EVENT #010

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam and any other megacity the Displaced happen to be in/travel to!
WHEN: May 28, 2512
WHAT: Golden-eyed monsters stream into New Amsterdam and other megacities the world over.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Violence, death, body horror, mind control, and transformation.

> EVENT #010

It starts in the middle of the night, when most everyone should be fast asleep in their beds, whether they're still taking up a cot in the safehouse or staying in their own apartment. One moment it's quiet, with most of the rest of the city having also turned in for the night, and then in the next? It isn't.

There will be mass confusion as the scope of the situation becomes clear. Monsters stream out onto the streets, thundering up the stairs of a train station, skittering out of construction sites, or climbing up the walls. Some of them fly. Others slither. Others run, loping forward with only one goal in mind: to find something to sink their teeth or claws into and to leave destruction in their wake at every turn. They are a horde, a swarm, a teeming mass of creatures that have no intention of stopping. All of them have eyes or bodies that shine gold and wherever they go, they seem to leave decay. Concrete turns black and porous where they step; plants wither and die.

There is no real preparing for an attack of this scale. New Amsterdam will awaken as the sound of these monsters crashing down on cars or bursting through storefronts or into homes forces people to run screaming from their dwellings or places of work. There is no discrimination in who these beasts might target, and no discernable pattern in where they go.

All that one can really tell is that they seem to want to spread out. They're constantly on the move, leaping from victim to victim, and they're relentless. No one knows why they've come, where they're come from, or what will make them stop. At least for now, the only option seems to be to cut down their numbers. It's time to fight the horde.

The first night will be utter chaos as everyone reacts to the monsters' sudden appearance, but by the morning hours news reports will start streaming in. This is not only happening in New Amsterdam, or wherever else a Displaced might be staying, but seemingly everywhere. Some cities seem harder hit than others, but practically every megacity is overrun with the creatures.

With no way of knowing who might have unleashed the monsters, all of these cities have essentially been turned into battlefields. Not many civilians are prepared to fight for their lives, and it will take a mobilization effort from the police, Morningstar, the Displaced, and anyone else who's willing to take up arms in order to survive.

◉ As a note, this attack starts simultaneously in multiple cities. While it's the middle of the night in New Amsterdam, the monsters will appear at other times of the day in other parts of the world depending on the timezone!

> BESTIARY

So as to not make this post overly long, we have compiled all of the monster descriptions into a Google doc here for everyone's reference!

> (NOT SO) SAFEHOUSE

For those Displaced who stay at (or spend any time in) the safehouse under the hoverbike shop or the Red Wings bar, they may become aware of the presence of the monsters sooner than others, due to the fact that at least a few of the giant mole monsters will end up burrowing up through the concrete basements to wreak havoc. The screeching noise of steel claws tearing through the floor will be sure to wake up even the deepest of sleepers.

This won't just be an occurrence on the first night of the attack, either. Unless something is done to deter them, tunnels leading straight into the safehouses will continue to be created, allowing even other types of monsters to find their way through (the smaller ones, that is). Where exactly they're coming from won't be entirely clear, though it's a safe bet to assume that they must have originated in the cave system somehow.

Suffice to say that El won't be happy about the safehouse being compromised in this way, though this isn't a possibility that ze or anyone else could have really prepared for. While ze can't do much to physically help with containing the invasion of the monsters, ze will offer whatever resources ze can—though Morningstar is going to be busy in plenty of other locations, as well, and they only have so many resources.

The Red Wings, being a Displaced-operated location, will also be in need of assistance, especially if it's meant to be a point of safety and a hub for handing out supplies. Speaking of—

> RED WINGS HQ

As things begin to deteriorate, Clarke Griffin and Stephen Strange sink their resources into Red Wings, adapting it into a base of operations for the Displaced. Clarke also called in PRESERVE to set up a checkpoint here, too, and anyone—from the Displaced to civilians—will be able to seek aid here. (Of course, Red Wings will be just one of a few locations throughout the city where they attempt to set up shop, but Red Wings may prove to be more fortified thanks to the talents of the Displaced.) Civilians will not have access to Red Wings' safehouse, however. That's still something that Clarke and Stephen want to keep under wraps, for now.

