Everyone I have talked to has described it differently. A fire burning your very soul, absolute nothingness, a feeling of security. The Pulse was a world-wide phenomenon. It. Changed. Everything.
All over the world, people have started changing. Some grow taller while others shorten, some have teeth growing into tusks, and others find themselves going through changes far more... severe, and strange. For some, the answer is that it's all in their head. For others, it's the first sign of insanity. Still others decide that they need to hide somewhere until they can figure out what's going on. And what better place to hide than the streets of the world's melting pot, New York City?
A boy wakes from a three-year coma and looks around the room before he starts to cry. He was just so happy. His best friend, who had been by his side almost every day of those three years, hugs him tightly seconds before his arms ignite with green fire.
A girl wakes up a couple feet over her bed, and after freaking out discovers she can float along if she concentrates. Her father, wrist deep in the chest of a man going through a heart transplant finds his mind processes what to do faster than ever before.
So many more people experienced strange, wonderful, and frightening things that day. Not all of them stayed sane...
Elise stepped off the bus, trying to navigate her way through the crowds of people. She wasn't used to this at all. She had slipped the straps of her duffel bag over her shoulders so she ould carry it like a backpack, and she had Portia, the kitten she'd found at the stop in Pittsburgh, tucked inside the pocket of her oversized jacket. With her secondhand clothes and colorful hair, covered at least in part by a crocheted cap to hide her ears, she knew she looked just like another teenager trying to make her way in the big city. Except that she was pushing forty and just wanted to go home and have things go back to how they'd been last week. Before. She consulted the scrap of paper she had with the address scrawled across it for the hundredth time. Not that she needed to. She had it memorized. She just hoped this guy meant what he said about helping her.
As the address comes into view, Elise sees the door fairly fly open as two boys, one blonde and tall and the other dark-haired, short, and wearing a bandana around his forehead storm out. The blonde goes to the street and immediately tries to get a cab.
Roger is deep in the maqam zone, enjoying the way the groove of the music interplays with the small crowd of Tompkins Square listeners, with the growing shadows of the late afternoon fingering out from the nearby buildings and small trees. With Naomi on doumbek and Youssef on daf, it is really starting to burn.
He is vaguely aware of a stir among the parkgoers, and a scream or two, and then a man runs into the audience, wearing obvious gang insignia, sweating and panting, followed instantly by two other men, wearing different colors, with guns drawn, shouting expletives. People crouch or cringe, freezing at the sight of drawn weapons.
Rather than stopping, though, Roger keeps playing, his green eyes blazing and fixed on the men. After a moment, Naomi and Youssef take up the new groove as well. Something strange occurrs in the song; some extra element, indefinable, lifts the crowd's spirits and disperses their fear. As one, they turn to look at the two men straight in the eye, giving them pause. A muscly friend of Youssef's moves suddenly and knocks a gun right out of one man's hand. Roger looks like he wants to join in, but only action he contributes to the standoff is blazing pyrotechnic notes from his 'oud.
The gunmen leave, melting back into the park, and the other gang member stares wide eyed at Roger and the incredibly fearless crowd of music listeners. Roger at last unwinds from his playing and finishes the song to tremendous applause, and then thoughtful murmuring from the listeners. What happened, they wonder?
"Krav maga," says Youssef's friends, looking at his hands wonderingly. "I haven't used that in a while!"
"Did you...feel...that? says Naomi to Roger. "Did you...do something?"
Roger starts to pack up his 'oud. "I feel like we touched something. Something really big." A smile splits his face. "I hope that happens again--it was a new level, my friend, a new level. I gotta go think about this."
Youssef puts a hand on Roger's shoulder. "We were there, Roger, but I think it came from you. You found something and gave it to everyone. I don't know how. Maybe it was the Divine."
Roger looks embarrassed. "I don't think it was me. It was us." He'd rather not dwell on it; there's a party tonight with some sweet poi dancers, and after party jam at Blue Note with a jazz friend--but the hand tightens.
"It was you, Roger."
Later, he's deeply interested in chatting more--perhaps privately--with Denise, still breathless from her fire dance performance, in the chillout area near the main dance area, which is lit with other performers at the moment, when she whips out her iPhone and pulls up Twitter.
