Echotech71
FlappyTheSpybot
King Xerxes
Shadowheart
Darkmoon Angel
Neziul
Lunamaria Hawke
SONICSaturday, October 3rd, 20XX
Hell's Kitchen: 2:00 am
One Month After The Incident....
Colin Cantor has a recurring daydream. Or if not a daydream per se', a mental scenario he runs in his head almost nightly. Whenever he climbs into his bed, with or without his big lumbering dog jumping up to join him and take up more of their fair share, he pictures it: he's a superhero, laying in some kind of recovery chamber or healing pod. Around him are his teammates and friends - other heroes and colleagues - who wish him well or plead for him to get back in the fight, as they needed his abilities. He finds this soothing. It makes him think of the old cartoons he'd watch growing up, or the comics he still picks up at Planet X. It's childish, sure he'd admit that, but it lulls him to a peaceful rest every time.
For a few weeks now, that same daydream feels different. Now, after the Recluse Incident, it's no longer a far-fetched dream. It was an entirely plausible scenario. The world truly is something wild. If the child version of himself knew what was in store for him, what was going on in his life now, he'd have been the happiest kid alive. The Colin of today feels a little different.
At least on the heroism part.
---
6:00 PM
In his day job, Colin works intermittently at group homes across the City. His job title is a "Relief Counselor" and it's his role to essentially house sit, and manage the home and it's "guests." The majority of the people he services are younger, kids fresh out of the hospital, but not yet well enough (or wanted enough) to go back home. So they get put in one of these homes, get their medication on a schedule, have someone like Colin take them to their therapist or to their doctor's appointments and so on.
For the most part, the kids do pretty well. Troubled for sure, but in a safe environment like the home they have some protection from the less desirable elements in the city. You have to behave and follow the rules in order to receive services. That helps keep most folks in line, been awhile since the cops had shown up or the staff got word one of the kids is in lock-up.
Occasionally however, that doesn't matter. Even if the kids aren't doing anything wrong. Some cops or just going to cop.
Like this one, Officer Parisi.
Reeks of high school bully.
And over the past few months he continues to show up at the Home in Brooklyn. Insists on "giving the business" as he so succinctly puts it to the teenagers there. Claiming noise complaints and suspicious behavior. Threatening to have them thrown in juvie over talking back to him. Colin himself tried to de-escalate one of his visits, shoot straight with the guy, and all he got was a warning himself. It pissed Colin off royally, but what could he do? File some kind of complaint against the guy? In this city? Useless. The cops all are useless. No, in the face of their fascist regime, Colin could do nothing but stew in frustration.
That was before usssssss
The entity embedded in Colin as a biological level half whispers half hisses in his mind. Since the Incident, it's lived inside of him, like a second personality tying it's threads to Colin's own mind. And each time, he felt a little sting throughout his bloodstream, in a pulsing sensation.
Colin and the entity (he hadn't yet thought of a name for him/her/it and when he asked them directly they didn't seem to know if they had one) now stood in a side alley hidden away from the traffic of the street. Nothing in here save for the backdoor to a Halal restaurant the staff would pop out to smoke in. At time though it was just Colin, the Entity, and soon, Officer Parisi.
Colin knew Parisi would come here around this time once a week to rough up a craps or dominoes game that some group of people were putting on. Rough them up a little bit. Colin knew this because he followed him over the past 2 weeks.
When Officer Parisi stepped into the alley way, alone as always but with that bullied and exaggerated gait of a real asshole, he did so without noticing the other man. And his Passenger.
Beneath his dark jean jacket, under the knitting of his hooded sweater, the Passenger dislodged itself from it's disguise as Colin's tattoo. It swirled up and over Colin's shoulders, pulling up enough to cover the bottom half of his face. Like a medical mask made of black tethering ink and sharp teeth.
He would make this quick.
The officer got halfway down the alley before Colin leapt out at him from the darkness, lifting him with one hand by the mans jaw. The look of terror on his face was utterly sweet, and Colin and the Passenger felt the dopamine rush between the two of them. The Passenger had enough of itself to extend down his right arm, creating a sort of additional inky black armor that ended in sharp fingertips. He kicked the cop as hard has could, right in the testicles, and heard something crunch beneath them. He could feel the officer's scream muffled beneath his black clawed hand.
Colin had to fight the urge to extend his Golden yellow Stinger-like appendage from beneath his wrist - a byproduct undoubtedly of the entity's merging with his body. But to fire them out now would surely kill this person, and he didn't want that. Instead he just wanted desperately to hurt this guy.
He felt the slit opening at his wrist and the sharp stinger begin to extend, and so Colin hurled the officer across the alley, where he collided with an overstuffed garbage container oozing something slimey and discolored from punctured trash bags.
We did not kill him?
Colin didn't respond. Instead he lifted his hand and aimed it at the nearest rooftop. The Entity fired on instinct, not a rope to swing on per se' but more like a grappling hook he could retract and pull himself up.
