[quote][b][h2][center]Terror in Dublin[/center][/h2][/b]
Three indelible days have passed as the unthinkable became routine in Dublin. In the wake of the St. Patrick's Hospital a city wide man hunt seized Dublin residents by their hearts.  An effort made by thousands united to find the attacker seemed a monumental task -- civilians submitting tips, law enforcement, and NBCI -- but they did it.

[b] The Patient [/b]
Attending the National College of Art and Design, Icelandic ex-pat 'Kas' Grímsdóttir was a model student; Banksky Graffiti Art Competition finalist, Landscape Artist of the year nominee twice in the last three years, and gallery exhibitor. Extracurricularly they competed in the Irish Open seven years running, placing in the Grand Champions Division in the recent most year. It was there a fateful conclusion to their meteoric rise through the rankings came to a sudden halt, having broken their leg in the second match of the day. It was then they were brought to St. Patrick's.

Admitted at 5pm Thursday evening, the purple-haired warrior artist was sent to surgery and expected to make an overnight stay to recover. In a series of unfortunate events, Grímsdóttir joined the recent outbreak of staph infections at St. Patrick's. An overnight stay turned to a week. A week to two. Complications compounded until their heart took all it could take and gave out.

[b] Misdiagnosis[/b]
Grímsdóttir, like all others born in the past few decades, had been tested for potential genetic sequencing known to produce parahumans at birth and was found to have at risk signs for the disorder. Nearly two decades on from diagnosis, it was deemed a false flag. They yet to show any signs of parahuman ability. The genome that placed them at risk had seemingly been a miss-pairing or incapable of activation. Thus Grímsdóttir was allowed a level of freedom ill-afforded to their activated counterparts; Monitored, but unrestricted travel, a cessation of mandatory testings, no longer having to register their parahuman status. They were free to live normally, just as their peers. 

In the weeks following their injury at the Irish Open, their past parahuman status had only been a footnote on their medical records. Had they known what we now known, this footnote would have better served as the single most critical status of Grímsdóttir. As it would soon turn out, the rising artist was in fact a parahuman. James McKinley, a veteran nurse of St. Patricks, was the first on the scene when complications arose for Grímsdóttir. The parahuman had contracted a staph infection which led to further infection and shortly after McKinley's arrival, cardiac arrest. The tragedy of circumstance struck.

[b] The Incident[/b]
CCTV footage has Grímsdóttir leaving the scene in a stumbling daze shortly after an explosion rocked the east ward. At the same time, other nurses had arrived to the singed room to find McKinley in a state of shock, over sixty percent of his body covered in burns of the second and third degree. Priorities shifted from finding the source of the explosion and the now missing patient to seeing to the burned nurse. During this time Grímsdóttir had escaped the hospital. McKinley has since been treated for his wounds and is expected to make a recovery in the coming months following extensive physical therapy.

As fellow Dubliners are well aware, the following days were tense as the situation developed and it was quickly learned who the perpetrator was. From freak accident, to terrorist attack, to parahuman attack, and finally to a series of unfortunate events. [sup][b]CONT. PAGE 6.[/b][/sup]

- [i]Connor Ryan, The Irish Times[/i][/quote]


Gunsmoke filled the parahuman's nostrils, gagging them. "Fokk," they spat around the metal clenched between their teeth. "Fokk!" they tried once more, screaming it, beating their free hand against their lifeless leg. This was, what? The third time? Forth? It had only been hours since they escaped the hospital that some guard thought it better to shoot them than arrest them. Kas supposed they should [i]thank[/i] the guard. He'd shot Kas, sure. But he'd also gotten close enough that whatever it was that happened when they die was able to singe them and afford Kas a good chance to get their own firearm. They'd never used one, but they were quick learners and eager to have something to keep them safe. They knew what happened to parahumans. [i]Especially the dangerous ones,[/i] Kas grimly reminded themselves. The second time some intrepid driver had thought it swell to try and stop the 'dangerous' criminal by running over them with a car. Kas was at three burn victims, a totaled hospital room, a burnt out car, a stolen gun, and... probably terrorism at this point? [i]Sure, to the list with you,[/i] they resigned.

So here they were at time number... three. It had to be three. Or four. Did the hospital one count? [i]Nah, too boring.[/i] They'd been shot [b]again[/b]. For the sake of all things holy and unholy, why couldn't they just... SAY SOMETHING FIRST? [i]Right, back to suicide.[/i] Kas clenched their teeth around the barrel of the knicked gun and clenched their eyes as tightly as they could. So far it seemed like dying was a panacea for every poison. The bullet that clipped their spine and left their bottom-half numb by that logic should also get fixed. So then... why was pulling the trigger so-

[i]Fuck it.[/i]

A gunshot rang out, drowned out an instant later by the sudden roar of concussive force and the hiss of heat that steamed the humid air around the hiding Kas. Kas woke up long enough to see silhouettes in a vignette of black and white before everything went dark. It hadn't worked like before. [i]Why hadn't it worked like before?![/i]

[hr]

Kas's stomach woke them up. The sensation of gravity or, rather, the lack thereof had been enough to send their starving body into a frenzy for something. Really anything so long as it was edible. Their memories of the events following their paralysis were hazy and Kas took the chance of nauseating weightlessness to sort things out before even daring to open their eyes.

[i]Gun. Mouth. Right, those two check out. I followed through, didn't I?[/i] Their body clenched and their toes squirmed. [i]Well, someone followed through if I didn't. Great. What next. Shapes. Voices. Something about... No. No![/i] Kas's eyes shot open. They were strapped in to a standing seat, their limbs restrained to their chest and legs bound together at the heels. Looking down, Kas looked thinner than they remembered. None of their clothes had ever hung on them this loosely. It's not like they'd been on the husky side or anything but... They used to have [b]some[/b] meat to them. Around them were some several dozen seats, sparsely populated with others Kas could only assume were like them. Then... the weightlessness they'd been feeling since they came to meant that-

"ETA: Ten minutes," a voice barked over the radio.

[i]Fokk.[/i]