[h1][center]March 2nd:  When the dust settles[/center][/h1]
The silence was almost unsettling. Were they still living in the same city as yesterday?  Yesterday, this city had been a warzone. It was odd how many people simple seemed to snap because they [i]could.[/i] For some, the revelation that they were now able to do things unimaginable became the perfect reason to throw away all sense of morality.  March 1st, the day of awakening, had passed, but its consequences were still apparent. Society had gone mad in a blink of an eye. People found the power to kill, and therefore tried to kill. People found the power to protect, and therefore tried to protect. Yet other people sought to use this power to bypass the quarantine’s guarded borders in the midst of the chaos. But now the chaos was temporarily silenced. The fighting had come to a standstill with both heroes and villains licking their wounds. Most innocents hid indoors, hoping it was not their house that was raided by the mere whims of another super powered crook.  The city itself was now similar to the aftermath of an angry riot. There seemed to be damage to every building in sight, most cars were totalled and other objects, such as bus stops and street signs, completely destroyed.  The only difference was that here  was that corpses were a rather common sight as well.  Even in king’s road, one of the better known shopping streets in London, the destruction was clearly visible.  This street, slightly towards the southeast, had a good reputation for its many trendy boutiques and hip cafes and restaurants.  But today there was only one location still open, a café named ‘the king’s minstrel’. 

Miles, the bartender and owner, was happy that his place hadn’t been completely busted up. Sure, the front had been a little damaged and the terrace that had cost him a fortune was completely and utterly destroyed, but the inside had remained untouched. The mainly wooden interior was meant to give something of a medieval tavern vibe to the entire place. The place had a large bar featuring a wide variety of drinks, about fifteen tables and a lounge area featuring a few comfortable couches.  Miles had always been enamoured with the medieval times and with strong drink, so the way he had designed this just felt so right to him. This was his dream. To own a bar in one of the nicest shopping streets of London.  Everything had been going swimmingly for him. Then March 1st happened and the world went to shit. It was supposed to be the grand opening day. He was supposed to give this grand opening party. No, he wasn’t going to let his efforts go to waste. He would open his place today despite the warnings of the government.  He still had all the stock for the supposed ‘opening day’ and there were a lot of people in the city in need of a drink. So why wouldn’t he be open? The supposed ‘disease’ had been a lie. Everyone knew that at this point. All there was were powers. Superpowers.  Why in the world Londoners were suddenly getting superpowers, Miles had no clue.  All he knew that they had been nothing but trouble.

The young bartender looked over his customers once again, looking around if everyone still had a drink. He had hired waitresses, of course, but none of them had showed up. He didn’t expect them to, he didn’t even know if any of them were still alive. Despite the circumstances, the amount of people that had gathered was rather surprising. Or maybe he should’ve expected even more people to flock to the only open establishment in the entirety of Chelsea? Perhaps they just wanted the cheap drink. After all, Miles only charged as much as they were willing to offer. Money was rather useless in the quarantine.  No place was open where there was money to spend, after all. Around the city the military had set up outposts where they distributed food to the hungry masses and provided tents to the stranded. Among the quarantined were many that had originally come to the city as a tourist. There were also the unfortunate sobs that commuted to London while living in the suburbs.

The customers themselves were quite a colourful bunch, frankly. Table one was occupied by what seemed to be members of a biker gang. The men, all seemingly between twenty-five and forty, all wore the same dark leather jackets and featured the same bald heads. They looked a bit scary but seeing them drinking and laughing made Miles think they were good folk.
Two tables away sat a man and a woman engaged in a very interesting conversation. He only caught parts of it, but the middle aged man seemed to talk about how he and some friends tried to escape this place. Naturally, proven by the fact that he was still here, they had failed. The man slumped in his chair more and more as he talked. It was clear he was not enjoying the trip down memory lane. The young woman, on the other hand, seemed fascinated at the story.  She had been here almost the entire day, asking questions to every customer willing to talk to her. She and Miles had been talking whenever nobody else wanted to. A nice enough lass, who seemed to know quite a bit of hearsay as a result. Miles hoped she would stop by more often. It was hard to find people who actually knew a damn.
 On the table next to them sat an elderly couple. They had told Miles that they lived nearby, but their home got destroyed in the onslaught. He pitied them, and they were probably not the only ones. He had promised to accompany them to the closest military outpost after he closed for the day. Surely a military tent wasn’t suited for them, but it would be safer than keeping them here. The military would protect them, right?
Lastly, on the middle couch of the lounge bar sat a young lady, probably in her early twenties. Her accent allowed Miles to identify her as an American. She seemed to enjoy her drink as she played with a strange blue mist. Most people Miles had talked to seemed to prefer not showing their powers, him included. This girl seemed to be different.  Unlike the others in the establishment, she seemed so comfortable.  Could someone truly not give a damn about the situation? Miles shook his head as he started cleaning the dirty glasses. 

Across the street, Miles could notice a small patrol of soldiers passing by. They didn’t do it often, but some soldiers seemed to actually try and keep the peace. Miles hoped their presence would help make the streets a little safer. He couldn’t help but notice that one of the soldiers looked notably different from the others. His face was covered completely and his outfit look rather intimidating. He then noticed a dog staring at them. He had begun to sit down next to the entrance of the king’s minstrel. He was certain none of the customers had taken a dog with them. He wondered if it was a stray. Maybe its owners met their end yesterday? Poor thing.

The door creaked slightly from the damage it had sustained as it opened. Miles looked up at the customer that stepped in. He put on his winning smile and greeted them with a well-meant “welcome!”