Freedom Corps Building
G.I.F.T. Offices
May 31, 2010
09:00
Headaches, like colds, can be killers.
"Everything alright there, Hel?"
The concerned voice of Susannah Hayman (Receptionist) greeted the figure of Helena Hammond (GIFT Investigation Officer) as the latter walked in from the plaza, clutching her morning coffee. Helena's face was wracked with the pain of an acute headache, and her free hand rubbed her left temple to highlight the affected area.
"Head's a bit fuzzy, is all. Any mail for me?"
"It's on your desk."
Helena nodded, then grimaced: Damn her efficiency, the thought flashed across her mind. For a split second Helena worried she had broadcast the curse direct to Susannah.
Helena sat down at her desk, a faceless and mass-produced thing. She was afforded a little privacy in her cubicle but even though she'd been working at GIFT for two years now, she had failed to put up any mementoes. There never seemed to be enough time.
Helena grunted as the PC booted, scanned through various security programs, and dumped her email account on the desktop. It was already showing up 36 unread messages. Another grunt, a double-click, a sip of coffee.
Out of 36 new messages; 14 were interdepartmental memos; 2 were requests for information on people; 5 featured complaints, in various states of legibility, against Up 'N' Away Burger; 12 were from field operatives, announcing results on recent operations; 2 were from her co-worker, Mark Bowman, asking if he could switch shifts next week to attend a wedding and a funeral respectively; and the final message was a sending error report.
Helena deleted the error email, sipped some coffee, and concentrated on the information requests.
Helena's morning ended with the sheepish appearance of Mark Bowman, looking a little dishevelled, knocking on her door.
"So, wedding or funeral... Which one is it?"
Helena hadn't looked up to see who it was.
"Well I started with the wedding thing, then I thought you might be more lenient if I was attending a funeral."
"You're a schmuck."
"Thanks!"
"What's the real reason?"
Mark looked hesitant. He tapped the side of his head. Normally such a gesture would go unnoticed in public, but Helena knew what he meant.
She closed her eyes and within a few seconds was standing face to face with Mark. Well, more specifically mind to mind but it made the whole process easier if Helena created the illusion that they were stood there talking to each other. People had been known to go green and needed to sit down afterwards.
"You know I hate talking to you - to anyone really - this way. So it must be important."
"I... uh..."
"I'm not actively going to delve further into your mind to drag it out Mark. Give me some respect here."
"Sure, I... I got an interview at Sachs Bowker. The jewellers."
Helena sighed. Well to Mark she sighed, but really it was just a psychic tick - a short fire of a synapse that made it look to her co-worker as if she was really there.
"So why do you need me to cover for the whole week?"
"Well, it'll look kinda obvious if it's just for one day. I'll totally make this up to you. I can get a seat at Beauriand."
"You so cannot."
"Well, I will when I get this job at Sachs Bowker."
"You really are a schmuck, Mark. You know that?"
Before Mark could reply, Helena ended the link and the pair were, as they had always been, sitting at and standing by her desk. There was a small period of readjustment required for both parties and then it was business as usual.
"Tacos at the café across from Gemini Park?"
"Sure Mark, I've got an appointment there this afternoon."
Helena picked up the pile of opened post and dumped it on the top tray marked 'IN'. She smiled at Mark.
"Oh and you're paying for my dry cleaning this time. Zombie vomit is a pain to get out!"
G.I.F.T. Offices
May 31, 2010
09:00
Headaches, like colds, can be killers.
"Everything alright there, Hel?"
The concerned voice of Susannah Hayman (Receptionist) greeted the figure of Helena Hammond (GIFT Investigation Officer) as the latter walked in from the plaza, clutching her morning coffee. Helena's face was wracked with the pain of an acute headache, and her free hand rubbed her left temple to highlight the affected area.
"Head's a bit fuzzy, is all. Any mail for me?"
"It's on your desk."
Helena nodded, then grimaced: Damn her efficiency, the thought flashed across her mind. For a split second Helena worried she had broadcast the curse direct to Susannah.
* * *
Helena sat down at her desk, a faceless and mass-produced thing. She was afforded a little privacy in her cubicle but even though she'd been working at GIFT for two years now, she had failed to put up any mementoes. There never seemed to be enough time.
Helena grunted as the PC booted, scanned through various security programs, and dumped her email account on the desktop. It was already showing up 36 unread messages. Another grunt, a double-click, a sip of coffee.
