The rafters snapped, and I dove for safety. Relative safety, anyway. The doorway flew by, and I managed to see the hallway behind me collapse into a horrible mess of drywall, smoke, and shingles. My helmet came off midair, and I crashed back first into the stairwell. The carpeting did me a favor, and it only hurt catastrophically. The momentum carried me down the stairs, vision spinning violently. Shoulder, ankle, arm, foot, wall, shoulder, back, leg, and I realized I was in a painful sprawl on the hardwood floor of the old house. I must've fallen all the way down the stairs. I felt a pair of hands wrap around me, and toss me over a shoulder. Good God, did it hurt. "
Augh!" I screamed, by way of informing my carrier, but he didn't seem to care. He started a quick jog, and I heard the fire roar and the house creak. That was it, mission failed. I clipped the doorframe on the way out, and it hurt.
My vision was still swimming by the time I got out, and I watched as the flames claimed another victim from humanization. The entire building was going to collapse, and the whole department knew it. It was an old house, poorly constructed by modern standards, so collapse was assured the second the place caught flames. I was just happy to be laying down. My shoulder hurt like hell, as did my back, legs, arms, chest, head, and neck. The cement was cold, but I can't say I was too worried about it.
Vision swam by the time the EMTs got to me, and they managed to poke me in every possible place it hurt, and I got loaded onto a gurney and sent out to the hospital. The doctors were a little more kind with anesthesia, but everything still ached way more than it should. After what must've been a day straight of being awake and poked, the doc put me under morphine and let me pass out.
When I woke up, it was particularly dark. Most of the lights were dimmed, or off completely, and everything was quiet. I sat up, which hurt everywhere. But it was a more distant sore, rather than the active pain of a broken bone. My shoulder twitched in a way that suggested it was dislocated, which was further evidenced by the sling. I got up, and read my chart. It had been quite a few years since nursing classes in college, but the core of the message wasn't completely buried in medicalese. My right shoulder was dislocated, and I had very minor muscle damage on my arm, legs, and back. There was a warning flag for whiplash, though since I wasn't dizzy, I doubted that particular symptom.
I rolled my neck, and it cracked with the familiar habit from where I wrenched it when I was a toddler. Everything moved when I told it to roll, which was a good sign. My shoulder still hurt, but it seemed fine to me. I walked from the room, removing the sling long enough to shove my shoulder once. It made a ripping sound, the large crack of the bone being shoved by into place. The nurse at the floor's reception counter looked up in horror. "Please sir, don't do that!"
I tossed my arm back in the sling, feeling it rotate a bit. The relief was immediate, although I'd be lying if I said relocating it didn't hurt like hell. "It's alright, I've trained to do this."
She eyed me suspiciously, "Sir, that was an ant-"
"Anterior shoulder dislocation, of which I am a patient with frequent dislocations."
She glared, "Which means you know that the proper method means relocating by allowing the humeral head to be rolled back into place."
"Traditionally, yeah, but that puts undue stress on the rotator cuff. I'd rather risk the soft tissue, since that will actually recover faster, and more whole than the bone if something were to get damaged."
She frowned, "That kind of procedure is usually done with two people. And gently."
"I doubt you'd've been willing to help anyway. Besides, I'm already undergoing daily physical therapy, and I already have a medical sling for after the the shoulder reset. Unless you want to keep me here under general anesthetic, there's nothing you can do here that I can't at home."
She buzzed a doctor, who came and gave me the same schpeel. After going through the same song-and-dance, I got my release forms signed and went got a cab. The department paid for the ambulance and treatment, which is nice, and part of the reason I didn't stick around to rack up the bill. Even though working at the Fire Department had it's obvious perks, a lot of funding wasn't one of them. I tried to keep my bill as short as possible.
I rang the department, and got the answering machine. My watch told me it was nearly ten PM, which meant I probably should be in bed for work. I went to bed hoping my shoulder would feel better in the morning. Surprisingly, I had been right. The warm shower made it to where I almost couldn't feel the shoulder at all. Considering I could lift a cup to my lips during breakfast, I figured I wouldn't need the sling for too much longer.
When I got to work, I was lead immediately to the manager's office. He told me that had been my third workplace accident that year, which meant I was put under mandatory vacation. I had several weeks of vacation, two of which I was required to take. Even though I didn't want to, the contract was particularly ironclad when it came to workplace accidents. I spent the morning saying goodbye (and shooting the breeze) with the guys, and made my way home.
