It's starting to get a bit late somewhere downtown--the streets are emptying and the clubs are starting to fill up--when 'it' happens. 'It' is the sudden, staccato burst of a retail alarm--an irritable, wailing siren that swings up and down, alerting everyone in the building's immediate vicinity that someone is robbing... a closed down, boarded up liquor store? Er, yes. Apparently, that's precisely what's happening.
A few bystanders glance toward the building in curiosity--it's been shutdown for what might be... a few months, now. Maybe even more. It's unlikely to attract much interest--even police interest!--particularly since, shortly after it begins, the alarm cuts off with a dull, dwindling warble.
Then there's another sound--from the side. The sound of breaking glass--punctuated by a young boy yelping: "OhGod." And then...
...buzzing?
Across the street, a man standing outside a rather dingy bar looks up and at the boarded up building across the street curiously. The tip of the cigarette in his lips glows orange for a moment, and two fingers remove it as he blows smoke out of his mouth. "Are you fuckin' serious?" he drawls, in a thick southern accent. He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair before putting the cigarette back in his mouth. He tugs the jacket around his shoulders tighter, the material letting out a squeak of complaint. "Maybe I didn't hear it," he mutters to himself. "Maybe it was all in my head, and I can just... go back inside, not think about it and get drunk."
It's usually the perfect time for people like Shelby. There are lines outside of the clubs, and smokers outside of bars, and usually those lines or smoking cliques have one or two people she can immediately mark as "gullible". Gullible is excellent for a girl in her position. She's got her hair fluffed and her jacket unzipped just enough to expose some collarbone and the edge of what looks like a some sort of flame tattoo--a chilly decision but worth it, usually. She's slowing her pace, looking right and left before preparing to cross the street--hey, that looks like someone tall and well-built over there--when the building off to her right begins to wail. Startled, she tosses her head and wheels around, braced to run--and then opting to approach the alley that's the source of odd sounds. And pain noises. "...hey? You okay in there?"
"NOALSOPLEASERUNRIGHTNOW." It's all one word, and it's spoken by a boy--at least, Shelby might *think* it's a boy--who happens to be jumping out of a freshly made hole--the thin wooden board that was nailed in place having recently been sundered to pieces (along with the glass behind it) by what appears to be... a very large couch. The boy in question is dressed in a red hoodie, along with a red ski-mask--big bug-eyed goggles (tinted yellow) over his eyes--blue jeans, and with a leather backpack. He is landing, and he is *running*, because directly behind him--emerging from that hole--are... are...
...uh...
...three toy helicopters? They look like something you might expect to see someone selling in the middle of the mall--except a bit bigger, and a bit meaner, and a bit *greener*. They're three sets of 'heavy-duty' automotous 'rotor-machines'--each has four propellers on their four corners, attached via rotating 'joints' that allow them to 'twist' those propellers any-which way--and at their centers are sleek little green boxes--each with a mounted LED flashlight (which now shines *brightly* in Shelby's eyes).
"NOSERIOUSLYRUN," the boy shouts at her, and if she isn't running by the time he reaches her, he is going to try and *scoop* her up and charge out of that alleyway with her in tow, because those things are baring down toward him--and anything in his immediate vicinity--like insane little killer wasps.
The man standing across the street takes another long drag on his cigarette and breathes it out with a sigh as he watches the teenager jump out of a hole in the building.. He pulls out his cell phone and dials, quickly. "Yeah, dispatch? This is Officer Sutton, off-duty. I've got a possible 10-31 in progress. Can you send someone out here? I see the suspect and will follow. Yup." He pockets the phone and tosses the cigarette to the ground and begins following the boy down the street, albeit on the other side.