"Dude--look at this. I think lots of trends are a joke, but check this one out. Hashtag UnknownPower. People are having all these synchronicities, and it's unexplained, and it's global." She turns dazzling wide-pupiled eyes that he just knows are full of New Agey, astrology-loving thoughts, and while he's down with that at times, it seems so--well, what the heck.
"I uh, I had a synchronicity today. Maybe I should tweet," he half jokes, half intimates.
Jared stretches, one hand moving absently to the bump on his lower back. When he realizes he's scratching, he decides it's time to do something about it. He stares around the hotel room. His things lay scattered from one end to the other. He's been here since going out for those shoes a couple days ago. Just waiting for the weird feelings to pass. They've only gotten worse with rest though, and Besides, he thinks to himself, I cannot get an agent by lazing about.
At first he goes to the ever faithful WebMD. But for the first time it comes up without any real results. He moves on to google, and before long he finds a strange site. This can't be true. . . .could it?
Jared sits for some time thinking about the strange site. Finally, he decides there is only one way to know. Only 15 minutes after making his decision Jared hits the street.
Elise hesitated, not sure what to do. But then she decided she might as well take advantage of being fresh off the bus.
"Excuse me," she said to the guy with the bandana, "I think I might be a little lost. Do you know if Dr. Rassmussen's office is in this building?"
The blonde snorts at the name, but the one with the bandanna looks at Elise with a curious look in his eyes.
"Yeah, he's in there. Don't think he counts as a doctor though."
"He's a quack."
"Threkin!" He says as he scratches at the cloth around his head. "I think he got caught up in the messageboard and started thinking it was a global game. Like he was a mod or something."
She felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. "But...he said he could help..." she stopped, blinking back tears, not wanting to make a scene in public. "I just need things to go back to how they were before...f~!+!"
She looked at the building and frowned. It was possible they were lying to her. She didn't know these guys...and she could feel the tightness in her chest and neck that meant she needed water to breathe soon. "If you're telling the truth, then at the very least he owes me an explanation...and a bucket of water," she said, eyes narrowed.
Elise headed for the door, practically running to get to the suite that was supposed to be the office of Dr. Rassmussen, psychologist, who had promised to help.
"Bucket of water...?" The short boy asks before his taller friend pulls him into a cab. "I think she's like us."
"Not our problem now. We've got bigger things to worry about at the moment anyway."
"Yeah."
The door to Dr. Rassmussen's office is slightly open when Elise gets to it, and he seems slightly put off when she charges in.
"Can I help you, young lady?" The pale, middle-aged man says, paused and staring halfway through putting a book back on the shelf.
Ace, from a small coffee shop inside the first floor of Rasmussen's building, watches the goings-on. He takes note of the people coming and going on his Iphone, the odd ones that don't look they are here for a business meeting or have a wheeze or a cough. He leaves his work phone in his pocket, silenced and with vibrate on. He sips the Mexican Hot Chocolate even as he thinks back to his patrol through Central Park last week.
Its always been really dark in Central Park at night. Sure, some of the paths are lit with very feeble light and the areas near the road are lit up nearly as bright as day. However, some of the jogging paths and the areas near the lake are always dark as pitch. With the light pollution from the city, you don't get any starlight. On a night with a New Moon, well, you can't see your hand in front of your face.
Except for tonight. There isn't a moon, and the sky is clear, but I can see everything around me like it was nothing. Everything is in black and white, and I can see the man in the Trench coat stalking the business woman through the bushes, sticking to the shadows. Most women know better than to walk through Central Park at night, but some still do anyway. Those are the ones who become the victims, and its to prevent that the Precincts rotate on patrol duty through Central Park. I follow, slowly closing the gap between Trenchcoat and myself.
It doesn't take long for me to get in range to capture him. I just have to wait for him to do something illegal. The stalking charge would be weak, too weak to stick. Unfortunately, he decides to up the ante as he leaps from the bushes, pushing her across the path. I follow, quickly, pulling out my gun. He tries to force himself on her, and I shout. He doesn't care and continues, so I kick him in the ribs, and I hear one snap. He rolls off and I cuff him. She is in tears, and I call for back-up.
The report is odd, but I do what I can to explain away how I found him. I use some half-truths, mentioning that I saw him leave the path and decided he was acting suspiciously. He admits to it fully while in the hospital, the case is pretty open and shut without much issue. They decided to give me the week off, starting today. I wouldn't of thought twice about the oddity of being able to see perfectly in the dark had my hair not changed color the next morning, and my blood not started glowing. It took about a day, but I found #UnknownPower. I have been monitoring the Meet-Ups forum ever since, making sure these 'synchronicities' aren't being used to take advantage of others.