I don't spend much time in my kitchen, and most of it spent with my face curled into a scowl. I never liked cooking, nor did I like having enough time at home to do so. I pulled a little binder from the shelf beside the pantry and slapped it on the counter. Although my old man died at an early age, he left me an unhealthy amount of contacts from every profession. It meant that I knew several doctors, lawyers, nurses, government workers, and just about anyone I could want to know.
Across town, Marv was unhappy. Business was slow, and his sponsors were about to get up and leave him low and waterlogged. Travel agents couldn't work without contacts, which meant that he'd probably lose his business where it sat. His desk was a mess of papers, sentimental cards sent by customers, and a whole lot of bills buried under the rest of the crap on the desk. The folder on top was his biggest travel contact, a high-dollar travel agent that only managed to turn a profit by being sued, winning, and counter-suing for expenses and stress. The business model was high-risk, high-reward, and had worked out nicely enough to turn a small business into a racket.
This year's destination of choice was Paradise City, a corporate-owned city whose streets were paved in liquid gold and blood in equal parts. It was the kind of place appealed to the sort of crime lords and lawyers that built their thrones on top of equal parts corpses, torn down governments, and the collective weight of the dead or destroyed. Marv hated the place, and did his best to steer customers away from the guaranteed doom that "Paradise" City represented. Mostly so they could keep giving Marvin their money. Marv had fewer morals than he did wallets.
The phone on his desk rang, and it took him more than a few seconds to find it from under the canopy of papers, envelopes, and brochures on his desk. "Hello?"
"Marvin Palmer, my friend... We need to talk."
"...Russel?"
"Yes, Marvin. Listen, my assistant tells me you haven't booked a single customer on the Paradise City vacation all year." His voice dropped to something darker. Marvin saw fleeting shadows out of the front window, and he wasn't sure if it was a passerby, or a gorilla with a nail-studded baseball bat. "This makes me unhappy, Marvin. You know what happens when I'm unhappy?"
Marvin was about to answer that he didn't when he heard a blade rake against his office's front window. The text was easy to read from the inside. "You're Next."
"Don't make me unhappy, Marvin. Send at least one person this year, and I'll let you off easy."
The knife blade sunk into the window, the blade serving as the phrase's period. Marvin eeped, and slammed the phone down on the hook. He was running out of time, having already booked most of the seasonal vacation seekers. Marvin squeaked when the phone rang, again, and his voice sounded unsteady as he answered. "H-hello?"
My kitchen was dark as I listened to the phone ring, and said when I heard an answer. "Marvin Palmer? Hi, uh... This is Adam Walker. I'm Cliff's son."
"Cliff?" Marvin said, a mix of confusion and relief. "Didn't he die last year?"
"Yeah. I had his contact book. I got hurt in an accident at work, and I'm now on mandatory vacation. The doctors think I should get away from the house, and I figured I could use a long vacation. Something unusual, shake my life up a bit. Y'know?"
"Oh yeah, yeah. I have just the vacation for you, a nice placed called Paradise City. It's not a quiet town like this one, and they'll be plenty for you to do an see while you're there."
I was thinking something more beach-related, but maybe doing something new would make the mandatory vacation less dull than a palm tree and endless ocean. "Sure, that sounds good, how much?"
He read off a figure, and I wrote it down. Seemed reasonable, and was easily much cheaper than any tropical vacation. "Sounds fun, Marvin. Can you mail me the tickets?"
"Nonsense. Let's get you there tomorrow. You can come pick up your tickets this afternoon, we can have you in the air tonight."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, no problem. More vacation means more relaxation."
However, I was more suspicious than excited when I stepped off the plane into a country airstrip. The logic was that Paradise City didn't have any public airports, which struck me as a little odd. The completely automated airport also looked suspicious, as did the electronic monorail that was also completely automated. There wasn't another human in sight for miles. Even the captain of the plane had locked himself in a bulletproof cabin.
By the time I got into the city, I suddenly understood what the precautions were about. The terminal had burn marks into the polished steel, which would've just be unusual were it not for the sign of concussive explosions and bullet holes on every available surface. I even heard a bullet ping one of the windows, also bulletproof, as the monorail pulled away. I dove behind a steel wall at the terminal, discarding the sling.
In front of me, a column of steel hovered into view.
Why, hello there. Hope this security drone didn't startle you too much; can't be too careful, you understand.