Out of 36 new messages; 14 were interdepartmental memos; 2 were requests for information on people; 5 featured complaints, in various states of legibility, against Up 'N' Away Burger; 12 were from field operatives, announcing results on recent operations; 2 were from her co-worker, Mark Bowman, asking if he could switch shifts next week to attend a wedding and a funeral respectively; and the final message was a sending error report.
Helena deleted the error email, sipped some coffee, and concentrated on the information requests.
* * *
Helena's morning ended with the sheepish appearance of Mark Bowman, looking a little dishevelled, knocking on her door.
"So, wedding or funeral... Which one is it?"
Helena hadn't looked up to see who it was.
"Well I started with the wedding thing, then I thought you might be more lenient if I was attending a funeral."
"You're a schmuck."
"Thanks!"
"What's the real reason?"
Mark looked hesitant. He tapped the side of his head. Normally such a gesture would go unnoticed in public, but Helena knew what he meant.
She closed her eyes and within a few seconds was standing face to face with Mark. Well, more specifically mind to mind but it made the whole process easier if Helena created the illusion that they were stood there talking to each other. People had been known to go green and needed to sit down afterwards.
"You know I hate talking to you - to anyone really - this way. So it must be important."
"I... uh..."
"I'm not actively going to delve further into your mind to drag it out Mark. Give me some respect here."
"Sure, I... I got an interview at Sachs Bowker. The jewellers."
Helena sighed. Well to Mark she sighed, but really it was just a psychic tick - a short fire of a synapse that made it look to her co-worker as if she was really there.
"So why do you need me to cover for the whole week?"
"Well, it'll look kinda obvious if it's just for one day. I'll totally make this up to you. I can get a seat at Beauriand."
"You so cannot."
"Well, I will when I get this job at Sachs Bowker."
"You really are a schmuck, Mark. You know that?"
Before Mark could reply, Helena ended the link and the pair were, as they had always been, sitting at and standing by her desk. There was a small period of readjustment required for both parties and then it was business as usual.
"Tacos at the café across from Gemini Park?"
"Sure Mark, I've got an appointment there this afternoon."
Helena picked up the pile of opened post and dumped it on the top tray marked 'IN'. She smiled at Mark.
"Oh and you're paying for my dry cleaning this time. Zombie vomit is a pain to get out!"
Up 'N' Away Burger
Gemini Park, Galaxy City
May 31, 2010
13:45
Gemini Park, Galaxy City
May 31, 2010
13:45
Helena flashed her FBSA ID card at the acne'd youth and her colleague Mark followed behind with a toothy grin.
It was still busy at the tail end of the lunchbreak, a few business types in suits were huddled round a table discussing interest rates and stock. Helena recognised a courier who was frequently arriving at Freedom Corps to deliver special packages to MAGI. Of course the guy was wearing civvies today, instead of his usual bright orange robe and kevlar chestplate. She smiled and waved at him as she followed the employee to the storeroom.
"Miss Hammond, a pleasure to see you again."
Helena and Mark were greeted by the round, red face of Up 'N' Away's marketing manager - Herbert Allsworth. Helena had met Herbert on numerous occasions but they had never really developed a strong working relationship. This was due to the fact that Helena thought he was a slimeball, and she found it amusing that he worked for a company whose employees looked like they had been dipped in hot fat.
Mark introduced himself and Helena explained why they were visiting.
"We've had more complaints, from local residents. Now I know that Up 'N' Away seems to get more complaints of this nature than other business in the city..."
"All unfounded of course."
"At the moment they are. That's why we're here. Although the traces of sodium azide in the Nicoise salad six months ago made for an interesting investigation."
Herbert's already scarlet face blushed a brighter red. Helena secretly hoped this wasn't another case of secondary mutation: The man could have lit the main strip of Steel Canyon all by himself. She continued, paying no attention to the wide grin on Mark's face.
"So we need an up-to-date list of the ingredients stored here. You know the drill, Mr Allsworth."
Herbert nodded and dabbed his forehead with a spotted handkerchief that had been residing in the front pocket of his slighty-too-small suit jacket.
It was still busy at the tail end of the lunchbreak, a few business types in suits were huddled round a table discussing interest rates and stock. Helena recognised a courier who was frequently arriving at Freedom Corps to deliver special packages to MAGI. Of course the guy was wearing civvies today, instead of his usual bright orange robe and kevlar chestplate. She smiled and waved at him as she followed the employee to the storeroom.