In the bar proper, there will be medical aid, supplies, and even weapons for those who can use them. During rare moments of downtime, the gang at Red Wings will also work on reconnaissance missions to find safe spots throughout the city to provide much needed protection and safety for the people of New Amsterdam. This task may be much easier said than done. Gathering intel on the monsters is a high priority, too, and for anyone who tries to capture a monster to learn more about them, the basement might be a good place to hold them. If the Displaced are going to be able to fight back, they need to know exactly what it is they're fighting.

However, the truth of the matter is that this attack happened quickly, and in the middle of the night to boot. As much as the group at Red Wings tries, resources are stretched thin, and they didn't have time to prepare as much as they wanted to. Supplies need to be rationed, bandages and stitches used for wounds that really need them, and if you're not a great shot, it might be best to let someone with more training take that gun you're eyeing.

More than anything, despite the difficulty, this is a way for the Displaced to help out as many people as they can, and a way for them to cement their humanitarian efforts and affect the population's opinion of them. The citizens of New Amsterdam are sick of this cycle of destruction, and are just waiting to be empowered. Now's the time to teach them to fight back and help them protect their city.

Red Wings' safehouse underground will be damaged by burrowing monsters as well, and will need protection. The bar itself will escape relatively unscathed.

> INVESTIGATING / GATES

Maybe the best way of dealing with the monsters isn't violence at all. Maybe there's a more strategic way to deal with this.

The monsters will be moving from city to city via the gates, just like the Displaced do. There might be a way to keep them from spreading, or at least slow them down, by shutting down the gate network. Of course, with the mag trains shutting down, getting back home could be an issue. One option is the delivery network of hover trucks. They'll still be running to get supplies from city to city, but their batteries don't run indefinitely, so these will be relatively local trips only. No getting from New Tokyo back to New Amsterdam with this method, unfortunately, and convincing a driver to let you hitch a ride might be a challenge, but it's doable.

Of course, there's also the question of where these things are coming from. Intrepid characters might be able to track them back to their nests, which are tucked away in wildly different places depending on the city. In New Amsterdam, they might be in the caves below the city. In other places, they might not be in the city proper at all, but just outside of it. It's important to keep in mind that the nests are far away from any of the action taking place elsewhere. Tracking these origin points may provide some answers, but the cost would be less involvement in the crisis taking place.

And then there's the matter of the monsters themselves. How can you fight an enemy you know nothing about? For those determined or crafty enough, capturing them might be an option, although this will take some creativity. Once these creatures are captured, they'll need to be kept contained, and kept alive. Just because they're monstrous doesn't mean they don't have to eat, after all, and some will need special environmental considerations as well, such as the mind control slugs.

What happens after that is up to the Displaced. Is dissecting them the best bet? Their internal anatomy won't be wildly different from most "normal" animals, with the exception of some creatures who have strange appendages or the like. Still, this might give the Displaced a better idea of how they operate and what their weak spots are. Sending samples to a lab is another possibility, if the Displaced can figure out how to safely store those samples. After all, the world is in a crisis, and no one is running tests at the moment.

All monsters, though, seem drawn to the blue light. When a Displaced uses a power or activates the empathy bond, the creatures will lock onto it, utterly transfixed, and if this is done enough times, that gold glow of theirs will intensify. What does it all mean? Maybe figuring that out will be a pathway to stopping their attacks.

> PITCHING IN

While all of this is going on, it certainly won't be just the Displaced who are heading out into the streets to try and stem the flow of the monster attack. These creatures are certainly not holding back, and no matter how much work might be put in, their numbers are overwhelming. Plenty of people will end up dead as a result, ripped to shreds or dragged off somewhere to be eaten. Yet, for some reason, these monsters are not as vicious toward the Displaced. They'll engage them in a fight and injure them, but they never go so far as dealing a fatal blow.

Seeing how that's not the case for the rest of the populace throughout the world, however, some groups and organizations will be rising up to do their part.