He made his getaway as the sun continued to set.
Hell's Kitchen: 2:00 am
One Month After The Incident....
Colin Cantor has a recurring daydream. Or if not a daydream per se', a mental scenario he runs in his head almost nightly. Whenever he climbs into his bed, with or without his big lumbering dog jumping up to join him and take up more of their fair share, he pictures it: he's a superhero, laying in some kind of recovery chamber or healing pod. Around him are his teammates and friends - other heroes and colleagues - who wish him well or plead for him to get back in the fight, as they needed his abilities. He finds this soothing. It makes him think of the old cartoons he'd watch growing up, or the comics he still picks up at Planet X. It's childish, sure he'd admit that, but it lulls him to a peaceful rest every time.
For a few weeks now, that same daydream feels different. Now, after the Recluse Incident, it's no longer a far-fetched dream. It was an entirely plausible scenario. The world truly is something wild. If the child version of himself knew what was in store for him, what was going on in his life now, he'd have been the happiest kid alive. The Colin of today feels a little different.
At least on the heroism part.
---
6:00 PM
In his day job, Colin works intermittently at group homes across the City. His job title is a "Relief Counselor" and it's his role to essentially house sit, and manage the home and it's "guests." The majority of the people he services are younger, kids fresh out of the hospital, but not yet well enough (or wanted enough) to go back home. So they get put in one of these homes, get their medication on a schedule, have someone like Colin take them to their therapist or to their doctor's appointments and so on.
For the most part, the kids do pretty well. Troubled for sure, but in a safe environment like the home they have some protection from the less desirable elements in the city. You have to behave and follow the rules in order to receive services. That helps keep most folks in line, been awhile since the cops had shown up or the staff got word one of the kids is in lock-up.
Occasionally however, that doesn't matter. Even if the kids aren't doing anything wrong. Some cops or just going to cop.
Like this one, Officer Parisi.
Reeks of high school bully.
And over the past few months he continues to show up at the Home in Brooklyn. Insists on "giving the business" as he so succinctly puts it to the teenagers there. Claiming noise complaints and suspicious behavior. Threatening to have them thrown in juvie over talking back to him. Colin himself tried to de-escalate one of his visits, shoot straight with the guy, and all he got was a warning himself. It pissed Colin off royally, but what could he do? File some kind of complaint against the guy? In this city? Useless. The cops all are useless. No, in the face of their fascist regime, Colin could do nothing but stew in frustration.
That was before usssssss
The entity embedded in Colin as a biological level half whispers half hisses in his mind. Since the Incident, it's lived inside of him, like a second personality tying it's threads to Colin's own mind. And each time, he felt a little sting throughout his bloodstream, in a pulsing sensation.
Colin and the entity (he hadn't yet thought of a name for him/her/it and when he asked them directly they didn't seem to know if they had one) now stood in a side alley hidden away from the traffic of the street. Nothing in here save for the backdoor to a Halal restaurant the staff would pop out to smoke in. At time though it was just Colin, the Entity, and soon, Officer Parisi.
Colin knew Parisi would come here around this time once a week to rough up a craps or dominoes game that some group of people were putting on. Rough them up a little bit. Colin knew this because he followed him over the past 2 weeks.
When Officer Parisi stepped into the alley way, alone as always but with that bullied and exaggerated gait of a real asshole, he did so without noticing the other man. And his Passenger.
Beneath his dark jean jacket, under the knitting of his hooded sweater, the Passenger dislodged itself from it's disguise as Colin's tattoo. It swirled up and over Colin's shoulders, pulling up enough to cover the bottom half of his face. Like a medical mask made of black tethering ink and sharp teeth.
He would make this quick.
The officer got halfway down the alley before Colin leapt out at him from the darkness, lifting him with one hand by the mans jaw. The look of terror on his face was utterly sweet, and Colin and the Passenger felt the dopamine rush between the two of them. The Passenger had enough of itself to extend down his right arm, creating a sort of additional inky black armor that ended in sharp fingertips. He kicked the cop as hard has could, right in the testicles, and heard something crunch beneath them. He could feel the officer's scream muffled beneath his black clawed hand.
Colin had to fight the urge to extend his Golden yellow Stinger-like appendage from beneath his wrist - a byproduct undoubtedly of the entity's merging with his body. But to fire them out now would surely kill this person, and he didn't want that. Instead he just wanted desperately to hurt this guy.
He felt the slit opening at his wrist and the sharp stinger begin to extend, and so Colin hurled the officer across the alley, where he collided with an overstuffed garbage container oozing something slimey and discolored from punctured trash bags.
We did not kill him?
Colin didn't respond. Instead he lifted his hand and aimed it at the nearest rooftop. The Entity fired on instinct, not a rope to swing on per se' but more like a grappling hook he could retract and pull himself up.
He made his getaway as the sun continued to set.