"Miss Hammond, a pleasure to see you again."
Helena and Mark were greeted by the round, red face of Up 'N' Away's marketing manager - Herbert Allsworth. Helena had met Herbert on numerous occasions but they had never really developed a strong working relationship. This was due to the fact that Helena thought he was a slimeball, and she found it amusing that he worked for a company whose employees looked like they had been dipped in hot fat.
Mark introduced himself and Helena explained why they were visiting.
"We've had more complaints, from local residents. Now I know that Up 'N' Away seems to get more complaints of this nature than other business in the city..."
"All unfounded of course."
"At the moment they are. That's why we're here. Although the traces of sodium azide in the Nicoise salad six months ago made for an interesting investigation."
Herbert's already scarlet face blushed a brighter red. Helena secretly hoped this wasn't another case of secondary mutation: The man could have lit the main strip of Steel Canyon all by himself. She continued, paying no attention to the wide grin on Mark's face.
"So we need an up-to-date list of the ingredients stored here. You know the drill, Mr Allsworth."
Herbert nodded and dabbed his forehead with a spotted handkerchief that had been residing in the front pocket of his slighty-too-small suit jacket.
* * *
Mark and Helena stood outside Up 'N' Away Burger. Helena was now in possession of a thick manilla envelope, crammed full of paperwork pertaining to the delightful ingredients used at the fast food joint.
"So, reckon they've been using black market stuff again to make their beef patties?"
Mark smirked. Although he too was an investigator, he was usually assigned to the higher-profile cases such as businesses who liked to dump toxic waste into the Red River. As a result, he was not in Crey's good books.
"If they have then we can hand the files over to the PPD. And if we're talking eight foot super soldiers, we can let the spandex brigade loose on them."
The GIFT investigators were about to head back to Freedom Corps when Helena's sixth sense kicked in. She spun on her heels and moved to fall back, dropping the envelope. Mark dived to catch her. She was shaking, but apparently alive and unharmed.
"What was that?!"
"I... uh... weird."
"Do you need some water? I can go get you some water."
Helena waved her hand dismissively.
"It felt like someone hit me square in the back of the head with a piece of two-by-four though. I haven't felt like that since..."
Helena trailed off. Her usually healthy, light-brown complexion drained away and she shivered involuntarily.
"Since what? Hel, what's happening?"
And just as quickly as it came, the incident drained away. Helena's shaking body became firm again and she found herself in the strong arms of a work colleague. A moment passed between them, then Helena remembered the envelope and removed herself from the embrace.
"Would you like to explain what just happened there?"
"Not really. I think I just remembered something. Something that happened six years ago."
"Okay. I remember things all the time but I don't..."
And then Mark remebered what happened six years ago. His eyebrows raised as high as they could go and his mouth formed an 'Oh'.
"Then let's get back to HQ and get you coffee. Uh, I can cover for you this afternoon if you need me to."
Helena smiled.
"Thanks Mark. I'm okay. Just a little flash, is all. Besides," she tapped the envelope, "we've got some investigating to do."
"So, reckon they've been using black market stuff again to make their beef patties?"
Mark smirked. Although he too was an investigator, he was usually assigned to the higher-profile cases such as businesses who liked to dump toxic waste into the Red River. As a result, he was not in Crey's good books.
"If they have then we can hand the files over to the PPD. And if we're talking eight foot super soldiers, we can let the spandex brigade loose on them."
The GIFT investigators were about to head back to Freedom Corps when Helena's sixth sense kicked in. She spun on her heels and moved to fall back, dropping the envelope. Mark dived to catch her. She was shaking, but apparently alive and unharmed.
"What was that?!"
"I... uh... weird."
"Do you need some water? I can go get you some water."
Helena waved her hand dismissively.
"It felt like someone hit me square in the back of the head with a piece of two-by-four though. I haven't felt like that since..."
Helena trailed off. Her usually healthy, light-brown complexion drained away and she shivered involuntarily.
"Since what? Hel, what's happening?"
And just as quickly as it came, the incident drained away. Helena's shaking body became firm again and she found herself in the strong arms of a work colleague. A moment passed between them, then Helena remembered the envelope and removed herself from the embrace.
