ArchivedLogs:Grand Central Station

Grand Central Station
Dramatis Personae Hank, Jackson, Nox
In Absentia	2013-06-04 Concurrent with teenage playdate. (Part of Them! TP)
Location <MOR> Below New York
Buried beneath the bustle and noise of New York's busy streets, the world underneath the city is a quieter place. Quieter, but far from deserted. Occasional ladders, often rusting, ascend to the city above and are evidence that at /one/ point these tunnels had been in use, or had been planned for it; perhaps by way of maintenance, or access to subways or sewers. These stretches have been abandoned by civic infrastructure for some time now, though, but occasional scraps of evidence -- discarded food wrappers, piles of tatty blankets or moldering old mattresses, sometimes voices carrying echoes through the dank concrete -- give evidence that /someone/ still uses these tunnels. The rumbling of subway trains sounds frequently through the walls, many of the train routes accessible through various doors and openings. Jax and Hank did not come down here alone. They /had/ several X-teens with them! But Peter and Sebastian and Shane have since been whisked away for TOTALLY SAFE AND RESPONSIBLE hangout time with one small green lizardboy, leaving the X-Men still here for more adult Morlocky guidance. Jackson lacks his usual glitter, but it's hard to /tell/ down in the dark. Just dark boots, dark cargo pants, navy blue t-shirt. There's a distinct heat he gives off, down here in the cool dank of the tunnels -- a stored-up /energy/ from a good deal of sunbathing in preparation for his return to the dark. He has a flashlight, but it isn't on, hanging at his hip. He is a little restless, here, bouncing on the toes of his boots, his fingers trailing against the concrete wall. Bouncebouncebounce. Bouncebouncebounce. Possibly jittery or possibly just an /excess/ of energy. Which he is currently adding to, chewing on a snack bar that -- really seems to consist of nothing but pure coconut and a looooot of stickysweet sugar-syrup binding it together. Nom. Hank might have decent night vision, but total dark is something else entirely. He has his handy-dandy headlamp strapped on but switched off. He's also got on a sort of utility belt with plenty of pouches and various sensor reading gadgets. His ears and nose twitch in random intervals as his heightened senses take in the wonderful new world of sounds and smells that make up the Underground. He and Jackson already had the 'Are you sure we can trust these people' talk but Hank is reserving judgement. Reserving judgement is wise. The dark down here hides a lot, with distant sounds and shiftings echoing oddly through tunnels that don't feel /entirely/ abandoned. The hair at the back of the neck might prickle as the shadows seem to thicken, taking on a presence--lo, it is Nox and she is feeling somewhat shy with a stranger here. So her greeting whisper sounds nearer to Jax than to Hank, and comes with a soft touch to the shoulder. "I am here, are you ready?" Jackson prickles perhaps more than most at the thickening of shadows, the gathering dark putting a thread of tension in the photokinetic's posture. His smile is quick and easy though, as he swallows his mouthful of coconut. "Nox. Hi! Yes'm. This is Hank," he introduces, "we work together. Hank, Nox. She's a friend." He glances to his colleague, a quick shift of gaze hard to track in the gloom. "We're ready." Hank's hackles indeed raise at the gathering presence. Only Jackson's warning about the nature of their host restrains his response to a guttural, low growl forced out by his lower instincts, before he gets a handle on himself. Cute and cuddly maybe, but it would be a mistake to take the Beast as anything but a barely contained wild animal. "It's nice to meet, Ms. Nox," Hank says, all politeness. In fact, it seems as if Hank's curiosity might be getting the better of him. He peers into the inky darkness, trying to better ascertain Nox's form. He reaches for his headlamp, and then remembers. "Ah, Jackson explained something about your nature. Would you mind if I switched on my light?" "It is a pleasure to meet you, Hank." Nox's whispering is as polite as whispers allow. She skirts around them, collecting the shadows around herself the way a lady might draw in her skirts. The heaviness around Jax lessens, particularly. "If you give me one moment, yes..." There is now sound to mark her moving ahead into the tunnel but after a moment, the scrape of something--chitin?