Shelby winces, throwing a hand up to ward off the lights that momentarily blind her. She has no idea. None. There's yelling and then night-adjusted eyes are dazzled, prompting an unhappy cry of, "What the fuck, man?" The boy's charge is missed in the black and white sparkles she's now seeing, which leads to a clumsy stumble when her arm is seized. Fortunately, those sneakered feet were practically made for running away and it only takes a few strides before she's holding her own. Unhappily, may it be noted. "What the /fuck/?" she repeats, louder this time. Once the sidewalk is reached, she puts the brakes on without warning and gives her arm a shake that should, would, maybe won't free it from the kid's grip. "Let me go!"
The weird kid in the red hoodie and ski-mask responds to Shelby putting on the brakes with a glance over his shoulder--a glance to her--and a rushed apology: "Iam*so*sorryaboutthispleasedon'thateme," he says--right before looping one arm around her waist and attempting to *hurl* her over his shoulder--and, if successful, *leap* across the street--promptly hurtling head-long toward a car near Eric! If successful, he'll land on the hood with a loud *THWUNK*--knees crouching, attempting to lightly drop Shelby back on her feet--just before the first *FLASH* goes off.
One of the devices just darted down for where Peter was standing--ansd detonated. It's not a big explosion--and it's actually very quiet. But it is quite clear that the space Peter and Shelby were standing a moment ago has been replaced with what appears to be a flourescent fireball--one that swallows the triggering device up in an instant and belches out little more than smoking slag in the next.
The other two machines rear up with angry buzzes, LEDs locking down on Peter.
"OhGod," he repeats, yelling at Shelby and Eric. "Keepawayfromme! Thesethings*HATE*me!"
At the first flash, Eric instinctively ducks behind the nearest object. It happens to be a car about two down from where Peter had jumped over. Out comes the phone once more, still, apparently, on the phone with dispatch. "Dispatch, Sutton. 10-13, 10-33, 10-13, 10-33. There are some kind of... bomb - things attached to what look like RC helicopters. One of them just detonated. Send ESU!" He returns his phone to the safety of his pocket and looks around quickly. "Get into one of the buildings." he yells at Shelby and Peter, as he grabs a trashcan lid to try and use as a... shield? Throwing-disk?
There isn't a lot to Shelby, so throwing her over a shoulder isn't impossible. Maintaining a grip on her while hurtling a street? That's harder to do because she starts kicking and screaming--until the landing, which is jarring enough that her teeth close hard on her tongue. She squeals, claps both hands over her mouth, and finds herself staggering on her own two feet. It's a brief flirtation with being upright because the flash of white light sends her to the ground with her back up against the side of the car. "...ge' th'fuck /AWAY/ then!" she screams at Peter, apparently having finally deciphered his strange language. There's blood on her lips from her bitten tongue. "...Eric? Eric!"
"I'MTRYINGI'MTRYING!" the boy yelps, diving headlong off the car for the opposite direction of both Shelby and Eric--just as the two drones buzz and swing their flashlights to follow. A moment later--as Eric puts in that phone-call--both drones swing their hot white spotlights over to him, as if he's somehow caught their attention. The boy jumps up from behind another car, waving his hands: "OVER HERE! HEY! HEY--"
But suddenly, both drones make an innocuous beeping sound... and proceed to detonate *simultaneously*--both bursts as strangely silent as their sibling. Just as bright, too--and just as destructive to the contraptions. When they hit pavement, there's nothing left except a few scraps of molten metal and thoroughly slagged circuitry.
Eric gives a surprised look over to the person calling his name. "Mary?" he guesses, but there is no time to check. As the spotlights land on him, he holds the trashcan lid out in front of him as if a medieval knight going to battle... and is rather surprised by its apparent affect. "What the fuckin'..." he peers out from behind the rim of the trashcan lid, looking suspiciously at the metal-bits. His eyes sweep over the scene and, after ensuring that there are no more helicopter things approaching, focus on Peter. "Hey, you. What the hell was that?" he asks, standing and approaching the other man with a quick step.
