[u][b]Harmon Rottlage[/b][/u] --- [indent][i]The screens are everywhere Bleeding static into reality Every grain is an eye Through which I see true horror[/i][/indent] --- “-lievable… how did this fucking happen?” Frank’s voice echoes, slowly becoming clearer and clearer. The sounds begin to bleed back into Harmon’s ears as he awakens from his Frank-inflicted slumber. He raises his head from his seat, shaking it to force himself awake and alert. His mouth hangs agape as he attempts to find something, anything, to see through. He quickly remembers that he’s very much incapable of doing so. The nullifying collar was still latched tight around his neck. And he didn’t believe asking them to adjust it would turn out well. “Honk ‘em!” Frank calls out, “Fucking honk ‘em, Jesus Christ Wills!” He reaches over and cuts in front of the driver, slamming the horn and yelling at the pool of traffic ahead of the truck to collectively move their asses and make way for NEST agents on official business. And he is met with an array of retaliatory honks and verbal retorts. He returns to his own seat, anger spread across his face instead of that usual, god-awful smile. It would seem road rage was one way of getting him to lose his cool. “Sir?” The agent sitting across from Harmon calls out. Frank turns and peeks his eyes through the hatch between him and the driver. “What, what?” He calls out, still steaming a little. The agent motions towards Harmon, with Frank turning his gaze. And that smile quickly returns. “Oh-ho-ho, hey buddy!” He calls out, “I’m sorry, did we wake up you up?” After Harmon returned no response, Frank continued, “Well, daddy and his friends are just stuck in a bit of traffic, don’t you worry. Go ahead and play with Jackson, maybe… I Spy? Nah, you ain’t got no windows, never mind.” The traffic must have been a result of scores of people packing in for a parking spot so they could enjoy the Christmas Fair without worry of having to find one later. Seems they all had the same idea. The truck was wedged near the back of a group of cars, inching further and further as the front of the pack made their way across the intersection. Frank had attempted to pressure Wills into using the alarm to try and part a clearing, but he vied against it. Not that it would have helped much anyway, the roads were clogged to high hell. “Fucking Christmas in Arcadia, right?” Frank says, motioning towards the traffic. So much for his favorite holiday. He turns his head to put one eye on Harmon and says to him, “Now hey, Harmon, when we get back to the Base, you’re gonna be on your best behavior, right? No screaming, no scribbling gibberish on the walls?” No response. Harmon’s just sitting there, head hung low. “C’mon, Rottlage, don’t be difficult. Talk to me!” Still no response. “Fine, fine.” Frank says, “See what I care when the Barber goes mowing your lawn again. A good once-over after we get our answers out of you, and we’ll toss you back in the Joslyn and- oh… oh, wait, I’m sorry!” He chuckles a bit. “I left your door open, didn’t I? Someone’s probably packing up all your shit and making bank at a Good Will somewhere, right as we speak!” He laughed a good bit, shaking his head. “Ah…” He says, “You’ll be fine, bud. You always make the best of a bad situation, right?” Once again. No response. “Oh, fuck you too, then. I give up.” Frank says half-heartedly, losing interest. He turned his head away and began sifting through his jacket’s pockets. “Which… one… is… ah-hah!” He pulled out an MP3 and unraveled the chord wrapped around it. “If we’re gonna be stuck here for a bit…” He said, plugging the chord into a port on the truck’s radio. “May as well play something good.” He fiddled with the radio for a bit before it began playing [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THNaO8pZ7c8]something only Frank seemed to like the sound of[/url]. Wills let out an audible groan. Jackson rolled his eyes. Frank began bobbing his head, unfazed by his fellow agents’ disapproval. And then he began mouthing the words as they chimed in. [i]’Cause the world might do me in It’s alright ‘cause I’m with friends[/i] He raised his hands, motioning towards Wills, peeking a glance at the two in the back of the truck. [i]Friends[/i] probably wasn’t the right word though. [i]I’ve been feeling like a ghost And it’s what I hate the most Guess I’m givin’ up again, this time, this time…[/i] He shook his head, left to right. [i]This time I might just disappear[/i] Frank wasn’t going anywhere as long as Harmon was around to bully and torture. And if not Harmon, then some other poor meta-human. All that was for damn sure. [i]Try and hear me when I’m done 'Cause I might just say this once Seen this play out in my dream, it doesn’t matter[/i] He turned back to Harmon as the next set of lyrics sounded. Stared at him, dead focused. But Harmon didn’t match his gaze. The truck moved forward into the T-junction. This part of the song stuck out for him. Made him think about just how much he hated meta-humans in general. But Harmon? Harmon was a special case and the poor