Now, down to business. If you're listening to this recording, you either received my invitation or, by some freak chance, found this place on your own. If that is the case, I applaud you. In either case, let me welcome you to my city. I am Michael King, CEO of MasonTech Incorporated and unofficial boss of this little paradise.
Let me lay down something you need to know: you are not wanted here by anyone but me. If any member of the populace so much as glimpses you, you will be treated with lethal hostility. Luckily for you, I've designated The Gurney Wheel, down on the corner of 4th and Pennyworth, as a safehouse. All food and drink will be placed on my tab, and dear Mr. Timmoth won't bother you at all and can brew a rather spectacular margarita, should you be interested. You are to remain there at all times unless specifically contacted by me through Timmoth.
And don't try to learn more about me through him. He knows only what I want him to know.
My messages will arrive periodically. If I am correct in my assumption, you will not be alone. Treat the others in there with the utmost respect; any violence among you will result in a gas pipe conveniently bursting directly beneath the bar. In the meantime, sit back and enjoy yourself.
Welcome to Paradise City. The grass may not be green, but the girls are very pretty.
I blinked, and tried to process the message. "Uh... Okay. Hey bot, where's the Gurney Wheel?"
In response, it raised a robot arm and fired an armor piercing round where my head had been previously. It cut a hole through the 3-inch steel wall I'd be hiding behind. "Holy crap!" I yelled, cursing at my weak shoulder. "What the hell is up with this place?"
"
You know how these things can be." The droid replied humorlessly, "
Another day at work, another dollar in the pocket. That is the expression is, is it not?"
Another two shots pinged into the bulletproof glass of the bus stop's back, punching holes clearly through them.
I jumped, and grabbed the arm with the gun. I jerked hard to one direction, and wrenched it back. The robot reacted by firing twice, punching two thumb-sized holes in its own head. Spinning again, I managed to rip the joint out of the thing's arm, letting a bolt bounce harmlessly to the floor. The thing's response was to slam another phone book-shaped arm into my back. "Augh," I said, slamming the gun-arm like a bat into the robots head. It made a hollow
throng! "Damn!" I shouted, turning to run. I jumped, foot catching the safety railing and flinging myself airborne. I didn't get far, but my fingertips slammed hard into the shingle of the nearby building. Flailing on a roof ledge wasn't conducive to further survival, especially since the locals were likely to start shooting if I stood still for too long. My legs swung once as I hoisted myself into the air. My shoulder burned, but it lifted the weight I needed it to.
On top of the roof, I started running. The sloped shingles weren't exactly the best place to do sprinting exercises, but it's a lot easier to run when not covered in multiple layers of thick nomex and carrying a bunch of heavy gear. I got to the tip of the roof, vaulting the point and sprinting full-speed downslope. On the last step, I jumped, and caught the roof of the adjacent house on my feet, still running. I wasn't sure if the robot could climb or chase, but I wasn't willing to find out.
At the end of the street, I jumped off the roof. The floor slammed hard, and I rolled awkwardly off of my left shoulder. I didn't want to risk doing it normally with my right shoulder injured. I took to an alley as soon as I could, legs burning with the sprint already. There was a raised fire escape at the end of the alley, and I wasn't sure what all was following me. However, anywhere was better than here. I took and experimental step on the wall, and jumped, fingers of my right hand latching onto the iron step and ripping the rust from the joint. The stairs fell with me, slapping explosively against the bare concrete and exploding a echo as loud as a gunshot out of the alley. If anyone hadn't known I was there, they did then. My right shoulder hurt, but standing still was a great way to die. I ran up the fire escape.
After taking a second to pull the stairs back up, I got to work on the fire escape's full height. The journey was monotonous, and painful. My legs were trying to give out on me, but I kept going despite that. I got to the top, and collapsed on the gravel that made up the roof. Between gasps for breath, I said, "Whoever decided that safety should be up fifteen flights of damned stairs sucks."
It took a few minutes, but I finally felt like I was beginning to get my breath back. I stood up, and took a second to look around. The city was particularly amazing, with interesting architecture all around the city. One of the most interesting things was a building across the alley which was over a small drainage ditch, maybe ten feet across. The building looked like a child's playground, with a bunch of thin poles keeping the thing up. The lip of the building to completely glass, but the rest of the poles were shaded by the jutting roof. It probably made for a really cool look from both the ground and while airborne. The result from the side made it look like a giant play-pen, completely with vertical poles, monkey bars, and any number of assorted oddities.
