🕑 Added 2018-05-07 06:47:20 +0000 UTC
Interlude H
Daniel felt a little ridiculous.
His costume was simplistic, being a hazardous materials suit that had some modifications, namely non Newtonian fluids in interlaced pockets throughout the vest beneath the costume's hermetically sealed underlayer, fire gel packs on the surface of his upper body, a transparent jelly in the face plate that conducted light selectively according to the current applied to it and the polarity of the dielectric field applied to it, and an external, hyper-elastic, gelatin-like sleeve that he could use to bind, lash, or snap out rapidly like a chameleon's tongue.
The latter especially would deteriorate quickly but he had spares, since it wasn't significantly more expensive out time consuming to make them fifty at a time than it was to make one at a time. Granted, he couldn't carry more than two spares and have room for his utility gel, arguably the most important-- and heaviest-- piece of equipment. Even so, it was reassuring that he could afford to use them without overburdening his ability to maintain and improve his other gear.
And there's no better time to debut than looting season, he thought to himself wryly. A group of people a dozen men strong were raiding an abandoned Tru Value with shopping carts, each one full up with tools, tarps, tents, and compact barbecues. One of them was prying open a more or less intact propane cage with a stolen crowbar.
"Hold it!" Daniel yelled, his voice cracking slightly. He prayed nobody heard it. "Leviathan just trashed the city and the first thing you do is steal stuff? You guys disgust me. Get down on the ground with your hands on your heads."
The group of them stopped briefly, staring at Daniel, before most of them looked at a black man with white blotches on his face and arm. What was that disease called? Vitiligo? Daniel mentally named him Splotchy to keep them straight in his head.
Splotchy looked Daniel in the face. "Hey. Look, we don't want trouble, we're just trying to help people right now. There's-"
"Help people?!" Daniel exclaimed, disbelieving. "Which people, your fences?"
Splotchy rolled his eyes. "Can you go and play superhero somewhere else? There's a minimum of two thousand people, probably more, who are depending on us to scare up food, tents, and sanitary arrangements until the federal types can get their shit together. So unless you want to help set up tents, cooking lines, and latrines with us, kindly fuck off."
Daniel almost rose to the bait. Then, he took a good look at the carts. Shovels, picks, tents, canteens, barbecues, first aid kits, propane... "Two thousand people?" he challenged, feeling like he was perhaps being a bit unwise. "The Merchants holding a cookout?"
Splotchy's eyes narrowed; the man spit off to the side. "Curtis Brighton shelter, asshole. The one I helped dig out of about forty five minutes ago, probably four hundred children and elderly included. Because heroes were too busy, presumably with the rich part of Brockton making sure Mayor Christner and his neighbors could get their town cars out of their gated community. We're gonna clear the roads by hand so emergency crews can get to the worst part, get people under tents in case the rains start back up, and generally do the jobs that need to be done."
Beneath his headpiece, Daniel frowned. "It's a good story, but look at it from my point of view. How do I know you're not making this up to get away with looting?"
"You don't," the guy said with a casual shrug. "It just comes down to what kind of person you are."
At Daniel's confused silence, the man elaborated. "We're here because there's no heroes willing or able to step up, and the Emergency Management people can't get in to the worst areas before tomorrow night unless they get cape help. You can choose to believe us, and act accordingly to help people in need, or you can choose to disbelieve us, and indulge your fantasies of fighting crime. It all depends on why you really want to be a hero."
The man walked up to Daniel and asked, "So which is it? Did you become a hero to help people, or to dress up in a costume and punch people in the face?" Behind him, the others continued packing things, while another man checked off items from a list.
In the end, it was the list that sealed it for Daniel. He watched them finish up, then looked at the nominal leader. "... I'll trust you, for now. Where's the planned site for the... well, I guess refugees?"
Splotchy sighed heavily. "Right now, the tentative plan is the park by the Boardwalk. It's fairly wide open, it was far enough back from the beach that there's a good chance it's not too badly trashed to set up, and it's not too far from the Curtis Brighton shelter. But if I'm wrong about the conditions, we'll be setting up somewhere not too far from it, hopefully."
Daniel almost offered to assist, but then stopped. "... You said there's not enough capes to go around." At the man's nod, Daniel continued, "If you guys have this whole thing in hand, there's probably others stuck in the devastation zone that need me more. I'll stop by and see how you're all doing later, when things calm down." Implicit in the statement was the warning that Daniel had better find they weren't lying about their intentions.
Splotchy understood the subtext just fine. "We'll save a plate for you."
"What's your name, anyhow?" Daniel asked, holding out his hand to shake.
The man took it. "Brandon Gammer. You?"
"Uh, Gelum."
"Good to meet you, Gelum. And good luck. We all need it."
---
The channel 17 news logo faded from the screen, revealing a blonde woman in a gray suit seated alongside a bald man in a blazer and pinstriped dress shirt behind a news desk. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I'm Carrie Hellmann," the woman opened up with.