"Would you like to explain what just happened there?"
"Not really. I think I just remembered something. Something that happened six years ago."
"Okay. I remember things all the time but I don't..."
And then Mark remebered what happened six years ago. His eyebrows raised as high as they could go and his mouth formed an 'Oh'.
"Then let's get back to HQ and get you coffee. Uh, I can cover for you this afternoon if you need me to."
Helena smiled.
"Thanks Mark. I'm okay. Just a little flash, is all. Besides," she tapped the envelope, "we've got some investigating to do."
Somewhere in Dark Astoria
May 31, 2010
Time Unspecified
May 31, 2010
Time Unspecified
A man wandered the streets of Dark Astoria, lost in his thoughts but perhaps not lost in knowing where he was. At least subconsciously.
His thick mop of hair was greying, his thin tortoiseshell glasses glimmered in the half light. Mist parted in his wake as he patrolled the streets, searching for something.
He wore a light blue, diamond-patterned tanktop over a crisp cotton shirt. His trousers were a camel-coloured twill. Not that it mattered in the murky, fog-drenched land of Dark Astoria.
He was also clutching something in his right hand. Tightly. As if the act of removing it, letting it drop on the cement paving slabs, would cause a tear in the fabric of reality to open up.
And he was humming. It was a half-remembered tune. He was not a musical man.
The man stopped at a junction. In the distance he thought he could make out the rising of a church spire. It wasn't where he was intending to go.
A woman crossed the street a few metres away. He called out to her, but she didn't turn to look at him. Instead she continued to walk with her shoulders hunched until she disappeared in the mist. He quickened his pace, hoping to talk to her. He wanted answers. But by the time he reached the spot where she had vanished, there was no trace of her.
He scratched his head with his left hand and adjusted his spectacles.
There seemed to be no other people on the streets. If the man had been wearing a watch he could have checked it for the time. At least that might give him a clue of where he was, and what he was looking for.
The wind picked up. Billowing clouds of water vapour hurtled down the street. The man shivered. He wished he had brought a coat. If he was totally honest, he wasn't aware of what had happened before he'd arrived here.
Then the sound of footsteps came to his ears. At first they sounded like high heels, but as they came closer the man registered the slow, almost foot-scraping nature of the sound. Lurching shapes appeared as silhouettes in the mist.
The man's instinct for danger kicked in. He spotted a small alleyway and silently ducked in, away from the main street. The cloud continued to conceal the shapes as they lumbered past. The man seemed to be contemplating what they might be, as if he was unfamiliar with the denizens of the neighbourhood. He scratched his head again and pushed his spectacles up. Then he felt the object in his right hand. He rolled it between his palm and fingers.
And then he took the softly-glowing ring and slipped it on his finger.
His thick mop of hair was greying, his thin tortoiseshell glasses glimmered in the half light. Mist parted in his wake as he patrolled the streets, searching for something.
He wore a light blue, diamond-patterned tanktop over a crisp cotton shirt. His trousers were a camel-coloured twill. Not that it mattered in the murky, fog-drenched land of Dark Astoria.
He was also clutching something in his right hand. Tightly. As if the act of removing it, letting it drop on the cement paving slabs, would cause a tear in the fabric of reality to open up.
And he was humming. It was a half-remembered tune. He was not a musical man.
The man stopped at a junction. In the distance he thought he could make out the rising of a church spire. It wasn't where he was intending to go.
A woman crossed the street a few metres away. He called out to her, but she didn't turn to look at him. Instead she continued to walk with her shoulders hunched until she disappeared in the mist. He quickened his pace, hoping to talk to her. He wanted answers. But by the time he reached the spot where she had vanished, there was no trace of her.
He scratched his head with his left hand and adjusted his spectacles.
There seemed to be no other people on the streets. If the man had been wearing a watch he could have checked it for the time. At least that might give him a clue of where he was, and what he was looking for.
The wind picked up. Billowing clouds of water vapour hurtled down the street. The man shivered. He wished he had brought a coat. If he was totally honest, he wasn't aware of what had happened before he'd arrived here.
Then the sound of footsteps came to his ears. At first they sounded like high heels, but as they came closer the man registered the slow, almost foot-scraping nature of the sound. Lurching shapes appeared as silhouettes in the mist.