Pulling open a new window on Safari, Ace double-checks the site for new hits. A couple, but nothing new under the Meet-Ups section. He takes another sip of his Mexican Hot Chocolate as he puts his earbuds in and listens to Pandora. The song is Harappa, by E.S. Posthumus.
The door to Dr. Rassmussen's office is slightly open when Elise gets to it, and he seems slightly put off when she charges in."Can I help you, young lady?" The pale, middle-aged man says, paused and staring halfway through putting a book back on the shelf.
"Water," she wheezed. "Need water. In a bucket or large container....can't....<gasp>...breathe...<gasp>....air......."
For a moment, the doctor doesn't seem to understand. Then his eyes widen with comprehension as he rushes over to a small door and opens it.
"This is my private restroom, but the sink is quite large. Please, use it before you pass out."
She didn't really have time to question it. She was just glad he had a utility sink instead of a nice modern restroom with a shallow sink. Toilet water was as disgusting to breathe as one would expect and she really didn't want to do that again. She dropped her duffel bag on the toilet after she put the plug into the sink and started running the water. She yanked off her cap so she wouldn't have to wait for it to dry after and put her head under the water turning to let the water drip down her gills until it filled the sink. It wasn't as good as completely submerging them, but she found it worked to let her hang on until she could get enough water over her gills to properly breathe.
Once the water filled the sink she kept her head under the water for about ten minutes or so. That should be long enough to get her through another few hours if she was lucky. It was the strangest sensation, breathing water. She still hadn't got used to it. Everytime she did it she expected to have to hold her breath, like she used to. But now everything was backwards. She could breathe easily underwater, but struggled to breathe air.
She pulled her head out of the sink and her hair dried instantly, also changin color from pink to green. She picked up her stuff and walked back into the office, pointed ears clearly visible.
"Sorry about that. It was a long trip and if I don't wet my gills regularly....well, it's inconvenient to say the least. I'm Elise Quartermaine. And you're Dr. Rassmussen, I presume?"
"Indeed I am." He replies, eyes traveling up Elise's ears. "Gills you say? Fascinating. I assume the hair is another part of you change?" He's gone back to his desk now, and is scribbling out notes as quickly as he can think of things to make into notes. "Where were you when it first happened? Did it go away like it has for others I have talked to? What did you experience when it happened?"
Roger sits crosslegged on a zafu in his tiny apartment and takes a look at his Twitter feed, a little bleary from the night before. Crap, nothing. Wait, less than nothing. There were posts and they've been deleted. What's going on? He chews the inside of his lip for a moment and considers. Suppression? A conspiracy? A big joke?
"Screw it. I have to make this happen myself."
He opens up his much-neglected Tribe.Net account and wades through Burning Man decompression party posts and pictures of semi naked hula hoopers, then writes his post. "Regional: If you've been feeling different, then trip like I do down to the BLBR Block Party. 4 pm. Look for the dude with the 'oud. Get #UP. The Power is Known." He then posts a shortened link of this post to Twitter.
So much for being cryptic, he thinks. If anyone who's feeling like a freak can hide out in plain sight, though, it's among the Black Label Bike Club and all the Burners who show up. I'm pretty sure I saw an actual alien at a Decompression last year.
He shoulders his 'oud in its padded case, thinks about where to get a bite to eat, and then mentally maps out the most scenic route to the block party. His phone buzzes a few times as he heads out, texts from Denise.
"Indeed I am." He replies, eyes traveling up Elise's ears. "Gills you say? Fascinating. I assume the hair is another part of you change?" He's gone back to his desk now, and is scribbling out notes as quickly as he can think of things to make into notes. "Where were you when it first happened? Did it go away like it has for others I have talked to? What did you experience when it happened?"