Police departments will be mobilizing in every megacity to put the monsters down, and while they are armed, it's not on the same level as the UNA. They also don't have any sort of training that's prepared them to fight monsters, but they'll still be putting their lives on the line to put a dent in the monsters' onslaught. When it comes to enforcing regular law and order, they certainly won't have the bandwidth for anything like that. Then again, most people won't be in any position to take advantage and commit crimes either, given the chaos that will be a constant everywhere.

Morningstar will also be jumping into action around the world. The New Amsterdam branch will be most likely to work alongside the Displaced and share some of their resources, particularly with those who are signed up as official agents or those who've supported them in the past. In cities like New Prague and New Beijing where the Displaced have made some contact with Morningstar before, they'll also be open to working with the Displaced. However, their resources are by no means robust. Morningstar is an organized rebel group, but they're hardly an official army in any sense of the word. They might be able to hand out a weapon here or there and they have a safehouse set up in almost every city, but beyond that, they'll mainly be getting boots on the ground to help with the fighting.

UNA soldiers who have been left without any sort of purpose or guidance will now have an opportunity to put some of that training to use. Their involvement will be much more scattered, though in some cases small groups of these soldiers who used to work in units together will reconnect in their effort to fight off the horde. However, having been cut off from the UNA in an official capacity, they won't have much in the way of gear or weapons. They're still formidable fighters, though, and now might be the perfect time to reach out and make a connection with some of them.

Mercenaries belonging to various different outfits, depending on what city they're based in, will also be joining the cause. Whether they're acting out of a basic desire to survive the attacks or if they're actually being paid by someone to go out there and risk their lives will be less clear, but they're some of the best-equipped fighters (other than the police). They also won't really find much reason to protest any of the Displaced pitching in to fight with them. The more firepower, the better, right?

A group of regulars from the New Amsterdam fighting rings will be rising up to add their fuel to the monster-fighting fire, as encouraged by Hawke and whoever else might know them well enough to reach out. Given that some of these people have illegal mods to enhance their strength or cybernetic attachments that can do impressive amounts of damage, some of them might hold their own against the monsters. Hell, some of them might even ask the Displaced to demonstrate some of their powers if they end up fighting together, as word of their abilities has become more known among their ranks. Either way, they'll be jumping into the fray with quite a bit of gusto.

PRESERVE will be involved on the other end of these efforts and will be doing their best to tend to the wounded and the dead, along with finding shelter and safe spots for people to barricade themselves from the attacks. It's not like the grand majority of civilians could stand a chance against these monsters, after all, yet not all of them can rely on their homes to be safe enough to stay in. They'll be quick to accept an offer of Displaced help, as they'll be doing their best to try and drag the recently dead to hospitals to get them put into medi-units before they're too late. Along with what's set up at Red Wings, they'll also be cobbling together other relief spots throughout the city for taking care of wounded and offering up what supplies they have (food and water, medical supplies, etc).

And what are the corporations doing in all of this? Well, suffice to say, mainly just panicking. Unsurprisingly, they're not much help during a crisis like this, with most of the super-rich opting to hide away in whatever highly secure bunkers they might have. Too bad that these bunkers might not prove so secure in the face of these attacks. Could that prove to be an opportunity if someone went looking?

> FINAL OOC NOES

Please refer to the OOC EVENT POST for all OOC info, including suggestions for directions on how to engage with the event. Given the spread out nature of this event, as well as the amount of additional details provided here, please direct all questions to our QUESTIONS thread below. This is, naturally, a huge event in terms of scale, and so we're certain there are aspects of it we haven't covered and questions that have yet to be answered. We do encourage that all of our players use the event planning post for any additional ideas and for touching base!

Please do not begin to thread out any aftermath until AUGUST 8, 2020, which is when we will put up the aftermath log and OOC post. If this date changes, we will provide a gamewide update as needed! As a note, the August calendar will be posted alongside the aftermath!

As a reminder, there is one power level up available for this event, granted for a thread of at least 5 log/action comments containing your character utilizing their power in some way during the event itself. They will need to reach the 5 comments required by SEPTEMBER 11, 2020 to be eligible. Submission will be handled on the wrap up post.

