoing signals should in theory be unique to each Shard. If I could build a power to read those signals, then I would have a nearly foolproof way of identifying any parahuman, so long as I knew the properties of their powers beforehand.
I'd be giving up a lot to do this, leaving both defense and the majority of my stealth budget by the wayside, but this would be worth it if I could prevent a false victory. I didn't necessarily have to throw away all of my stealth charges, but my capabilities in that area would be severely reduced.
Thus, a plan was formed. 1) Hone my weapon. 2) Be able to identify the target. 3) Put leftover charges into a stealth field.
I left the library not feeling confident exactly, but carrying a grim determination to see this fight through to the bloody end.
Paranoia is a form of fear, and he is THE Scowling Lord!