She sighed and sat down after making sure the door to the office was closed. "The morning after the pulse I woke up and I was five inches taller and a helluva lot skinnier. I freaked out. By the time Bob, that's my husband, came into the bathroom to figure out what was wrong, I was back to normal. I yo-yo'd back and forth between this and my old appearance for the rest of the day. By the next morning the changes were permanant, including the crazy elf ears and that's when I started having breathing problems. Because of the gills. And my hair just randomly changes colors at odd intervals. Not sure what that's all about. Dr. Rassmussen, I just want things to go back to the way they were before the pulse. Right now...I can't go out in public back home. Bob is afraid people will think that he's having an affair with the babysitter if he's seen with me. Well, Bob is always afraid of what people will think, but I do look about twenty years younger than I did, so I can't entirely blame him this time. My kids don't even recognize me. Please, you said you could help me."
"Please, you said you could help me."
"I can. I will." Dr. Rassmussen assures Elise. "Which is why I want to know where you were when it happened, geographically speaking. This event, if I have judged the messageboards correctly, spread from a single point. This is based off of the time people began posting mind you. If we can find the source of the event, we can find a way to stop it."
"Regional: If you've been feeling different, then trip like I do down to the BLBR Block Party. 4 pm. Look for the dude with the 'oud. Get #UP. The Power is Known."
Almost and hour passes before Roger notices a younger guy watching him. Noticing that he's been caught, he walks over.
"You the guy who posted 'the Power is Known' earlier?" He asks, not caring to introduce himself. He seems a little on edge, and at second glance might be a bit young for this place and crowd.
Jared sits for some time thinking about the strange site. Finally, he decides there is only one way to know. Only 15 minutes after making his decision Jared hits the street.
Wandering about the city, Jared hears a few people talking about the site he'd found, but most seem to think it's just another roleplaying site if he asks. The rest get uncomfortable real quick, and one tells him about a guy who's asking about too and going to be at the BLBC Block Party, breaking off the conversation immediately after giving out that information.
"Please, you said you could help me.""I can. I will." Dr. Rassmussen assures Elise. "Which is why I want to know where you were when it happened, geographically speaking. This event, if I have judged the messageboards correctly, spread from a single point. This is based off of the time people began posting mind you. If we can find the source of the event, we can find a way to stop it."
Elise sighs. "Iowa, okay. I was in Iowa. And no, I'm not going to be more specific. I have family and I want to keep them out of this. I don't really have a lot of reason to trust you. I'm just that desperate."
The doctor just shakes his head.
"No need to be anymore specific, I understand completely. That makes you the second person from Iowa I've talked too. As for trusting me..." Dr. Rassmussen trails off as the pen in his hands starts to glow with a pale green light. "I have a reason to look for the source too."
"If you need a place to stay until this is all figured out, I can ask some of the others who have changed and see if any are willing to help you. If not, I'll put you up in a hotel myself."
"Now, if there is anything else you can tell me, anything at all, it could be important."
Portia mewed from inside Elise's pocket. Elise picked up the kitten and set her on the desk.
"This is Portia. I found her at the bus stop in Pittsburgh. I meant to take her to an animal shelter, but I can't leave her. I don't mean I don't want to. I can't. She seems more...I don't know, more than a normal cat. I...I'm not sure, but I have the most awful feeling that these changes aren't done."
"And thank you. I emptied the savings account when I left, but it wasn't much. If you can find me somewhere to stay I would really appreciate it."
Roger squints a little at the kid, who looks a bit out of place among the jugglers and painted dancers. "Yeah, that's me." He puts his instrument aside and stands up to his full height. "Roger," he says a bit diffidently, trying not to intimidate the guy too much. Where are the hot alien chicks? he muses to himself, then remembers to extend a hand in greeting.
He pauses to check his phone, which he has been steadfastly ignoring for a while. Several different messages from Denise and her pals, something about sources and tracing and other voodoo. A bunch of replies on Tribe, of all things, although some of them are completely whacked out and one or two are asking about the motorcycle he sold a good three years ago.
and one tells him about a guy who's asking about too and going to be at the BLBC Block Party, breaking off the conversation immediately after giving out that information.[/i]
Jared catches the mans eye again as he's trying to leave. Wait, the BLBC Block Party? Where's that? I'm not from around here and . . . Jared trails off uncertainly. I've got to find help somewhere, he thought to himself.
Post-Graduate dorm, Columbia University, NYC. Moments before the Pulse.
Lu slaps his alarm clock just as it starts to ring. As usual, he beat it awake by 15 seconds, just long enough to orient himself and stretch to the silence button. He rubs his eyes again as he sits up in bed, the taste of last nights party in his mouth, and reaches into the night stand drawer, pulling out a set of 64 unusual cards. He shuffles them idly as he blinks his eyes into focus...