Our Activity Check will be posted AUGUST 1 at 12 AM UTC. It will run for seven days and close on AUGUST 8 at 12 AM UTC.

Have fun and fight some monsters! Or … whatever else you might do with them. 😉😏 Your secret's safe with us. 😙

> NAVIGATION

Comments

[acheless]

[ Nathan's coming down a stairwell when he first feels it. Rumblings, then shrieking. It's chaos over the turn of a second. He stares, wide-eyed and shock-still, out a third-floor window: something in the distance explodes. An animal-like shriek erupts nearby. Nathan holds his breath and watches a huge, leathery monster fly by the glass, skin stretched taut over the skull without eyes or a face. It's a horror, and a flinty, shameful shard of something like hope sparks up in his chest.

Because it almost seems familiar, right? Seems like— like something he might know, like something mutated by myth and the warp of magic.

He takes the stairs two at a time. All the way down, almost eating shit as he stumbles over his own feet. The street outside is more of the same. A monster with claws comes to land on the side of a building, sending debris and concrete raining down, then lifts off into flight. People are screaming. Things are falling apart.

Regroup. He has to get back there— back to the bunker, back to Red Wings, somewhere. Nathan runs, half stooping to help as he passes by some woman who's trying to run in heels. Consistently, it's been adrenaline, so maybe that's what helps him clock it: that bat-like thing makes a circle, flies back around. They're right in the path of it, in the middle of the fucking street like this.

Nathan doesn't think about it too hard. Barely has enough sense to tug his sleeve down and over his forearm, limit skin contact just in case. He just moves, all but body-checks somebody into the opening of an alleyway. A full-measure effort, the meat of his forearm pressed tight against Ian's mouth, the flat of one hand splayed over sternum — to cut off any potential flailing at the pass, to get him to be still.

Eyes meet. The blue glow from Nathan's chest brightens then dims, leaving them in the dark of the night, breathing quick and paced and uneven. Nathan frowns and stares and can't risk saying anything, not right now, but it's a message that's easy enough to read.

Stay fucking quiet.

There are other screams, too. The sound of earth cracking open, and then something with wings landing close. ]

[wittingly]

[ Ah, okay, there's the panic. It hits when something slams into him, because his lizard brain is convinced it's something about to rip his throat out. Kind of an understandable concern considering, you know, literally everything around them.

His back thumps into concrete around the same time as he gets his hands up, bracing against Nathan's chest and shoving with his heels ground down. Good call with that anchorpoint mr. wizard cop. It takes two wild-eyed seconds before his brain can convince his body to stop fighting back. Not because he recognizes the face right off, but because it's a person rather than the fucking dinosaurs from that one Super Mario Bros. movie nobody talks about. The recognition comes later.

All the same, his hands fist defensively in Nathan's shirt and there's a wary warning written in his eyebrows that sort of looks like I will straight up punch you if you move too quick right now. Beneath the hand on his sternum, his heartbeat hammers way too hard and too fast. His chest rises and falls.

Shut the fuck up, yeah, he can read that.

The only sound that escapes him is the stuttered in and out of audible, frightened breathing through his nose. Nothing else to look at but back into this guy's eyes, and that's when synapses make the connection — doesn't know his name, but knows of him.

The death-grip on Nathan's shirt eases up just, like, a microscopic amount. ]

[acheless]

[ Recognition sparks for Nathan, too. Something with an I, maybe. Nathan's seen him around the bunker, cordoning himself off at his table, tinkering with something that might only make sense for someone who knows what the fuck they're talking about. He's seen Kyna with him once or twice. Nathan's chin tips fractionally into a slow, short nod.

They're on the same page about this. Pressure over mouth gently eases up as Nathan's arm slowly, slowly drops back down, even though his other hand is still there, still pressed solidly. The hammering of Ian's heart barely fucking registers. Not like Nathan's own isn't doing the same.

There's not much to do but wait. Breathe. Listen.

Not like he knows, specifically, what he's waiting for. Not much to wait for. The screams are going to keep going, the monsters are fucking coming out of the goddamn ground. This city isn't going to know quiet for a while.