The man's instinct for danger kicked in. He spotted a small alleyway and silently ducked in, away from the main street. The cloud continued to conceal the shapes as they lumbered past. The man seemed to be contemplating what they might be, as if he was unfamiliar with the denizens of the neighbourhood. He scratched his head again and pushed his spectacles up. Then he felt the object in his right hand. He rolled it between his palm and fingers.
And then he took the softly-glowing ring and slipped it on his finger.
Ghost Widow's Tower
Mercy Island
May 30, 2010
19:45
Lines of armoured women stood at attention.
They were being addressed by a figure fluctuating in transparency: Her voice was like a death knell but occasionally a tinge of Italian American crept in.
"Sisters. The Widow Corps has been charged with a special task. My Lord Recluse has discovered something within Paragon City that may aid us in our struggle against the incursions made by Ms. Liberty and her paramilitary thugs."
There was no movement from the lines of women. They looked like an alternative terracotta army. Just waiting for the word to spring to life.
All except one. She was fidgeting. Something was causing her distress. Her sisters did not move; they did not make a compassionate gesture of placing a hand on her shoulder to stop the subtle swaying of her body as she fought with some unseen force.
Ghost Widow was not unaware of the situation.
"Before I continue, would Doctor Moon kindly step forward."
It was not a request.
The agitated Widow gained a measure of composure and stepped out of her line. She made her way to the platform where her Patron stood.
Ghost Widow cast her hands out and a soft breeze lifted the Widow up to the platform. Angry spirits accompanied her but they were not permitted to devour the soul of the woman.
"Sisters, this woman is the key."
Doctor Moon was startled.
"She knows about the power that Arachnos seeks. She may not remember it, but she soon will."
A line of red-clad Fortunatas nodded.
Ghost Widow looked at Doctor Moon, the spirits surrounding her settled the Widow gently on the ground beside her. She raised a hand in comfort, placing it on the Doctor's shoulder. Moon resisted the urge to reel from the ice cold touch. She willed herself to remain in control.
"We are heading to Dark Astoria tomorrow. We will be investigating an old base of operations, used by a group of so-called Heroes during the First Rikti War. You are to strip the place of any remaining technology. You will make your return to the Rogue Isles by cargo ship. Talos Island will be your rendezvous point. And you will make sure that no-one knows why you are there."
Ghost Widow looked at Doctor Moon again. A smile played on her pale lips. She returned her gaze to the Widow Corps.
"You are dismissed."
The assembled women filed out of the chamber. A handful of Fortunatas remained. Ghost Widow removed her steadying hand from Doctor Moon.
"And now sister, we must make to extract what you know from that pretty head of yours."
Ghost Widow signalled to her psychic handmaidens.
"Prepare the altar!"
Doctor Moon shivered inside.
Mercy Island
May 30, 2010
19:45
Lines of armoured women stood at attention.
They were being addressed by a figure fluctuating in transparency: Her voice was like a death knell but occasionally a tinge of Italian American crept in.
"Sisters. The Widow Corps has been charged with a special task. My Lord Recluse has discovered something within Paragon City that may aid us in our struggle against the incursions made by Ms. Liberty and her paramilitary thugs."
There was no movement from the lines of women. They looked like an alternative terracotta army. Just waiting for the word to spring to life.
All except one. She was fidgeting. Something was causing her distress. Her sisters did not move; they did not make a compassionate gesture of placing a hand on her shoulder to stop the subtle swaying of her body as she fought with some unseen force.
Ghost Widow was not unaware of the situation.
"Before I continue, would Doctor Moon kindly step forward."
It was not a request.
The agitated Widow gained a measure of composure and stepped out of her line. She made her way to the platform where her Patron stood.
Ghost Widow cast her hands out and a soft breeze lifted the Widow up to the platform. Angry spirits accompanied her but they were not permitted to devour the soul of the woman.
"Sisters, this woman is the key."
Doctor Moon was startled.
"She knows about the power that Arachnos seeks. She may not remember it, but she soon will."
A line of red-clad Fortunatas nodded.
Ghost Widow looked at Doctor Moon, the spirits surrounding her settled the Widow gently on the ground beside her. She raised a hand in comfort, placing it on the Doctor's shoulder. Moon resisted the urge to reel from the ice cold touch. She willed herself to remain in control.
"We are heading to Dark Astoria tomorrow. We will be investigating an old base of operations, used by a group of so-called Heroes during the First Rikti War. You are to strip the place of any remaining technology. You will make your return to the Rogue Isles by cargo ship. Talos Island will be your rendezvous point. And you will make sure that no-one knows why you are there."