"Today shall be" flips a card onto the bed Thunder over Thunder, "Sudden, stark change, ugh, alright fates, is this a good change or a bad change?" shuffle, shuffle, flip Water over Mountain, "Youthful Folly, well, that's either up in the air, or the universe thinks it's a stupid question. Love you too, everything."
As Lu is brushing his teeth, the pulse hits. First his eyes cloud over, yet he can see, the reflection in the mirror turns a pale blue. Alarming but not panicking, maybe a bit of hang over from last... Then the screaming, starting in his head and building outward. No matter how loud he screams, he can't hear himself over the cacophony in his head. 20, 30, 100, countless voices all chattering at once, striving to be heard, lives unlivable by the rules of history and reality stream before his eyes, anything not fixed to the walls flying around the room as Lu levitates before utter silence, as consciousnesses claims him.
Lu has spent the last few day subverting process time on the super computers from his Master's project to analyzing web and news trends about the Pulse. For a program designed to find and exploit the pattern in the chaos of living, this is not a hard task. He's marked where the information peaked, and where it was culled, and as found those isolated spots where the data still flows, though under the radar of whoever is forcing things underground. The project is back to being homework, it only gives the data, it's up to Lu to figure out how to use it.
He takes his custom laptop to a coffee shop a couple miles from campus, and flips on 'Defense mode' before enabling the wifi. Hardware encoded addresses are virtually faked, numbers shift, and locations bounced. If anyone bothers finding him through that, well, they've got more than enough time and toys to do whatever they please.
Unknown Power loads, crank out a quick profile, and into the meet up section.
Tasted the power, it's unknown, but not unknowable. Echos of the past scream truths of the future. The Seeds of Change stir Order into Chaos, but balance without change is stagnation and death. Help learn the new ways as we hold a wake for the old. Bring a lily for the lost, follow the smell of incense. He leaves the address of a cemetery near campus, and a three times to meet over the next three days.
Alistair's head still hurt but not as bad when he got up Monday. Everything else seemed normal. He tried to forget the weekend's oddities and was mostly successful until late afternoon. He was working the drop-off window when a new customer came up with a prescription. He looked up to see a short man with a slightly greenish cast to his skin and prominent canine teeth. Without thinking, he blurted out some nonsense syllables, "Rukh! Vass? Ohr an-shmek leib!"* The stranger jumped back, growling, "Watch it, stoneskin." Looking as shocked as Alistair felt, the man turned and fled.
Alistair called Rebecca to take care of the next customer while he took a short break. Short is right, he thought, I've shrunk again. Outside, he called Dr. Andrews office and got an appointment for later that day.
Alistair spent several minutes explaining to Dr. Andrews what he thought was happening, growth spurts, mood swings, the headache. Dr. Andrews examined him carefully, comparing his findings to Alistair's history. "Yes, you've definitely shrunk, Alistair, and you seem heavier, as well." He sat on the edge of his desk. "Other than that, you seem perfectly normal. If you don't mind, I'd like you to see colleague, someone who specializes in this kind of thing. Dr. Rasmussen has an office downtown. Here's his address. I'll call and let them know you're on the way."
In the cab on the way to the office, Alistair googled Dr. Rasmussen. There were references to some kind of pulse, cryptic messages about synchronicity and promises to help. We'll see, thought Alistair. He got out of the cab and stood looking at Dr. Rasmussen's building for a moment.
Roger squints a little at the kid, who looks a bit out of place among the jugglers and painted dancers. "Yeah, that's me." He puts his instrument aside and stands up to his full height. "Roger," he says a bit diffidently, trying not to intimidate the guy too much. Where are the hot alien chicks? he muses to himself, then remembers to extend a hand in greeting.
The guy goes to shake Roger's hand, but stops and let's his hand drop to his side.
"Gotta be more careful... It sounded like you might know something about all this. Any clue what any of this S&%$ is supposed to mean?"
"And thank you. I emptied the savings account when I left, but it wasn't much. If you can find me somewhere to stay I would really appreciate it."
"Never could keep cat species right... Well, let me make a call. Excuse me for a moment." The doctor flips a few pages in his notes until he finds the page he wants and dials the number.