Nathan thinks back to the window. The passing sight of something without a mouth and strange eyes. The gum of flesh pulled tight over ridges of bone, like something humanoid was trying to push out from its skull. The ugly truth here is that waiting just means hesitating until somebody else is taken by leathery wings and sharp talons. Carried off to be— something. Prey, maybe, if not food.

More sounds. A sick crunch, and then debris falling. They're just outside the perimeter of it— nothing sizeable, but concrete dust and rocks and who knows what else pelts down. Nathan blinks through the ash around the same time somebody out there screams something, help or please or who knows what else.

Nathan's expression twists. Glance ticks out the mouth of the alleyway, like maybe he's considering it. ]

[wittingly]

[ The arm comes down off of his mouth and honestly it's less of a relief than you might think. People slap their hands over their mouths in horror movies for a reason. When you're gripped with a visceral fear that makes the world tilt to the left and then back again, and then to the right and then back again, and then it all centers and your mind is blank but for the staring, you don't even notice when noise is escaping your mouth.

Sometimes it isn't a choice.

That isn't the case now, fortunately, but the paranoia in Ian trips over not having that safeguard for a second.

He doesn't have a rifle. There are no woods here to retreat into. There is no systemic logic he can unpack to ascertain within some degree of accuracy what their movements are likely to be. Back where he's from, they were drawn to buildings like magnets — literally, actually, and it was pretty much a guarantee that putting distance between that and yourself made you safe. If he couldn't, he could at least track which direction they came from; they move in grid formation, usually down and to the left and then down and to the right, and he could figure out that if they go down two and over four they could fuck off without being spotted.

It's absolute fucking chaos out there. Screaming resonates through the alley they're holed up in, sounds bouncing off of buildings and giving them a stereo play of just exactly how fucked it all is. Overlaying it, the sound of both of their breathing within arms' length of one another.

Nathan's eyes tick away toward the sound of pleading, and Ian's fists tighten in his shirt. He gives a pointed little tug back toward him, eyebrows hiking up; don't you fucking dare.

He gets it. The urge to run out after it, but then what? What the hell are you gonna do exactly? How do you plan on saving somebody from something like that without getting slaughtered yourself?

A shadow passes overhead.

Something drops from the sky and thumps onto the ground beside them.

It's an arm, detached just above the elbow. ]

[acheless]

[ The tug snaps his attention back. Nathan frowns, fucking knee-jerk murderous, all instinct to shove Ian back with his palm. For a second, the look holds: this close, it's audible, the sharp inhale of breath Nathan takes. Like he's preparing himself for a fight.

That tension flattens, in the next breath, right when some semblance of cognitive awareness returns. He knows it's a good point. Justifiable. The right one, even. He nods, again, but it's not much of an apology.

The screaming becomes a moot point anyway. The voice gets cut off halfway through a word.

A bead of wet splashes across his jaw around about the same time something falls. Nathan's attention pivots to beside them. It takes him a comically long time to fucking process— laughable that he'd ever been someone who knew how to respond to chaos like this. Nathan stares and stares and keeps fucking staring at the sight of it, because.

Jesus. Jesus Christ.

Some part of his brain that's trying right now, that is scrabbling for any point of comparison, thinks that this just isn't— right.

That at least magic vaporizes. Leaves little trace. That when casting goes wrong, it cauterizes you clean. Forces burning you from the inside out. Injury doesn't look like this: a jut of bone and sinew and blood, tissue smeared along point of impact. Nausea ekes into the fringes of his awareness and Nathan closes his eyes. Sometimes that happens, when the world slows down for him. Synaptic kickback. Some shitty side-effect.

But he can't lie. It's this, too. Pressure of hand over chest eases, a bit, as Nathan minutely shifts his weight. Presses his own shoulders back to the wall behind him, as if the texturing there could dig in harder, replace nausea with pain. Would be a fucking shitty time to throw up, is the thing. ]

[wittingly]

[ His hackles rise to meet that murderous look, his spine straightening and jaw cocking in preparation for a scuffle that never actually comes. He's not much of a fighter, but he's scrappy enough. Quick, mostly, and probably strong enough to break out of a grapple if he has to. He's done it with Takoda before.