--against wet concrete can be heard. Nox murmurs, "Light is fine now," and waits--bracing herself, no doubt--for the spear of light that will expose both tunnel and woman. Or...mantis. That's the shape she's chosen, inky black and latticed with sickly grey tiger stripes. She hunkers down several yards ahead, filling the tunnel ahead of them. Jackson cannot help the quietly relieved breath he exhales as the thick shadows around him ease. He reaches down when Nox says it is alright, clicking his flashlight on -- although he doesn't point it ahead of him. Just lets it shine its beam downwards towards the floor, though the light doesn't seem to stay entirely in the direction one might expect; the glow coalesces around him instead, a faint halo that clings to his legs. Some of it shifts, though, a faint pale sheen of light ahead of them; less bright than the flashlight /should/ be, just enough to give some ghostly definition to the sewers around them. Jax freezes and blinks, at the giant mantis-shape; not, perhaps, what he was expecting, and heat-sensing vision works not-so-well on creatures made out of shadow. So: Stop. Blink. But then he dips his head in almost unthinking acknowledgment, slipping forward after the mantis. "Thank you," he adds quietly in the darkness. "For helping us out. Y'all haven't had any more trouble, have you?" No longer needing his own light, Hank is quite happy with the ambient light provided by Jackson's glow, and doesn't bother switching his headlamp on. It's always shining in people's faces anyway. Super annoying. Hank also pauses when his eyes tell him something is there that his nose denies. He's far more inclined to trust his nose, but then he's also used to holograms and all manner of apparitions. He finally nods and lets Jackson take the lead, waiting on Nox's response. "They recognize this shape," Nox explains softly, "I apologize for startling you." She scuttles ahead, crouching low where the tunnel narrows. But lest she be rude, a pair of eyes on stalks sprout from her back to observe those coming behind. They glint in the faint light. The stalk-eyes actually make Jackson smile, odd though they may be. "S'ok. Better, probably. I kinda want to meet them on their own terms. See if we can /talk/ 'stead'a -- fighting." He lapses into quiet, then, content to let Nox guide them through the labyrinthine tunnels. The dim-faint glow travels with them. "I agree that a diplomatic approach would be ideal. I've heard a little about what happened, Ms. Nox, but would you mind recreating the scene for us? When we encountered the ants in Grover's Mill, they attacked us immediately and without apparent provocation." Hank observes the eye-stalks by cocking his head slightly, but doesn't comment on that aspect. He's openly fascinated with Nox's form though. They have a long way to go. Nox maintains an easy pace, suitable for people who must move bipedally. It leaves ample time for description. The eyes dip at Jackson, and then at Hank--agreement, perhaps. "They were willing to talk. When we found them. There were several. A soldier. Workers. A mantis. All very large. They...spoke. Poorly but understandably." Her voice hums around them, resonating from the shadows that surround and follow the light the illusionist is providing; the mantis-shape is too far ahead for whispers to carry. "They said they were trying to reach the vault. They offered us money. Money from...it was a bank? From the ruined town. Banded. In a bag, that the worker held in its gullet. They spoke of something called Thea. The money was for Thea. They were not hostile, they simply wanted to continue until one of ours attacked them. Then they became very dangerous." "Giant speaking bugs working for someone." Jackson echoes this summary softly as they head through the dark. "I'm hoping we can find the someone. I mean, we don't actually know why they're --" He trails off, for a moment. "It could just be useful. To talk. If they weren't immediately hostile it's -- possible they can be reasoned with. Or ain't even really /meaning/ harm to begin with." Hank 'HMs' thoughtfully to himself as they walk on, led by the giant shadow mantis. "You say your people attacked /first/? That is interesting. Very different from our experience in Grover's Mill. I wonder what this could mean…" Hank trails off, theories and thoughts all clamoring for his attention. Finally he gets back on track, "Did your people feel provoked in some way?" There is an almost apologetic note in the next whisper: "We do not tolerate intrusions well. Particularly of late. Too many of us were...taken. By the police. It is a sensitive time and the tunnels are ours." Nox might well be regretting her chosen form--it jars oddly with the regretful tone. "Mind the slope, here. It will level soon." "Don't think we tend to respond too kindly to strangers in our space, neither," Jackson points out gently. "You get enough people causing trouble and you kinda start just -- not wanting no unknowns around at /all/." The mention of the police puts another tension in Jax's posture. The dim light vanishes, for a moment, the flashlight beam returning to its default position of just pointing downward at the floor. It takes a moment before the faint ambient