"Brothers for life!", he laughed. Being Samuel's aid allowed him to lounge about the house and do nothing for a very long time. In this time, he discovered the joys of gaming.
"Lets race to the bikes! Your handicapped, so that means you get a head start right?"
[Shot leg, Vicodin, a cane, and a motorcycle? If I didn't know better, I'd say Sam's imitating Dr. House!]
Iceous never had understood why everyone hated Chicago. It's so cool here. The wind just bites right through you. His electrical supplies hadn't been cheap, but he thought it would work.
Someday I'll find someone to keep my happy. Look at me, I'm 40 and the only company I have is some living ice!
He saw a little kid walking by with his mother. He was eating a hot dog, but it seemed a bit cold. Iceous pushed some heat from his own body into his processed leftovers. Such acts of kindness were getting increasingly rare from him. The loss of his cousin really took a lot of fight out of him. It was in such loneliness that drove him to a brief period of insanity. Nothing in his life seemed as bad as those 2 months. He didn't leave his apartment, he didn't work, he didn't speak. Then by pure chance, his power shot off reflexively. It his his freezer and Jason was born.
Oh Jason. How bad I would be if he hadn't came around. I miss that ice-bat everyday.
[OK, BOTH of you can be House.... living in the same room? *COUGHIMPLEMENTCOUGH*]
Iceous reached into his pocket and grabbed his keys. His door unlocked with a KACHUCK and swung inward. Cicle was chewing on one of his boots. "Cicle! No! Get!" Cicle knocked his boot away and scuttled to his padding. He picked up his boot grimaced. "These were my best fitting pair too." He took his electronics to his workbench and fiddled with them. When he was finished, he made a tiger, carefully forming it around the device.
"Speak."
The lion looked at Iceous, flicked its tail, and roared with surprising audibility. "Success! All that's left is teaching it English!" He melted the lion and moved the water before it could short the electric voice box. "Cicle! Come here. Frosty's got a surprise for you." Cicle crawled to him and rubbed his neck on his leg. "Yes, boy, I missed you too. Do you want to talk?" He gripped Cicle around the neck and sent a weak burst of power to knock him out.
Patrick stood looking down at the rubble of the facility. He had conflicting emotions running through him: there was the relief that he would never be imprisoned there again, the terror of what had happened there in the past, and his shame at failing to protect the others.
His paranoia had almost caused the whole team to wind up dead. He had allowed them all to be captured, and had even failed at taking on Samuel.
And now you see... you're nothing but a failure. A wimp. I'm suprised you even worked up the courage to fight, you spineless coward...
Patrick lifted his head. With a look of grim determination on his face, he began to walk towards the nearest town.
Maybe you're right. Maybe I am just a coward... but I can change. I'm sure of it. I'll show you.
5 Years Later...
Patrick was running again, though this time he wasn't running away: he was actully chasing down a person instead.
Damnit! Were this guy's parents deer or something?! he thought frantically, as he lept over a short fence. This fucker's been going for-
His thought stopped as soon as he rounded the next corner. He'd been chasing this drug dealer for ten minutes now: Patrick's partner had long since been left in the dust, and Pat would have lost this bastard if he hadn't been able to sense his panicked thoughts. However, as he looked down this next alleyway, he could see some trouble.
The dealer had brought friends. About 15 of them. Patrick swore under his breath: he hadn't been looking out for other minds, so this was a complete suprise.
"Hey officer... I think that you've got the wrong guy or something?" said the dealer cockily, tipping his head to the side and grinning. Patrick could sense that some of these guys were professionals: they had Uzis, machetes, the works. These people had obviously been hired by someone further up the food chain than this idiot: presumably to "take care of" snooping policemen like himself.
Patrick grinned. It was a golden opportunity to nab someone that had connections to the higherups of The Kingdom, and if even one had a address...
"Well, no actually." Patrick said, in a cavalier tone. "I think that you're the scumbag that I've been chasing down for ten minutes, and that you have a large amount of cocaine in that rather obnoxious hat of yours. I also think that most of your buddies here are wanted on a variety of charges, including rape, murder, and a few outstanding tickets that they still haven't paid up for. Lucky me."
The dealer's smile vanished. "Oh yeah asshat? What the fuck do you have that's gonna save your pasty butt in this situation?" the gangly man said as he spat in Patrick's direction.
Patrick grabbed the top off of a nearby garbage can. "Oh, I dunno..." he said innocently. "This?"
Sparrow Tag said:
Chris B Chikin said:
Shapsters said:
Life is truly good, great husband, great house, restaurant is thriving. Yup, life is pretty good.
[spoiler/]Sorry that I haven't been playing. I regret saying this but I won't be able to anymore either. Lots of stuff has been happening, and I need all the free time I can get now. Use my character until you kill him off. I'm really sorry.[/spoiler]
Sarah continued doing her daily routines. Nothing had changed, everything was the same as it had been before, bland and uneventful. Waking up in the morning, exercising in the morning, then showering, breakfast and off to work.
Sarah sat at her desk in her office. Typing away like she had done so many other days. She was a manager in her advertising job, she rose quickly through the ranks and was appointed a new office and salary a few months prior.
She looked around to make sure that no one was around. She looked at her hand and it quickly became lit with orange fire. The first time she had used it in weeks. She often times wondered if she would ever use it again. Sarah also hadn't used the blue flame or white flame since she had been with the others in the pods.