The fire settles down into a smolder quickly enough. An entire argument had wordlessly and settled just as fast as it flared.

The good news is that Ian's seen severed limbs before. The violence in his world was, apparently, the exact opposite of Nathan's. It was systemic, but it was not clean. You could predict the habits of the threat bearing down on you, but if you fucked up the consequences were filthy. Buildings crushed into compact cubes with people still inside them. Slabs of concrete falling from a hundred feet up. The reality of gravity and the damage it's capable of doing.

One of the few people he saw die up close was a fucking fluke; some poor dumb bastard the victim of the most statistically unlikely circumstance. A chunk of debris falling from the magnet above them and landing directly where he was standing — not even big, maybe the side of a baseball. Cracked his skull clean open like nothing.

He can handle this part.

Clearly, this guy's struggling a little.

It's an executive decision to peel one hand away and press it over Nathan's eyes. Two purposes served here — one, keep him from fixating on that lost limb. Two, to split what Nathan's feeling into two and replace half of it with Ian's composure.

Which isn't to say he's got his shit entirely together, there's still pants-shitting fear and adrenaline pulsing in the background, but on top of it is something else. Some other thing that is definitely an emotion but that may be harder to pin down - a kind of detachment, a distance that breeds level-headedness. Not calm, but some offshoot of it. Steady, steely, and logic-seeking. Something that takes over in him to help him keep himself alive, and to help him keep from hurling his fucking guts up when someone's arm falls out of the sky. ]

[acheless]

[ What the fuck are you— is a thought that never actualizes. Palm cups over Nathan's eyes. Makes contact. There's not enough room here to pull away from it, even if he was quick enough.

Nathan fights it. Or— tries to, but it's a quick thing. Any amount of reticence and guard he pushes out is futile with how quickly the bond takes hold, and the thing is—

The thing is, it feels a little like being cast on.

Inherent connection. Proximity. A dual-state you might reach when you cast the right notes at the right time with someone you know. Fear pulses quick and strong, like a jackrabbit at the core of Nathan's center, framed by bright panic and real nausea. But there's something softer in hue there too: a cold wave of relief. Nathan swallows hard and even that flinty shard of anger located somewhere in the connection melts back.

Feels so much like magic it goddamn aches.

Longing. Relief. Panic. Anger. His thoughts and feelings oscillate, so he forces himself to think about Steph. Her coldness, her quickness, her steadying center. The steadying center felt here.

Part of him isn't so sure what to make of it. Who this guy is, why this feeling comes so strongly, so sure and anchored down and given over freely. Anger picks up in fits and starts but never fully materializes into a real chord: Nathan takes a moment to just— focus on it. Detachment. Distance. Holds the feeling up to the light like it's his own, and thinks: Alright.

Okay.

Nathan takes breaths. Quiet ones, and under the press of Ian's hand, Nathan opens his eyes. Lashes jump up roughly against skin. A few times, short, and then a slight nod.

Yeah. He's good. He can hold onto it, maybe, for a little while. He's good. ]

[wittingly]

[ Empathy bonds are strange — you get feeling, but you don't get context. Sometimes it's easy to piece that together just by the conversation or the setting, other times it's a total fucking mystery. Right now, the quick-fast fear, panic, and nausea are all expected things. Ian doesn't know to attribute them to anything other than just this, here.

So he hangs on through it, determination flooding through their connection, until he feels that relief settle in. He exhales slowly like the feeling is his own, and... well, with something like this, it may as well be. Feelings are feelings regardless of the source. Relief is a welcome one that he accepts graciously, unwinding some tension from around his heart.

Longing he identifies distantly, it's exceptionally curious, and that probably spikes through his skin into Nathan. Now isn't the time, so he files it away to research later.

There's a demonstration he used to run when he did classes on fluid dynamics. He'd have two different liquids in the same container separated by removable plastic slats with empty space in the middle. They'd be colored somehow, usually food coloring, to differentiate them. At some point, he'd pull the slats out and the entire mixture would come rushing in to fill that empty space. It would move around itself, it would take seconds or a minute to equalize, and then density would make it organize itself. The two things would share the same vessel, with blue on the bottom and red on top because one floats and the other sinks.