illumination returns. He keeps his hand trailing against the wall as he navigates the slope down. "I can assure you, Ms. Nox, if someone showed up on campus unannounced, we would have a very... assertive response as well. We all have too much at stake with the little places we have carved out for the ones we look after." Hank drops to an 'all-fours' ape walk to steady himself as the floor slopes down. "Then again we, of all people, must mind our own xenophobias." His tone is far from 'preachy'. He definitely includes himself in that group. "It's interesting that they offered you money scavenged from Grover's Mill however. I suppose it could had been scavenged and traded for," Hank postulates, "But Occam's Razor suggests these insects are responsible for that disaster, and may very well represent a danger to New York City in general." "Usually it is those who live on the surface we are most wary of," Nox must admit. Apologetically, still, for she's in the company of two of them! "Threats from underground, we know them well. Usually." Those backwards-turned eyes keep a close watch on the two men--she doesn't entirely trust their footing, or perhaps it is Hank's willingness to go to all fours that has caught her attention. Either way, she observes. And then she is turning carefully to the right and warning, "There is a step up, here, and another down." After a pause, she adds, "The damage done to the town, did it appear inadvertent due to their tunnels? Or targeted?" "Targeted," Jackson's answer comes slowly. Perhaps out of thought for the question or perhaps because he is very /carefully/ picking his footing downwards. He stumbles a little on the step up despite Nox's warning, catching himself against the wall before he continues. "-- Really targeted, actually. But that's why -- I think they're -- maybe they can be talked to. I mean, Hank, the /town/ -- they /avoided/ all the homes. All the /people/. All that mess and nobody /died/, they were -- careful." He's quiet another moment, before continuing: "I'm not -- saying it was OK, but that's not the work of -- If they /wanted/ to hurt people they could've hurt a /lot/ of people. But they didn't. And these days? It's not hard to see what might drive people to -- extreme actions." "'Targeted' is exactly the right word, Jackson. It was surgical, even." Hank's hand shoots out in case Jackson slips in front of him, but the man rights himself, and the agile beast ambles along behind. "And full of emotion. The schools... the businesses. But not heartless enough to sink the hospital or the houses. I honestly don't know what to make of a 'careful terrorist'. But it looked like the action of a heart-sick child to me. What else can you tell us about the exchange before the fighting started? And did the insects restrain themselves at all once the fight broke out?" "It is hardest. On the children. Some choose to hide. Some to fight." And that is all that Nox has to say for several minutes. The tunnel levels out again. Nearby there is a rumbling of both sound and motion--a passing train. It fades. Some time later, the darkness around them seems to shiver. It's her version of a sigh. "No," she confesses. "The workers fled. The two who remained, they fought. Masque lost fingers. Marrow...she recovers quickly, it is fortunate. They were difficult to kill." After a brief pause, she amends: "The mantis was difficult to kill." "Heartsick," Jackson agrees, "but /with/ a heart." He's quiet while Nox is, just trailing after her through the faintly lit darkness. "They're insects. I mean, I don't know how much -- is /them/ and how much is whoever they're taking orders from. S'possible orders only go so far 'fore instinct takes over." Something in Nox's words quiets him again. A little tenser, a little /frownier/. "They're children," he says eventually, "they shouldn't /have/ to -- fight." His hand still presses to the wall. "Ain't all that hard to fathom," he volunteers eventually, quieter. "A careful terrorist. I mean, look at everything everyone's been through lately. Ain't hard to see what could make someone lash out. S'possible they need more /help/ than censure." At the mention of children fighting, Hank puts a quiet, firm hand on Jackson's shoulder. It's just for a moment, but his support is there. "Yes, I see what you mean..." Hank considers all of the variables, and seems lost in thought for a moment. "In the wild, the insect world is almost entirely a world at war. It's sometimes fought out in the open, mandible to claw, or through subterfuge with pheromones and infestations. But they can be devious in many different ways. Someone has found a way to bend this war machine to her will. I find the prospect disturbing, to say the least." "She, or he, has trespassed on our territory. One man is dead, another maimed. A child is missing. A town destroyed. It is only recently that we did not