The man chimed in, "And I'm Angelo Castaluego, and these are the top stories.
"New England is reeling today in the wake of the Portsmouth Leviathan attack. Cities as far south as Atlantic City and as far north as Portland were pummeled by a succession of tidal waves over the course of the two hour battle, a battle whose devastation was compounded by the appearance of an unidentified cape which Leviathan fought briefly before retreating. Details are sparse, and the Protectorate has yet to issue a formal statement, but casualties are high, both on a civilian level and in hero losses. An unidentified source close to the fighting has confirmed that among the lost are Miss Militia from Brockton Bay Protectorate, Harper from Boston Protectorate, and TKO from the Guild. In a statement from the Guild, Narwhal had this to say:"
Both anchors went silent and still, while audio only came in: "The Guild expresses its deepest sympathies to the families of those lost to Leviathan and to the unknown cape which has been codenamed 'Hydra.' We at the guild especially wish to honor Miss Militia, who gave her life to stop Hydra's rampage. That she was no Hercules, but still managed to put an end to a rampage by one of the most dangerous capes we have seen yet. While we don't know the full ramifications of the fighting, or whether the clones that escaped have a time limit, we've confirmed that they are irrationally homicidal and have so far targeted the families of the capes they were cloned from. Steps have, however, been taken to protect both families and associates of the cloned capes."
Anchorman Angelo waited patiently for the clip to end before continuing, "When asked about specifics of which capes had been lost to Hydra, Narwhal declined to answer, only stating that a full list was not yet available, pending analysis."
Carrie changed pages, and said, "Meanwhile, in Brockton Bay, impending tragedy was transformed into triumph. Only seventy miles from Portsmouth, Brockton Bay was savaged by the repeated tidal waves hitting the coastline. Preliminary reports indicate that the shoreline was actually moved inland as much as a quarter mile in some places. The Protectorate East Northeast Rig is being assessed for damage, but current estimates are that the structure may need to be abandoned. Director Calvert could not be reached for comment. Multiple shelters were stricken with moderate to severe damage, with one shelter, the Curtis Brighton shelter, actually springing a severe leak due to a structural shift, one that jammed the door in place and hampered the ventilation."
The camera switched to viewing both again. Angelo added conversationally, "I'm hearing the tragedy, Carrie, but where was the triumph?"
Carrie's reply sounded more spontaneous than it surely was. "I'm just getting to that part, Angelo. Under most circumstances, the only option would be to wait for cape intervention, but instead the citizens in the Curtis Brighton shelter pooled their resources first to stifle the leak, then tunnel out of the shelter through the ventilation outflow."
The anchorman shook his head with a smile. "Amazing. A truly impressive display of determination and ingenuity. But it didn't end there, did it Carrie?"
She shook her head as well. "Not even close. Because of the state of the area of the city, access to the beleaguered shelters was cut off for Emergency Management personnel, with no usable roads for emergency relief vehicles. The occupants of Curtis Brighton then organized staging areas first for their shelter, then for four other shelters since. Word is that they haven't stopped there, commandeering supplies from ruined stores to feed, shelter, and provide sanitation to other shelters in the hardest hit portions of the city. Analysts believe that their early actions may save hundreds from exposure related complications, almost assuredly saving lives. FEMA representatives are lauding the actions as well chosen and almost certainly to be effective in improving the otherwise desperate situation."
The camera shifted to Angelo. "Our reporter in the field, Mike Sutherland, has more."
The view changed to a reporter holding a microphone; next to him was a man with an average build, wearing a scuffed and slightly dirty polo shirt, jeans, and a leather belt. The reporter said, "Thanks Angelo. I'm here near the impromptu tent city that was set up only hours ago, with one of the people who helped engineer the escape from the Curtis Brighton shelter, a man named Franklin Jones. Franklin, how'd all this happen?"
"Right, well, after it was pretty clear that we were stuck in the shelter and nobody was coming to get us out, we decided we weren't going to just let this stuff kill us. So we plugged up the leak in the wall, and we tore apart the chairs in the shelter, and we used those to chop away at an outflow vent and get everyone out. By that point it was pretty obvious that, hell, we came this far, we might as well keep working together and keep everyone as safe as we could."
"That's incredible," Mike said. "And you guys just did it? No cape help at all?"
"Well," Franklin said with a shrug, "you have to understand. We had two thousand people in there, all trying to come up with ideas to help. With that many people, someone's gonna come up with something that works, no cape needed. People working together like that? We can save ourselves."
The camera view shifted back to the news desk, but the anchors never got a chance to speak before the TV was turned off. The hotel room was silent save for a dripping noise and the sound of heavy jaws chewing through bone in the bathroom.
The man shook his head with a cheerful smile. "Oh, no. This will not do." A straight razor flipped closed with a soft click. "This will not do at all."
