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[COLOR=AF7AC5][indent][sub][B]Location:[/B] [COLOR=white][I]New York City, New York[/I][/COLOR][/sub][sup][right][b]Hounded – 3.04[/b][/right][/sup][/indent][/color][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][color=AF7AC5][sub][B]Interaction(s):[/B] [COLOR=white][I]None[/I][/COLOR][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][b]Previously:[/b] [COLOR=white][I][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5096574]3.03[/url][/I][/COLOR][/right][/SUP][/color][/INDENT]
[indent]Feet sluggishly tramping down another alleyway, Bruce had an awkward sway in his step. The chill air of New York’s night in this winter was nothing to turn up a nose at. Falling asleep at the wrong place could prove to be unfortunate, but spots of warmth would often be targets for patrolling officers herding the wayward homeless away. If Bruce had known of spots free from that kind of policing then he wouldn’t need to keep up his walk, his movement intended to keep warmth coming from his body. His legs could take it, certain, but at this point he was more afraid of his mind. No progress was being made, much of his time spent on getting by day to day rather than finding Brian. Maybe that was fine. He hated living like this but it would get better in the coming months when the weather cleared. But...no, he quickly realized. It wouldn’t last. [i]He[/i] couldn’t last. He’d felt it when seeing people herded out of a subway station. He was going to try and stay the night there, as he’d seen others doing, but bad luck left him bearing witness to police forcing them outside in the middle of a freezing night. He hadn’t even been a part of it, yet he still felt frustration. Anger that those who’d been at their lowest from whatever circumstance or sacrifice, incidental or deserved, were now being pushed around and put at even further risk. His head as throbbed, but the moment he felt a flash of green he ran from those emotions.

And now it was even worse. Sitting so low for so long, Bruce looked up and saw skyscrapers hemming in the starless night sky, knowing that if he looked back down he’d see the struggle and despair in those at his level. Those who’d been crushed and could not move. But Bruce could move, and act, and that was exactly what he was afraid of.

Ears perking up as he heard a dull thud around the corner, Bruce was glad to be ripped out of the shades of his mind, if only for a moment. That relief was gone as soon as he turned the corner, immediately ducking backwards. It was just a glimpse, but that brief moment of sight quickly contextualized everything he could hear from now as he witnessed a man being mugged. 3 others, maybe 4, surrounded him. Maybe he was fighting back, but Bruce couldn’t tell, aside from the pounding of fist on flesh, the scuffle of shoe scraping against the moist alleyway pavement. At one point there was a cracking sound, then the stomping of legs breaking out into a run.

And Bruce didn’t do a thing. He didn’t even think about lifting a finger, just of keeping his head down and letting it pass. Any twinge of anger he felt at the idea of someone victimized for no reason needed to be suppressed. [i]Had[/i] to be suppressed. And once it was over he peeked his head out. Someone in a winter coat lay flat on his front, arms angled oddly from the fall. A faint light caught his eye, Bruce dared to get closer, spotting a phone on the ground. Leaning in, he noticed why it hadn’t been taken: the screen was cracked from the scuffle. Not knowing the state the man was in, Bruce picked it up, seeing that it was on a call screen, ‘91’ dialed. Swallowing, he struggled with the cracked touch screen, hands trembling as he pushed the screen away, pulling up a browser, using some of the phone’s data for his own ends. He’d thought about what he might search for some time now, and it came as easily as the broken screen would allow. And finally he had a street name, an address. Glancing down at the man, his feelings were muted. His relief at his goal being within sight had overshadowed any pity he felt at the victim, and that in itself sent a pit down his throat and through his stomach. Going back to the call screen, he finished the emergency number, letting it get picked up before immediately hanging up and placing the phone down. He had no idea if it would work, basing his actions off of things learned second hand, but as he moved on he wasn’t looking back. He couldn’t look back, for every moment he lingered on those events was another moment he’d regret. And he couldn’t regret it, for had he gotten involved he might not be able to hold himself back. He told himself inaction was for the best because he had to believe it.

Going to a main road, Bruce had no intention of skulking about anymore. His expression was cold, and approaching the first person he saw, an older man whose wrinkles deepened as he was forced to acknowledge Bruce’s state of filth, he stood his ground, too desperate to think of others at the moment.

His voice came, raspy, and broken, words unintelligible. Clearing his throat of what felt likes weeks of bile and mucus with a guttural hacking, Bruce finally spoke. [color=AF7AC5]“Where’s Neapolitan street?[/color][/indent]