expect our children to fight, did not expect them to die. They have established their intentions. They should not be allowed to continue with them." A soft interjection from Nox. Afterwards, the eye-stalks disappear and the woman focuses entirely ahead, the tunnel growing less familiar. It's just for a moment, but Jackson lifts his hand to rest it lightly over the much larger one that Hank rests on his shoulder. After this he lapses into silence. Perhaps thoughtful. Perhaps just focused on their path through the dark, following carefully after their guide. The somber pronouncement made of their shadowy host draws no further comment from Hank either. He has no argument to make against it. He follows along in silence, hoping to make sense of the actual scene. It takes some time to travel from Point A to Point B underground. The sounds of civilization gradually fade, distant trains taken over by the heavy hum of millions of pounds of earth and rock overhead, of chill air and dampness. When they need to slow, Nox slows, but she does her best to maintain a pace appropriate for more...human bodies. She doesn't appear to tire at all. Finally, in one dark stretch that looks like the last twenty they've traversed, the mantis comes to a halt. To the left, there is a hole in the concrete that has been blocked by piled bricks, crates and other sewer-worth debris. To the right, there is another hole and another pile, but shadow-tentacles are breaking this barrier down, shifting debris aside to clear the way. It takes very little time--but then, she can create as many tentacles as needed to perform the task. "Here. This is where we believe they came from," she murmurs. Unlike Nox Jax does appear to tire. Not much, even a /long/ walk is still a walk, but at one point he stops to retrieve /another/ (very sugarladen fruit-and-nut) snack bar from one of his pockets, eating it slowly while his pace slows, too. He is probably grateful for the respite once they finally arrive, leaning against a wall to watch Nox dismantle the barrier. Only after this task is finished (and his snack is finished, wrapper conscientiously returned to his pocket) does he straighten, examining the tunnel around them in the murkydim light. "-- Guess you're up, Hank," is all he says, peering off into the transverse tunnel. "Ah, excellent! It was sealed off. This is very helpful." Hank drops to all fours again, looking like a strange cross between a bear and an ape. His claws scrape on stone as he leans down close to sniff. Eventually he apologizes to Nox and switches his head lamp on to its dimmest setting so he can get a better look at things. He spends a little time with some markings that interest him, before leading the way further on all fours, never looking more like a wild animal than right now. He occasionally /scampers/ (tell NO ONE) when he's chasing an interesting linkage, and remarks as he goes. "Yes, here, the termite feet are quite clear. They were running at high speed, and were, what… three? four? feet long each. Looks like only two of them. More interesting however, is the fact that we are not the first to follow these tracks." Hank points out some white scuffs that could have gone completely unnoticed. "This," Hank says, sniffing again to confirm, "was a human bone scraping along the floor. It almost looks as if someone's feet were made of bone…" The termite tunnel leads a long ways down at quite a steep angle, and Hank is being less careful about whether anyone is having trouble keeping up. He's focused, and doesn't want to lose track of what he's doing. He stops, sniffs, peers, and sprints ahead again. Finally, after at least 200 yards, the tunnel levels out, and Hank lopes to the end where a glow in the darkness has become visible. Switching off his headlamp when he gets close enough, his bestial eyes take over and adjust quickly to the gloom. Although, it isn't 'gloom' for long. The far end of this passage has only loosely been blocked off, not nearly as thoroughly as the Morlocks had done up above. Through the cracks in the rocks which were haphazardly shoved into place, a soft blue-green glow leaks into the termite tunnel. Peering through one of those gaps reveals a tunnel which is lit in intervals by beautiful glowworms which are stuck to the ceiling. It would be barely bright enough to read by. "Fascinating… They seem to be normal sized, but are quite populace in number. And the groupings are regularly spaced every 20 feet or so. This obviously by design but… In what way could that serve an /insect/ population…" Also seen through the gaps: if the tumbled rocks are pulled down, the three will find themselves in a virtual Grand Central Station of insect tunnels. Many exhibit minor differences in detail, and seem to have been dug by a variety of insect species, but six spokes can be seen leading off from this hub area. Jackson does not