thing had forgotten why. [i]Time for givin’ up the ghost Fuck, it’s you I hate the most Baby there’s no guarantee, it doesn’t ma-[/i] Halfway through the T-junction, a loud horn sounded from an incoming semi-tractor, seconds before it made brief and sudden impact with the truck. [center]… … …[/center] Once again, Harmon slowly regains consciousness. The light in the interior of the truck is flickering, barely able to stay lit. The wall which Harmon was seated against is caved inward, having pushed him to the floor of the containment unit. He let out a long, fear-induced breath as he slowly picked himself up off the floor. Then that familiar sound of static in his head showed up. He quickly brought his right hand up to his collar, feeling it. The metal was bent and pushing inward on his neck, but not enough to strangle him. It was damaged – not completely broken, but damaged. That would be enough, though. The static in his head pointed out all of the devices in containment room. The collar wouldn’t let him go beyond that in its state. There was a camera hung up in the corner, thankfully undamaged by the crash. He focused on it, and he saw himself. It was blurry. The NEST agent that was with him. Jackson. He was slumped against the opposite wall, unconscious. Peering through the camera’s perspective, Harmon slowly made his way towards the agent and began feeling over his combat vest. He couldn’t pick out the details from too far away given the collar still doing some of its job, so he had to resort to physical contact. He was almost certain that agents carried around equipment he could use to see – PDAs were most likely all protected, but not… Body cameras. Harmon felt the lens of a body camera on Jackson’s collar and pried it from its clip. He fiddled with it for a second, turning it on, and then transferred his vision from one device to another. His face appeared on the lens, and he nodded in self-affirmation. He aimed the camera away as he slowly stood up and took another look around the containment unit. The doors were both slightly ajar but still being held together by the bar-lock. Harmon could probably figure out a way to open them but, first things first. He had to do something about the collar. He turned the opposite direction, focusing on the narrow sliding hatch through which he could see the front compartment of the truck. Frank and Wills were both still seated there, unconscious. The radio was silent. The hatch’s grate was loose from the impact, letting Harmon push it open with ease. He slipped his hand through the hatch and felt around Frank’s shoulder and torso. Nullifier collars had remotes to them that either shocked the victim or released them, and Harmon pushed his hand as far as he could to try and find Frank’s. Until Frank began to snap back into consciousness and feel the spindly hand inching down his torso. “Hey!” He called out, grabbing Harmon’s arm and pulling him against the front of the containment unit. Harmon let out a cry as he attempted to take his arm back. His entire body began to shift lightly, fading in and out of tangible reality, though it was weak due to the still partway-functional collar. But it was enough to escape Frank’s grip, at least. Harmon pulled his arm back, falling onto the floor of the containment unit. Frank took out his sidearm and peeked the barrel through the hatch, calling out, “You little fucker!” He fired blindly. Several times. Harmon’s body continued to shift as rapidly as it could, as the bullets from Frank’s gun ricocheted through the interior of the truck and towards the door. And as luck would have it, the fifth one hit the bar lock. The doors swung open as Frank continued firing. Harmon made his move, without much thought of the bullets, and leapt out of the truck, still shifting some. “GET BACK HERE!” Frank called out madly, tossing his gun aside when the clip ran dry. He attempted to exit the truck but the passenger’s side was pinned in by the semi, and the driver’s was pressed up against a wire fence. He was stuck. He slammed his fists against the sides in a fit of anger, yelling. Harmon had escaped into the streets. His vision was still blurry but he could see the cars up ahead, halted, observing what had occurred. Horns and alarms were rampant. The T-junction was blocked off by the semi, thankfully still upright. Harmon didn’t know where exactly he was, being unfamiliar with areas outside of the Dead End. Frank had said they were passing through Arcadia, though. Arcadia Heights. Harmon didn’t realize that running from a busted NEST truck looked bad from an onlooker’s point of view, but he wasn’t paying the idea any mind. He had to do something about the collar – damaged or no, it wasn’t going to make his life any easier. He was lost and frightened and he was running haphazardly in a random direction on the sidewalk. And he was probably leaving a trail in the snow that they could follow once they got out of the wreckage. But he was getting away from Frank. And that was enough to push him further and further without even [i]thinking[/i] to turn back.