A small clanking started coming from below, almost like a gear grinding against its housing, or an old air condition that pings as it runs. I ignored it, in favor of seeing something across the ditch. Down the alley, I could see the reflection from the polished building, it looked like the sign for a small building. The sign was gaudy and yellow, but the reflection clearly read "The Gurney Wheel" on it. "Thank God," I said, turning to the fire escape. Down below, I saw the source of the pinging, the robot from earlier coming up the fire escape. I yelped and jumped back, just in time to see a column of fire fly from the floor below it. I could feel the heat from where I backed up, but at least I wasn't on fire. For now, anyway.
I realized that I couldn't even remotely take the thing out without a weapon, and it had, at the very least, a flamethrower on me. I turned to the building across the gap. It was at least ten feet away. "No way," I told myself, gravel spitting as I started to run. "Oh my God!" My legs stopped feeling rested immediately, and groaned audibly as I crested the lip of the building.
Everything slowed down as I leaped from the building. The wind roared, and I heard the mechanical hiss of the flamethrower igniting behind me. The wind whipped through my shirt, pants, and hair, and I could feel the heat of another spit of fire behind me. I flew, gaining incredible distance over the crest of the jump before I started to fall. I eyed a particularly pretty-looking parallel bar jutting brokenly from the overall contraption. I reached, and time sped back up as my fingers slammed home. "Okay... This is going to break..." I held on for dear life as the steel bar protested the weight. The support that held the bar, a metal clamp, began
tearing from the building. "Oh God," I told it, reaching my arm for the clamp firmly secured to the building. It creaked, and I pulled hard, letting go of the bar. The bar fell, spiraling into the darkness. I slipped with it, managing to clasp down hard on a corkscrew pole. My legs swung wide from the vertical momentum, but I managed to keep hold. "Okay... Easy, Adam. You can do this." I followed the corkscrew down, carefully watching my handholds as I went.
The building seemed much less hand-hold friendly up close than it did across the gap. I looked around, and saw a few potential handholds. I eyed one suspiciously. "You're not going to break on me." I looked around, and saw a following vertical pole. The corkscrew was good since it had places for me to use my legs, but other than that, there was nothing for my legs to rest on. I wrapped my fingers around the horizontal bar between myself and my escape pole. The wind whipped wildly, and I could feel the draft from the alley way trying to rip me from the building and throw me to my death in the ditch below.
I took a deep breath, steeled myself against my nerves. "You can do this," I said to myself, letting my legs swing freely over the hundred-billion foot drop. I slowly began, arm by arm, traveling down the length of the pole, feeling the wind thrash violently against my legs. I flailed through the air, arms burning with exertion. The trip took a long time, the length of which was spent with my shoulder twitching occasionally in pain. I made a few more arm-lengths, and reached the end of the pole. Hanging there, I eyed the first mistake I'd made. The pole was at least three or four feet away from me. "Damn it," I told it, "you were supposed to be closer."
Above me, gravel showered into my eyes and hair. I looked up and saw the robot soaring through the air, coming to chase me to the ends of the Earth. "You've got to be kidding me." The robot grappled a vertical bar that rocked with its weight. The robot loosened its grip, and started to sink toward me. I saw the a small camera on top of the machine, a targeting camera most likely, start tracking my movements. I panicked, and held on for dear life. The machine pivoted, lanced through the air, and caught another free-hanging metal sheet, a decorative chime of sorts. I noticed a subtlety within the pinning mechanism, and knew immediately that it would fall. "Good jump, but bad move." The rigging snapped, and the robot plunged into the darkness, slamming support beams and metal pipes alike. I panicked when my nerves jumped. I had a feeling the pipe that was supporting me was about to fall.
I swung twice, feeling a screaming fear within my mind slowly build into panic. In a rush of adrenaline and panic, I flung myself across the gap. My back bowed as I flew, and I fell into the vertical pole in front of me. As I landed, crashing into the pole with my chest and arms, the pole above me collapsed. The metal flew in a dangerous arc, missing my head by centimeters. "Good God, when does it end?" I looked down at the drop below me. The pole lead at least a hundred feet straight down. "Just like at work," I told myself, between heavy breaths, and slid down the building. The rush of the wind roared around me, and I could feel myself gaining speed at a dangerous rate. I slowed myself, fingers gripping around the pole. My fingers hurt, but it beat accidentally launching off the base of a pole into the culvert below.