keep up, at least not at first. He trails behind Hank, far more careful in the way he picks his way through the dark rocks, stumbling once or twice where debris has been left scattered in the tunnel. It's only when he catches up to the glowworms that he stops, wide-eyed, to switch of /his/ flashlight and let the tunnel fall into not-entirely-gloom. For a moment he doesn't speak, just lets his gaze sweep over the glowworms with a slow inhalation. It takes a second before he routes his mind back on track: "... not servin' an insect population. Servin' the person they're doing this for. For light, if she don't track in the dark s'well as bugs do. Or just to mark her path." He drifts forward to the clutter of rocks, switching his flashlight back on. Once again the light just kind of gathers around him, and he doesn't try to move any of the stones; instead a faint trickle of light creeps up through the gaps in the rocks, his eye actually closing as it spreads out dimly into the hub beyond. The next quick breath he draws in is not quite as awed as the first. "... feel like if I was Peter my spine'd be all kindsa tingling right now," he mutters mostly to himself; a little bit louder: "Might could need more'n just the three of us to finish /this/ trail. Nox, you got any idea what parta the city we're under, nowabouts? These things -- s'like they're building their own separate highways down here." Nox does not lag behind so much as...lengthen herself. She remains with Hank but whenever Jackson falters, there are hands there to help him find balance again. Brief touches of support, mindful of the heat he radiates. When they arrive at their goal, the shadow lady collects herself in a smaller package--the mantis again, though in miniature, roughly the size of a Golden Retriever. She noses close to the gap through which Hank is peering...and then recoils as light filters through. "Clinton," she breathes. "...they have been at this for some time. To have established so much. And on our doorstep..." It is not a thing she appears to approve of. The darkness around them twitches and shifts, agitated by this discovery. "This cannot be allowed." "Or... /under/ your doorstep, it would seem." Hank pulls out some kind of smartphone device that has obviously been 'reworked' and fiddles with it for a moment. "See, I programmed this device to make use of its accelerometer, and monitor the oscillation of our movement, as well as the air press-" Hank seems to remember he's not lecturing a class at the moment, and moves on. "Well anyway, as I suspected, that tunnel brought us much lower than you might think. We are currently below the level of the subway systems, or even the sewers. These tunnels have been hewn from the very earth, herself." Hank can't hide how impressed he is with the undertaking. It takes him another moment to remember the bigger picture. "Which is unacceptable, of course! But I'm afraid I must concur with Jackson on this point. Either they've been digging down here for years, or they have a massive workforce to have accomplished all this. Either way, it will take more than just we three to root out the problem." Hank rubs a furry forearm across his sweaty forehead, and leaves a dirty smudge across his face. "Although even given those kinds of numbers, logic balks at the notion that they could have dug all of this in just a week. I think they've been down here for quite some time. Waiting for their moment." "This is pretty extensive," Jackson is agreeing with this with a worried frown. "Nox, honey-honey, if you -- if there's any trouble. If you need folks. Just till this is figured out, to help look out -- keep them away from your home --" The offer is implied, at least, even if he doesn't finish his sentence in favour of looking back through the holes in the rubble. "Massive workforce /and/ been down here longer'n anyone's figured, I'd imagine. They been planning -- I mean, the town in Jersey was /neat/ work, it wasn't no spur of the moment thing. Who --" His lips press together, thin. "-- who knows what they're planning this time." His knuckles scuff against his cheek. "But we gotta come back. Soon, probably. And find 'em. They -- they still got Ivan, Hank, he's /my/ --" He swallows, shaking his head. "It'll take work to search all this. But we need to know where they're going to." "They could not hope to bring down the city in the same way. Not at this depth. This is /home/." Which is why Nox scuttles backwards, closer to Jax, away from Hank, from the light, from possible discovery. "If you pierce an ant hill, they come pouring out to defend. If we venture inside there..." Her worry, and concern, is almost palpable. It thrums through the gloom filling the tunnel. It vibrates against them, like sound on a frequency too low to hear. "I cannot protect you both if they swarm. More...yes. More people. That would be best."