It's a little like that now. Nathan's emotions are turbulent, they take a while to settle down beneath Ian's. Ian is patient as hell, though, and he doesn't peel off through any of those angry spikes.

Eventually they level. An even split. Half and half, but one.

Still he waits, until eyelashes brush against his palm and the face beneath him gently nods. He pulls away then, careful and slow, to meet the eyes he'd been covering. Searching for final confirmation that he's holding onto that composure without the contact. ]

[acheless]

[ Later, sure. Later, it'll be different. Looking back on this moment will be another shameful, stringent thing that Nathan will accept into himself, a layer pulled back to show another rotten weakness. Later, it won't feel like it does now.

Sure. Pointed. Quiet. The touch slowly pulls back and it's— jarring. There's not much of a taper to it. It isn't like magic, rituals that lingers like static beneath skin and bones and every cell in his entire body, lighting him up but keeping him on his toes. This— empathy thing is there then gone and the fucking disappointment of brushing up against not-quite-right is almost physical, pushes against the clear-coat of this new composure in a way where it almost wrenches it loose.

Nathan blinks. Once, twice, in some physical faltering. But he adjusts, and he stares back. Blue and steel and solid. And yeah, sure, maybe some of that is a front.

But he thinks of older days. Of DC, his sister, walking the streets of a city he knows. Nathan holds eye contact and nods, again, just a fraction. Could be confirmation. Could be thanks, too.

Silence. A long moment passes. The chaos is still there, lit up in flames and debris and golden eyed monsters. Screams, footfalls, cries both human and animal. But there's something close to a reprieve out there. Nathan's eyes pivot out the mouth of the alleyway, leaning forward just so, slowly, slowly, in case he can see anything.

Straightens back in, a moment later. Nathan's voice is barely above a rough whisper, audible only through this shared space they occupy: ]

Where you headed?

[ Could make a break outta here, soon. ]

[wittingly]

[ The nod's enough, whether or not it's a thanks. He pulls back a little, offering up some space between their bodies and... subtly stepping in front of that arm to block it from view. Not that he doesn't think Nathan's capable of holding his shit together, just better to eliminate known obstacles. Set yourself up for success, or whatever.

A soft breath escapes him at the question. ]

You host Cash Cab?

[ He breathes out rhetorically, which is... a super niche reference and he can't help it, he's sort of a nervous talker sometimes. Where you headed, it just sounds so absurdly mundane at a time like this.

Anyway, seriously: ]

Anywhere the fuck out of here.

[ The safe house, probably. Seems like the best bet, right? He'll take Red Wings in a pinch, or even just a really nice secure looking boxcar with big ol' steel locking doors. Jesus fucking Christ. ]

[acheless]

[ He pulls back a little, and Nathan's arm drops completely. And then it's all cash cab. Nathan's expression twists suddenly and sharply into a look of incredibly strong recognition and incredulity, like for a split second he can't fathom the idea someone would mention, you know, cash cab, at a time like this. Like Ian's an alien who learned how to be a New Yorker through reality tv, and not the guy who was a column of iron-like composure. Briefly, Nathan shoots him a Look, one that was closer to the start of this fucking thing: flat, unimpressed, a little shut the fuck up adjacent.

Christ. The fuck does he look like, Ben Bailey?

Absentmindedly, Nathan brushes back that bead of red (blood, not his) off his temple. Shakes his left hand out, right momentarily bracing the wrist, pad of his thumb digging into tendons. Old aches all around, really. ]

Got anything that can help us out?

[ Referring more to the powers of the whole thing. Everyone's got one, supposedly. Safehouse is underground, and Nathan's not banking on its structural integrity much. Red Wings is a fairer shot. ]

Don't think Red Wings is that far.

[ Better chance if they haul ass together. ]

[wittingly]

[ You know what? His lips twitch a little at that flat look. The utter incredulity is just... it's fucking funny, and it's a million times better than being on the verge of throwing up.