The combined flash of the copters' explosion leaves Shelby hunkering down, her arms over her head. There may or may not have been some choice words said, but they're too muffled to make out. Even after the glow has faded, she's not as bold as Eric--it takes her a little longer to uncurl and peep over the hood of the car. More time is spent staring before she sniffs and drags the back of her hand over her mouth with a wince. Blood is smeared, and her stomach is sore too, to judge from the way she clutches it as she stands. "That was insane," she says, less than helpfully. "How come they blew up early, I thought they were trying to kill the kid?"
Peter--still in a red ski-mask with yellow-tinted bug-eyed goggles--spends a moment waving his hands at what now constitutes molten slag. The waving gets a little slower after a minute, then a little slower... "Hey... guys. Over... here. Huh. Didn't figure they'd do that." Then he swivels his head over at Eric as he approaches: "Huh? Oh, right--MAVs, I think? A type of UAV--like, military-grade RC helicopters. I think the explosives were thermite, and--oh, oh, *oh*, you mean why did they just come out here in a total murder-rage, *right*, right, I have absolutely no idea, I mean I was just--I was just walking down that alleyway, leisurely walk, and *bam*, outta no where, murder-drones! Pretty crazy, huh?" This is a lie so bald-faced and brazen that Peter hopes it will convince Eric on sheer audacity alone.
He then leans back from where he's standing--looking past Eric over to Shelby. "Oh, man, uh, you're okay, right? I mean I didn't hurt you? I'm *so* sorry, I didn't think there'd be anyone out there, and I didn't have a lot of time to think, and... oh, right, they probably blew up because he was using his cell phone to call the cops," Peter notes, pointing at Eric. And then, he restates--suddenly, with horror, attention snapping back to Eric. "Wait. Did you just call the *cops*?!" He sounds ready to flip out.
Eric gives Peter a /look/, taking note of his appearance carefully. "Just walking down that alleyway in a red ski mask and goggles." he repeats back to the other man, with a raised eyebrow. "Easy now." he says, both hands outstretched as if trying to placate an animal. "Take it easy." he repeats, in a carefully measured tone. "Now. Nice and slow, get on your knees and lace your hands behind your head." he instructs, as he comes within arms length of the other man. "/Now/." he adds, tone ringing with authority. "ESU will be here in a few minutes, and you'd much rather deal with me than with them. They tend to shoot first and ask questions later."
"You...you..." There are no words for what Shelby wants to say to the bug-eyed kid nattering at her, too quickly to be understood. She's still a little dazed. "...son of a bitch," she finally decides to name the boy who probably saved her from a painful demise. As Eric takes on police-stance, she adds, "He /is/ a cop, dumbass." Everything is coming out a little slurred. She is left to alternate between patting gingerly at her lips while wincing, and shooting wide-eyed glances at the street--as if the helicopters might resurrect themselves somehow. "...holy shit, I just almost died again...did you see that? I just wanted a /drink/ and they tried to /kill/ me." Technically Peter, but sometimes these things are missed in the heat of the moment.
"OhGod you *ARE* a cop!" Peter is clearly *not* getting on his knees. He is also not lacing his hands behind his head. He is, instead, freaking the *hell* out. "OhGod! If I end up in jail my uncle will *kill* me!" Then, pleadingly, toward the slowly approaching Eric: "Look, I didn't do anything wrong! I mean, okay I guess I broke some laws but they sent *murder-drones* after me! Frigging murder-drones! The fact that they even *have* those things have to be against, like, at *least* fifty different laws!" Peter is now on top of the car, crouched. The kid moves *really* fast. "And--and I can't go to prison yet, anyway," he adds, his voice suddenly gaining a harder, more desperate edge: "I... think I might have found a clue. That might help him find his friends." Okay, *now* he's talking nonsense.
Eric blinks for a moment stupidly at the car where there was MOST DEFINITELY a person a moment ago before he looks up to locate the other man once more. "I don't think you did anything wrong. I just need you to stay here and make a statement so we can figure out who the fuck is making flying bombs in the middle of New York City. Alright?" he says, voice still placating as he takes a step closer to the car. "I don't care about what you were doing in that liquor store. Breaking and entering is nothing compared to domestic terrorism." he says, tone very carefully level. "Alright?" he says, with a small, very fixed smile. "Come on down here and wait with me."