This life is beginning to bore me. I cannot talk to others because they wouldn't understand. I cannot talk to the ones who do understand because if I did.. then people would try to kill us because we're 'freaks'.
Sarah sighed, the fire receded, and she continued to type.
Can you guys find Sarah first? She's bored with her life and misses the others/
Iceous slumped back in his easy chair. Getting the device in was harder than he had thought. Then he had to sync it with Cicle's mind. He was thoroughly exhausted. He waved his hand weakly through the air. Awake.
Cicle jumped up and looked at him. "Sup." He crawled over to his dishes and ate some ice. Iceous just sat and looked at him. "You've been listening to me this whole time, haven't you? You've been learning to talk."
The tortoise look tried to shrug, then said "Yes I have. It's rather boring here, so I challenged myself. English is the worst language."
Iceous stifled a sigh. "Sarah! Where are you?" An ice-cat hopped down from the refrigerator and trotted over to him. She arched her back and weaved her way between his legs like any other cat would. "Oh, get up here!" He reached down to pick her up. Sarah had other plans. She clawed his arms until he dropped her and she ran back to the kitchen.
Patrick walked out of the alleyway, dragging two people behind him. He'd only hit the dealer in the head with the lid: for the rest, he had used his powers to make them fight each other. He dropped the two criminals next to their buddies, and grabbed his radio.
"Hey, Joe? Got our perp. He was r-running pretty fast there, and he brought some friends, but I got them."
"Jeezus shit man!" crackled the radio. "Where are you exactly, I'm in the car right now."
"Corner of Stoat and Acre. Call in a transport: we'll need it." said Patrick, smiling as he flipped the radio off. Joe was a good guy: he just couldn't run to save his life. A follower of the doughnut philosophy through and through... Patrick thought as he knelt to grab the head of one of the thugs he had captured.
Patrick had gotten far more skilled with the Gift these days... he could now use his powers in all sorts of ways, and it wouldn't hurt him. The only time his nose would bleed would be when he did something ridiculous, like lifting a tractor trailer. That was just beyond him, he supposed. Prying open this man's mind would be easy by comparison.
Five minutes later, Patrick stood up, with his information in hand, and a note that he had made the suspect write. It was as he had thought: The Kingdom was being controlled from outside the city. In fact, the power base was in LA, of all places.
After he handed off the perps and wrote several reports on the incident, Pat went home, to his safehouse in the sewer. He'd learned a lot in five years, and had managed to hook up all sorts of systems to the former fallout shelter. He was now leeching power, cable, and even hot water off of various other buildings aboveground: his little abode was now as good as any apartment in the city.
Patrick had taken his job as an officer a year and a half after the incident. He'd found a man who specialized in fake IDs: his name was now Tim McPhearson of the local police force. He obviously couldn't have used his old name, not with his backround... but it didn't matter. "Tim" had come to be a integral part of the police in under a year: his powers gave him a edge in every way in taking down criminals. He'd been working on taking down The Kingdom with the DEA recently, and it had been challenging. Druggies had severely warped minds, and he could barely tell what they were thinking at times. The criminals were only half the problem though: most of the time, he had to use his powers carefully, or the police would catch on to the fact that he was more than he appeared to be.
I wonder how all the others are doing... Patrick thought as he sat down to listen to the news. He hadn't been in contact with any of them at all recently, and he was worried about them. He had another bad feeling creep up whenever he thought about the group too much, but Pat put that off as nothing but the old craziness creeping up on him while he wasn't looking.
Odds are they're fine. Patrick thought firmly. Doc, on the other hand...
Patrick had been monitering Doc constantly, making sure that if he woke up from his stupor nothing would go wrong. He'd even been to his cell once, turned a page in that book that the man wasn't probably even reading. Something about Doc was important: Pat could feel it, even if he wasn't sure as to what it was. There was also something grotesquely fascinating about the former Prototype to him: perhaps it was that they both had the same sorts of abilities, and both had some "issues" with their minds. Patrick had thought a lot about the mentally crippled man these five years: What if the only thing that had seperated him and Doc was that he had found some friends? Patrick realized it had been a long time since he had visited Doc anyway: tommorow would be the time for a quick check-in.
"We're going to LA. That's what the adress showed." Samuel answered. He revved the engine of his bike. It had been a while since he had driven it, he hoped it wouldn't be a problem. They rode away from the apartement. Samuel had taken his laptop with him in a backpack. He still didn't get to all of the information, but what he had sifted out was very interesting. It had all the specifics on the fabrication of the Prototypes. If needed, Samuel could shut down or add to the powers of a Prototype. Even recreate the effect, but only for a little while.
The air ture at Samuel's hair when they exited Chicago. It was early in the morning, and the traffic was sparse on the road.
Sparrow leant foward on his bike, to build up speed. He slowly caught up with Samuel, and positioned his bike next to his.
"So, whats the plan?", he shouted over the beeping of cars and the rustling of the wind, "We just go in, take everyone out and make the place go bye-bye? Cus' last time we tried that, you got shot in the leg and I wound up clinically depressed!"
"Pretty much." Samuel said. He didn't think that it would be as in Russia. That was Doc's doing, and he was dead. This would be in, out, kaboom and the end.
[And we've hit the thousand posting mark. Thank you Chris for noticing!]
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