I reached the bottom, a curving sweep of the pole that lead into the glass tower of the building. I considered looking into the glass building, perhaps breaking in and getting out. Inside, I saw a security guard raise a submachine gun at me. I yelled, "Oh crap!" just in time to hear bullets crashing into the window. Which was bulletproof. He glared at me, but I suspected I shouldn't stick around. He raised a radio to his mouth, and I turned my focus elsewhere.
I scowled, and looked around. The playground look of poles had eased exponentially, leading to a shortage of places to go. I looked around spying a few concrete columns. They had light carving in them, which provided what looked like thin handholds. The columns were a good drop from me, and curve into glass sculptures at the top. It meant that the only handhold I'd get was halfway down the column, and wouldn't be very thick in the process. I looked around, hoping to spot another option, but that was as good as it got. And the columns were at least another ten stories off the ground, far too high to lead to the ground. So it was the end of the line for me. I looked back up the pole, considering looking for another way around. The pole was at least a hundred feet to the next best foothold, and way too tall for me to do on at all, much less now.
I laced my leg and arm around the pole, and hung tiredly. My arms all burned from overuse, which is no surprise given just how far I'd traveled on them. The city went on for miles, and it was difficult to imagine anywhere but the Wheel being a good places to settle down. My breath finally started returning to me. Inside the building, other guards were beginning to arrive and point at me. More were coming, I'd imagined. Looked like the column was it. All or nothing. I watched my handhold, gauged the distance, and jumped. Behind me, armor piercing rounds blasted through the window.
The world came into explosive focus as my hands hit the smooth concrete of a wall. I'd missed the handhold. I looked down in panic, seeing I was just above it by a few centimeters. My forward momentum died completely, and I started to fall. Hastily, I shoved my fingers into the slit and held for dear life. The resulting shock rocked up my arm, causing a sharp pain in my right shoulder. I screamed for all it's worth, and glass rained in splinters against my back. "Easy, Adam, easy..." I looked around, my legs bowed against the concrete column, and sought purchase for my feet. There was a foothold just below me, so I lowered myself the full length of my arm. It hurt, especially since it was my right arm holding the most of my weight, but I managed to grab my foot into the column and reclaim a hand-hold with my left.
The wind pushed against my back, an ever present reminder of the danger of my circumstances, and I started to lower myself slowly. I couldn't see any footholds below, so I rounded the corner on the column. To my relief, there was a building a few stories below. It was still a ways away, but a much safer drop that going to the ground. "Last jump," I said, heart racing, "easy as breathing."
I took to the air, falling for seconds before slamming into the roof of the building. I fell into a roll, momentum pushing my body flat against the sloped roof. The momentum gave out, letting me fall along the slope of the roof, over the lip of the building, and into the air. "Oh God," I said, centering myself and catching my center of balance. My feet managed to get under me just before the ground did, and my ankles and knees screamed with the shock of the concrete. I groaned, entire body feeling like one large bruise. Behind me, I heard the door open, "Welcome to the Gurney Wheel."
I started laughing, "No freakin' way." It hurt, and felt good, all at the same time. "I landed on the Gurney Wheel."
The barman lead me inside, and smiled as he closed the door to sanctuary. "Always a pleasure to have strangers drop in."
Character Sheet - Adam Walker said:
Adam Walker
5' 11" (180 cm)
157 lbs (71 kg)
24 years old
Although young, Adam has seen his fair share of injury and tragedy, both at the hands of the Fire Department. Although always a trouble maker, Adam spent his child and adult life climbing, both into and out of things he shouldn't have been in. Unsurprisingly, he's the only fireman that takes the pole both up and down at work. Although he's never really trained in any formal fighting styles, he boxes on the weekends with some of his friends from work.
Physically speaking, Adam is fit for his age and weight, bearing muscles on every part of his body honed from function more than any gym membership can provide. Accompanying his muscular build is a keen set of eyes, which have a particular talent for guesstimating the structural reliability of the things around him. It's gotten him out of a thousand scrapes in burning buildings, but has failed him catastrophically before. To wit, his mouth manages to spit line after line of nonsense, even during the aforementioned catastrophes.
Even during boxing, Adam isn't very "kill"-happy. He tends to wear out his opponents, dancing away from blows. His eyes help him there, spotting potential danger often without realizing it, which carries over into his instincts. Although he's largely more chicken than not, and will flee from danger, or at least dodge until he has a reliable opening.