Shelby is less subtle in her surprise. "Holy shit," she remarks at the boy's sudden appearance on the top of the car. She folds her dirtied hands over her mouth and snaps back into bystander mode, goggling at the two while Eric tries to talk him down.
"I..." For a moment, the boy *does* seem to be calming down--Eric's gentle demeanor goes to great lengths to get him to relax. He sinks down into a crouch, knees poking out, head bobbing. Several seconds pass--seconds where he's just left to think, puzzling over all these details in silence. Then:
"I'm really, really sorry," he tells Eric, his voice a bit lower. "I mean, you're totally right, but--he mentioned that if the police got involved, his friends might die. I have to--look, I *can't*, and I know this looks really bad, and I know you're supposed to let the police sort it out but if I just hand over what I know I am pretty sure people will die and so when this all blows over maybe then I'll totally come clean and turn myself in and I'm *really* sorry...!"
And then... Up. Straight up--like a rubber-band. A single leap, and he's *soaring* over Eric's head--and then, over Shelby's head--fingertips catching the edge of a balcony that's at least three stories above them. Gripping it, flipping up over it--then jumping *across* the street, to the opposite roof-top.
When Shelby steps backward, she might notice something clittering against the back of her heel--so quiet it's nearly inaudible. A small iphone--dark red. One edge freshly scuffed from it's fall--by the look of it, it fell out of the kid's pocket while he was throwing her down to the ground.
Eric grabs for the other man as he leaps but he comes away with nothing in his arms but air. "Fucking hell." he mutters, running a hand through his hair. "Great. Just great." He groans as he watches Peter flee quickly onto the rooftop, and he pulls the phone out of his pocket again, even as a siren can be heard in the distance. "Dispatch. You can 10-80 ESU and the call. Can you get someone from the detectives squad down here as well? Someone from the anti-terrorism unit. And mutant crimes. Thanks." He hangs up the phone this time before putting it back in his pocket. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he opens them and walks over towards Shelby. "Heya. You alright, darlin'?" he asks, giving her a politely concerned look.
Shelby's head whips up and around when the kid makes his jump. Now /that/ is worth gaping out but it's a short-lived gape. While Eric mourns the ruin of his evening and makes that call, she is busy glancing down to see what she's stepped on. The iPhone is spotted and quick as a flash picked up to be studied--then pocketed as the cop approaches. It isn't difficult to make with the shocked and shaken expression. It comes quite naturally, in fact. "Not really," she laments, touching her lower lip. "But I'm not dead, so that's something. Um. Do I...can I go get drunk or do I have to witness or whatever? I'm...I really, really need a Jack."
"You need to stay and talk to the detectives." Eric says, looking over her for a moment sympathetically. "Why don't you take a seat here," he says, gesturing to the hood of the car. "And I can call a paramedic to come look over you. Are you hurt besides the lip?" he asks, eyes flickering over her carefully. "Shouldn't take too long. I don't think you saw much, and I was there pretty much the whole time as you."
"Fuck. They're gonna want ID." Shelby and her priorities. She winces and probes at her mouth again. "S'my tongue, I bit it when that dude jumped. Or dropped me. Somewhere in there. Did you see how high he went? Shit...oh. Oh, oh /shit/, did you call the mutant people? The mutant cops?" She had been easing herself onto the hood of the car but with that realization, she stands bolt upright again. "Because he jumped like that? I gotta go. Um. I'm just gonna..." Hook a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the direction she edges away from Eric in. "But hey, call me, huh?" The escape-thumb shifts to a phone signal before she makes to trot /away/ from police and wreckage.
Eric raises his hand, then he glances around. "Alright. Go. But go quickly, before they come." he says, voice quiet. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and leans against the car, tapping the pack against his palm for several moments before removing a cigarette and a lighter. He takes a long drag once the cigarette is lit and lets his head drop back onto the car. "God, I need a drink."
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