Ghost Widow looked at Doctor Moon again. A smile played on her pale lips. She returned her gaze to the Widow Corps.
"You are dismissed."
The assembled women filed out of the chamber. A handful of Fortunatas remained. Ghost Widow removed her steadying hand from Doctor Moon.
"And now sister, we must make to extract what you know from that pretty head of yours."
Ghost Widow signalled to her psychic handmaidens.
"Prepare the altar!"
Doctor Moon shivered inside.
PPD Precinct
Talos Island
May 31, 2010
23:55
Talos Island
May 31, 2010
23:55
The desk clerk was considering how quiet a night it had been when the doors burst open and a man in an obvious state of alarm barrelled into the room.
"Ghosts! Hundreds of them! Out to get me! And the others!"
"Sir, please calm down."
"But they're out for blood! For vengeance! For what we did!"
The desk clerk was used to this kind of outburst. He retrieved a notepad from his pocket and carefully approached the distressed man.
"It's okay sir. You're safe here. Now start by telling me your name."
The man adjusted his spectacles. The desk sergeant's voice was very soothing.
"Thomas Cogsworth."
"Well Thomas, what has happened? You mentioned ghosts?"
Thomas adjusted his spectacles again. He held something in his hand which had not gone unnoticed by the police officer. He brushed down his blue tank top, and ran a hand through his hair. Beads of sweat had formed on his high forehead.
"I was wandering the streets. It was dark, and foggy. There were men, I think. They seemed intent on harming anything that came into their path. So I ran away."
The officer scribbled notes and nodded. It sounded to him as if a civilian had strayed into Dark Astoria. Most residents of Paragon knew to stay away from there.
"Do you live in Paragon, Thomas?"
The question appeared to vex Thomas at first. He blinked several times. He continued to roll whatever he was holding in his hand around, as if it were a rosary bead or some item of comfort.
"Sir, are you from around these parts? Because it seems as if you strayed into a neighbourhood that most regular folks know to avoid. Now, I'm not implying anything, but I need to know how you got past the security guards stationed at the entrance to Dark Astoria."
"I showed them this."
Thomas's voice was distant. He reached inside his left trouser pocket and produced a battered, laminated card. The desk sergeant took it and studied it.
"Ah so you're a cape?"
"A what?"
"Sorry, I meant to say Hero."
Thomas shook his head sadly.
"Used to be. Can't remember. Everything is fuzzy."
"It says here that you were called Techpath. And it lists some of your abilities: Technopathy? What's that?"
But Thomas didn't answer. He had become lost in his own World. The police officer guided the man over to a seat and poured water from a cooler into a plastic cup for him.
"Just you sit there and relax, Thomas. I'll take care of the paperwork. Mind if I keep your ID for now?"
Thomas nodded. The police officer returned to his desk and began consulting his notes, typing them up on the computer terminal. He eyed the man cautiously, looking for signs of madness that might make him jump up and try something. Those ghosts could do strange things to people.
The desk sergeant waited until the man began to close his eyes, signalling sleep. He picked up the phone and dialled a short number. He spoke very softly into the receiver.
"Hey Paulie? I need an ID on a guy called Thomas Cogsworth... Yeah, he's sitting here in the station. Used to be a cape called Techpath. How long can you... Yeah, looks like I might need to put him in a cell overnight. He came in all crazy... Yeah yeah, used my charm on him. Hehe. Okay Paulie... yeah, you too."
The soft click of the receiver stirred Thomas from his dozing. He blinked in the harsh strip-lighting of the PPD station.
"Now Thomas, I'm gonna see about getting you a place to stay tonight. I can't promise that it'll be cosy or even warm but you'll be safe. How does that sound?"
"Uh, yes officer. That sounds... that sounds good."
Thomas clearly wasn't with it. The desk sergeant helped Thomas up, and led him to a door at the back of the entrance lobby.
"Now don't worry, I'm not putting you in here 'cause I think you've done anything."
The sergeant smiled. Thomas seemed to register what was happening. He nodded and attempted a smile of his own. It looked like pain on his worn face.
The officer let Thomas get used to the single crib bed. He had placed the man in the first available cell, away from a couple of drunks who might cause the man distress when they woke up. The police officer said goodnight, closed the door, locked it, and looked through the hatch. Thomas was still clutching something in his hand. He just stood there, looking up at the high, barred window.