But seriously, they're gonna probably die really painfully, so. Maybe hysterical laughter while in shock isn't the best thing to let happen right now. If he needed any help wiping the smile off his face, that question about his power does it. His expression falls flat, annoyed as hell. ]

Mine's fucking useless. You?

[ Please don't ask, mr. intense eye contact slam him against the wall movie style empathy bond guy. He doesn't want to add embarrassment to the list of things he feels before giant bats eviscerate him. ]

[acheless]

[ That's a fucking long epithet, I-something guy.

Good thing he doesn't press. Instead, peering out, Nathan considers the odds. The best play here has gotta come down to rates of survival, and one's better than two on the loss. Even tempered and distant and logical. It sits like a stone inside of him, grey and many-fingered. Maybe it wasn't his to begin with, but leaning into it makes it a familiar shape. ]

Can't do much with it.

[ The window is too short to really pull off miracles. Sometimes the nausea hits after, sometimes there's a headache. It's a crapshoot, and his whispering comes quiet, quick. ]

Doesn't last longer than a second, but I can keep an eye out behind you. [ He nods. Across the way are a run of half-crushed buildings, caved in stories, but there's cover. Stay out of the open expanse. Not exactly like any of the monsters (so far, a voice adds) are smaller in size. ] Could duck out between buildings. Make a run for it.

[ Unless Ian wants to live the rest of his life here. Really adapt, become alleypeople. ]

[wittingly]

[ What a weird fucking combination of words; doesn't last longer than a second, but-- What the hell is your power, intense stranger? Now isn't exactly the best time for a conversational power swap, though, who knows how small their window of time is?

He tips out beside Nathan to peer out to the left and to the right. It's not clear exactly; at the end of the street on either side things are on fire and there are beasts tearing by.

For the moment, though...

He nods quickly, wipes his palms off on his jeans, gearing up to run. ]

Wait-

[ Really quick, before they start bolting. A quick look at Nathan again, mapping out his face. ]

Just in case we like... Die. [ He gestures to himself. ] Ian.

[ So this dude can tell people Ian died, or maybe he just wants to comfort himself with the fact that someone will know his name afterward. They say you die two deaths, etc. etc. ]

Tell people I looked super attractive right before my head got ripped off.

[acheless]

[ What?

Time's of the essence, and that's presumably the only reason why Nathan's stare over Ian gets cut short. There's surprise at its edges, but it mostly seems to cross into what the hell are you doing, like there isn't much of a reason to think of imminent death despite. You know. What's happening around them. ]

Nathan.

[ He nods, short. Adds flatly, ]

You're not my type.

[ Wouldn't that be something? Hey, sort-of stranger, nice spending time with you. Thanks for doing me the solid, from back before. We may die any second. The last four words of my entire life are You're not my type.

There's that scream again, animal, fox-like. No nearer and no farther. Down the right, sprawling vegetation has rotted and withered away, leaving behind streaks of green-black mess. What the fuck leaves behind something like that? There was a sweet spot, somewhere in this life, where this city wasn't fucking insane. ]

And you'd leave an ugly corpse.

[ Famous last words before they run for their fucking lives. ]

[wittingly]

[ If they die right now, the last thing Ian ever says will be a scoffed out bullshit. Whether he means about his corpse or not being Nathan's type, no real time to hash that one out.

And then they book it.

He's not much of a fighter, but it turns out he is pretty quick. Not that he does much cardio these days, but he's a decent sprinter.

It means he's the first to make it to the doorway of a half-collapsed building, and he's the first to spot the fucking spider scorpion person. It has four extra arms and plating like a turtle but made out of fucking human skin.

Part of him stops faster than the rest, leaving his feet skidding forward like he's sliding into home base almost before his hands catch the pavement and he burpees himself back upright again. ]

Nope-

[ Is pretty much the only explanation Nathan's getting before Ian yanks him the opposite direction by the elbow. ]

Nope, nope, nope, hell no--

[ Holy fuck don't let that thing have seen them. He pivots toward the side of the building instead, trying to wrap his head around whatever the fuck that was. ]