[b][center]Henry--First Night[/center][/b] Slowly, inexorably, the white utility van backed itself into the alley. Henry sensed the broad posterior of the vehicle, now caked in a slightly shifting mosaic of dirt and grime particulate, from his hideout within a half-empty dumpster. He'd forsake his pride for the time--not that much remained, he reminded himself, considering the drab costume that he had slung over his body before setting out for a night of heroics. Thankfully, though the costume was cheap by even half-assed cosplay standards, the layered strips of cloth covered his mouth and nose. It muffled the stench of stale pizza and wet cardboard that clung like a heavy fog in the darkness of the dumpster. Henry closed his eyes and focused on that familiar sensation in his mind. The free-floating data points in his blank mental canvas, clumping and coalescing as he willed it. Presently, he welcomed the ability to put his body on stand-by. Full focus went on maintaining sabotage. He used subtle currents of dust and lint to get a sense of the thugs. There were four of them in the back of the van, and then a driver. The four in the back were on a sliding scale of fit to large. Their silhouettes, in his mind, put Henry in the mind of dumb muscle more than cat burglary. The driver was on the slimmer side, likely pure getaway and wouldn't leave the van at all. All of the occupants wore similarly-themed clothes: form-fitting shirts--if shirts at all--utility pants, stocking caps, and boots. Henry could tell that they were talking, based on movement around the jawline. One at a time, and if he had to guess, probably at a whisper. Only one of the thugs currently had his hand on a gun. The other firearms were strewn on the floor of the van. This gave Henry pause--if they had heard his disturbance, and were seeking him out, why wouldn't they [i]all[/i] be packing heat? No sense wasting time analyzing that bit of trivia. He set to work, bringing great swaths of dust around the handguns and piling particulate into the barrels. Henry had little experience with firearms, but he knew you had to [i]clean[/i] them. He was unsure if it would actually cause any kind of interference--surely a bullet or the firing mechanism couldn't be stopped by a build-up of dry gunk? He found some residue in the weapons already, likely leftover gunpowder or some other nominal residue from use, and went to work splattering everything. As the dirt spread, he was now getting a sense of the anatomy of the weapons. [i]'If I get out of here,'[i] Henry thought. [i]'I need to look up a diagram or something. See what I can actually jam or mess with in the future.'[/i] Good. With that finished, he focused on the men again. Words to the driver, who responded in turn. More mouth movement, from the others in the back. Argument? Henry wasn't sure. A gesture from one man in the back to another, a slap on the shoulder, seemed to prompt the recipient to move. He did a crouching waddle towards the back wall, undid a latch, and then opened the double-doors to the exterior of the van fractionally, peering outside. From his hiding place in the dumpster, Henry could hear the click of the doors opening. Moments later, he heard the strained, raspy whisper of one of the men. "...no one," came the mumble. "...hide out fer...spooked. Coulda been...at." The man was looking back into the van, talking to his companions. Scouting the alley? Relaying if it was safe or not? Henry made a leap and assumed that they weren't actually investigating the commotion he caused bumping into the trash can. It's possible that the crash just spooked these guys and they needed the alley as a place to hide out for a bit until the coast was perceived clear. Well, that wouldn't work. The more time the van spent in the alley, the better chance he was of getting discovered. Henry didn't intend to stay locked in this dumpster for ten more minutes, much less the better part of the night. He cursed at his luck. Some big night out. He was hiding in a dumpster, completely lacked the firepower to take on a group of armed thugs, and he wasn't even sure [i]what they were doing[/i]. However, instead of freaking out, he focused on the men. There was movement now, and the back doors to the van fully swung open. Two of the thugs hopped out and walked deeper into the alleyway, muttering between one another. Someone from within the van closed the doors, and then the driver moved the gearshift. The van backed up a little further. The two men outside of the van were gesturing to him, which Henry took to be signals to keep the van straight. It was a tight fit, maybe a foot of empty air on each side of the van before it hit wall. "Should we move this dumpster back?" One of them asked. Henry froze. "...Nah. Too much noise. Shouldn't need to back in that far." "[i]Should[/i] just head back. Guy's an idiot, hiding a big white van in a fuckin' alley." "Can't." "Job's a fuckin' bust. Ain't no way none of these," the man gestured to the windows above them on either side of the alley. "Ain't gonna call the police on account a suspicious van activity." "Job's a fucking [i]job[/i]. Got a target out here. You don't say no to that." "Stupid. Mission Hills? One fuckin' thing to grab someone off the [i]barrio[/i] in Lompoc and count on nobody missin' them. Mission Hills got money and money don't shut up about missing people." "Bigger job. Bigger payout. Now--HEY, bro, you're good," he made a gesture to the driver, and the van jerked to a stop, just shy of the dumpster. A fire escape ladder hung just diagonally above the fan's roof. [i]'Missing people?'[/i] Henry thought they were petty thieves. A van like this probably would have just been filled with t.v.s or a pallet of stolen phones. He didn't think that they were here trying to [i]abduct[/i] someone. Shit. His mind was whirling. Henry inhaled a sharp breath of air, and then had to force himself from gagging on the heavy odor of garbage. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes, and he shifted involuntarily, knocking his shoulder against the corner of the dumpster. "Fuckin' shit was that?" "Don't worry 'bout it, bro. C'mon, get in the van. Light up an' chill til we get a better opportunity." Henry sensed one of the thugs walking back to the backdoor of the van, which had opened again. Someone else inside of it beckoned them both to get back in. The other thug that was outside of the van took an extended pause. His head turned slightly, and Henry could imagine the man's eyes narrowing in suspicion. He took a step towards the dumpster, and then another. [i]'Shit. Shit.'[/i] Henry willed himself to be still, to not breathe. As the urge to cough welled within his chest, he found himself nearly choking as his entire upper body became tight. He had to think quick, and fast. Use his power. As the thug outside took another step towards the dumpster, Henry acted. He felt patchwork constellation of dots in his mind vibrate. And then, as if the world were a snowglobe being shaken, he commanded all of the particulate in the area to violently explode into a storm. "What the..." "Fuck!!" The effect was instantaneous. Henry could sense the maelstrom of dust, dirt, sand, and all manner of broken garbage that had accumulated in the city block surge into the alleyway and whirl around. It was a sandstorm of particulate, battering against everything. The slightly-ajar backdoor of the van was ripped open, and dust surged inwards, blanketing and blinding the two remaining thugs and driver. A cacophony of screams echoed in the alleyway. Henry could get a sense of where everyone was placed in his sandstorm, from the human-shaped silhouettes that remained as inkstains in his mind's eye. They staggered around, one of the thugs taking a step away from the dumpster by sheer dumb luck. Not good enough. Henry needed more space to make an escape. He directed the particulate, intentionally driving it into faces. Probing fingers of dust forced themselves into eyes. As the victims screamed in pain, their open mouths were new targets. Henry barely had to think it, and he slapped clumps of dirt and grime into their mouths, rolling sand across tongues and teeth. "AHHHHH! F-FUCKING...." "What the...HAPPENINGFFFF??" That was good enough. Henry sprang up, one arm over his head to bash open the dumpster. The warped panel of metal flew back on its hinge and slapped loudly against the brick of the building behind it. As it came back down on Henry, he batted it again, and hoisted himself up on the rim of the dumpster. "What was that? Who's fuckin' there?!" Coughing, sputtering, Henry steadied himself with one foot on the closed half of the dumpster. Dust still surging around all of them like a furious swarm of bees, he oriented himself towards the van and jumped. He wasn't level with it, maybe two-thirds its height, since the dumpster was on the smaller end. Due to jumping to a higher surface, as well as generally [i]not knowing what the fuck he was doing[/i], Henry landed without grace, belly-down on the roof of the van. His shins came down hard on the edge of the roof, and he nearly lost a shoe as he scrambled through the pain to stand atop the van. "..On the van! Someone's--" The driver started, but Henry forced another mouthful of dirt down his throat. [i]'Fire escape...?'[/i] There. He remembered seeing it in the map of the block. As the storm of dust wreaked havoc, and the bodies below him thrashed and crashed into things in confusion, Henry could sense the thin metal bars of a fire escape. He pivoted, facing where they were relative to his position atop the van. He took a barely two running steps, the vehicle jostling under his shifting weight, and again jumped as if his life depended upon its success. His hands gripped rungs, one above the other. The weight of his unsupported body nearly made Henry lose contact, however, and his palms stung with the strain of trying to keep him there, now suspended diagonally from the van. He kicked wildly, and summoned enough strength for one of his arms to support his wiry body as the other rose to meet it on the same rung. He grunted in pain, kicked a leg to the side and got the flat of his shoe against a wall. That granted him the leverage to force a knee through the space between two lower rungs. And with that, he could gain some ground. [i]CRACK.[/i] The gunshot rang out, and the sound caused Henry such sudden shock that he at once feared he had been shot. He went rigid against the vertical ladder, which swayed slightly, as his arm muscles strained in weighted discomfort. "What are you DOING?!" One of the thugs outside screamed. The other, Henry noted, was waving a handgun; he must have missed it in the sandstorm. [i]'Fuck. Fuck me for being so stupid.'[/i] It also meant that his strategy of forcing dust into the barrel didn't amount to jack-shit. "Get back in the fucking car! Both of ya! We gotta get the fuck--" A guy in the back of the van hurriedly commanded. "Did I get him? The--" "WHO FUCKING CARES?!" The driver's voice this time. The scramble down below was too disjointed to keep track of. Henry no longer forced dirt into their faces, and instead summoned a majority of the material to cloak him on the fire escape, swirling a thick cloak of particulate around the entire ladder and walkway. He found it within him to ascend the remaining few rungs, reaching the solid catwalk of the lowest-level fire escape entry, and hunkered, knees tucked to his chin, in the farthest corner. The van stirred to life, and Henry watched its silhouette slide unceremoniously out of the alleyway, cross several opposing lanes of traffic, and then vanish from his awareness. Henry killed the effects of his power. All of the particles fell to the ground. He pulled his googles up to his forehead, put his hands to his face, and closed his eyes in silent frustration. Henry knew there probably wasn't much time until the police arrived on the scene. Before he figured out how the hell to get out of here and back home, he needed to first figure out if this was the absolute worst idea he'd ever had.