The officer closed the spyhole window, muttering a goodnight.
"Ghosts! Hundreds of them! Out to get me! And the others!"
"Sir, please calm down."
"But they're out for blood! For vengeance! For what we did!"
The desk clerk was used to this kind of outburst. He retrieved a notepad from his pocket and carefully approached the distressed man.
"It's okay sir. You're safe here. Now start by telling me your name."
The man adjusted his spectacles. The desk sergeant's voice was very soothing.
"Thomas Cogsworth."
"Well Thomas, what has happened? You mentioned ghosts?"
Thomas adjusted his spectacles again. He held something in his hand which had not gone unnoticed by the police officer. He brushed down his blue tank top, and ran a hand through his hair. Beads of sweat had formed on his high forehead.
"I was wandering the streets. It was dark, and foggy. There were men, I think. They seemed intent on harming anything that came into their path. So I ran away."
The officer scribbled notes and nodded. It sounded to him as if a civilian had strayed into Dark Astoria. Most residents of Paragon knew to stay away from there.
"Do you live in Paragon, Thomas?"
The question appeared to vex Thomas at first. He blinked several times. He continued to roll whatever he was holding in his hand around, as if it were a rosary bead or some item of comfort.
"Sir, are you from around these parts? Because it seems as if you strayed into a neighbourhood that most regular folks know to avoid. Now, I'm not implying anything, but I need to know how you got past the security guards stationed at the entrance to Dark Astoria."
"I showed them this."
Thomas's voice was distant. He reached inside his left trouser pocket and produced a battered, laminated card. The desk sergeant took it and studied it.
"Ah so you're a cape?"
"A what?"
"Sorry, I meant to say Hero."
Thomas shook his head sadly.
"Used to be. Can't remember. Everything is fuzzy."
"It says here that you were called Techpath. And it lists some of your abilities: Technopathy? What's that?"
But Thomas didn't answer. He had become lost in his own World. The police officer guided the man over to a seat and poured water from a cooler into a plastic cup for him.
"Just you sit there and relax, Thomas. I'll take care of the paperwork. Mind if I keep your ID for now?"
Thomas nodded. The police officer returned to his desk and began consulting his notes, typing them up on the computer terminal. He eyed the man cautiously, looking for signs of madness that might make him jump up and try something. Those ghosts could do strange things to people.
The desk sergeant waited until the man began to close his eyes, signalling sleep. He picked up the phone and dialled a short number. He spoke very softly into the receiver.
"Hey Paulie? I need an ID on a guy called Thomas Cogsworth... Yeah, he's sitting here in the station. Used to be a cape called Techpath. How long can you... Yeah, looks like I might need to put him in a cell overnight. He came in all crazy... Yeah yeah, used my charm on him. Hehe. Okay Paulie... yeah, you too."
The soft click of the receiver stirred Thomas from his dozing. He blinked in the harsh strip-lighting of the PPD station.
"Now Thomas, I'm gonna see about getting you a place to stay tonight. I can't promise that it'll be cosy or even warm but you'll be safe. How does that sound?"
"Uh, yes officer. That sounds... that sounds good."
Thomas clearly wasn't with it. The desk sergeant helped Thomas up, and led him to a door at the back of the entrance lobby.
"Now don't worry, I'm not putting you in here 'cause I think you've done anything."
The sergeant smiled. Thomas seemed to register what was happening. He nodded and attempted a smile of his own. It looked like pain on his worn face.
The officer let Thomas get used to the single crib bed. He had placed the man in the first available cell, away from a couple of drunks who might cause the man distress when they woke up. The police officer said goodnight, closed the door, locked it, and looked through the hatch. Thomas was still clutching something in his hand. He just stood there, looking up at the high, barred window.
The officer closed the spyhole window, muttering a goodnight.
((This thread is designed for Open RP. Servers are irrelevant as I will be working on AE arcs for the purpose of the thread only.
I also have limited time to spend on checking the forums and updating so this will not be (for me, the GM of the plot) a 25-posts-a-day Open RP thread.
The Plot therefore - which will unfold, change direction, and generally be unpredictable once others are involved - may seem slow-developing.
So, that aside, I shall introduce a few elements of the story and we'll see how it goes.))