"Hello, Ms. Murai? This is Dr. Rassmussen... Yes, I'm a little closer to finding the source... I'm glad to hear that. Listen, I've got a lady here who need a place to stay... Yes, I'm positive she will. She's got one.... Yes, yes, tell him I said hi too. I'll send her over soon."
"Well, Miss..." He pauses. "I'm sorry, I never got your name. I apologize for being so rude. I've found you a place with a woman and her son, just a few blocks away." He writes the address, complete with the floor and room number in the building, on the back of his business card and hands it to Elise. "I called her first because she's exhibited a change similar to you: she has a cat she feels is more than normal too. If your feeling is correct, it might be best to near someone similar so you can help each other."
"It's Elise. Elise Quartermaine." She took the card. "Thank you. And please let me know if you find out anything else. I just...I need my life to go back to how it was before. I'll check the messageboard regularly. And I can give you my cell number in case it's more urgent," she said, scribbling the number along with her name on a piece of paper. "I'll admit, I'm disappointed you don't have more answers already, but hopefully soon. I'm not giving up yet."
She put her cap back on, positioning her hair to best hide her pointed ears and scooped Portia off the desk, cuddling her a bit before putting her back into the pocket of her oversized jacket. She picked up her duffel bag and shrugged the straps over her shoulder.
"Good luck, Dr. Rassmussen, you're going to need it."
Jeremy slowly wakes, and the dimly lit, grubby features of the abandoned subway tunnel that he and his friends cal home slowly come into view, seeming somehow clearer, and more detailed than usual.
Well that's certainly odd, Jenemy says to himself, shaking his head vigorously until things seem more "normal".
What's that? Oh, you're finally up. The gruff yet friendly tone of John said from underneath a nearby pile of blankets. You know, you're supposed be heading out to that block party thing today. I've heard some pretty big people are gonna be there, good chance to score some loot, eh?
Perhaps, Jeremy says, heading toward the tunnel entrance. I just hope someone can tell me what's going on, so many weird things.. he thinks to himself, subtly checking his arms to make sure none of the "fur" had come back.
He walks out into the brightness of the city and immediately hears a raised voice coming from nearby, and curious, heads to see what it's about. He sees Jared standing there, looking confused, and another man walking away hurriedly. Hmm, better approach this one carefully, and maybe I can offer some "assistance", Jeremy says to himself as he walks over too Jared, unnoticed until he's only a few feet away.
Hello sir, you seem to be lost. Anything I can help you with? he says in a polite tone.
Alistair heads for the door of the office building, determined to get to the bottom of whatever's going on. He brushes past two men talking, hardly paying any attention to them until he notices out of the corner of one eye that they both seem to be giving off the faint flow he's noticed before. Alistair looks around and sees several other glowing figures, including one tall thin woman wearing a ski cap hurrying away. He stops and just starea at the two men for several seconds, trying to see why they are glowing.
"Mr. Duncan?" A middle aged man asks from his doorway. "You are Alistair Duncan, correct? It's just that you match the description Dr. Andrews gave me of a patient he was sending my way."
The annoying buzz of the alarm resounds, to be rudely smacked by a heavily tattoo'd arm. A groan of protest issues from the owner of the arm, as it slowly rises. He sits on the edge of his bed, his head cradled in the palms of his hands for a second, before making a determined noise, wiping the sleep from his face and getting up. He grabs the remote to the TV and switches it on, and the modest flatscreen on the wall flickers to life. An overdressed woman behind a desk is speaking. "...and reports of the shooting differ, but still coming in. We'll have more on this story later as we get more info. We have a new poll up on our website! Please head over there and state your opinion on the new dietary laws by Mayor Bloomberg. Are they necessary? Are they intrusive? Let us know! Now for the weather..." Her voice trails off as another overdressed person starts talking about highs and lows as he enters the bathroom, ready to take care of the essential SSS of the morning. The reports were still coming in, they said. All manners of whacked out s&&~ Burne had heard before from crack-heads or meth addicts. He thought he was losing it too couple days ago. He felt...taller...and his face was different. He felt odd, and his tats looked like they were...moving. He called in and stayed home, figuring he was sick or drank too much the night before. A few hours later he felt better, except for the dull ache throughout most of his body. Kinda like gettin over the flu. Those 24 hour bugs can be a b@~@~. He felt fine yesterday and today so far...but the off sheen to his short cropped hair gives him pause as he looked in the mirror. Was it growing in white? Odd s~!*, man. "Probably just the flu..." he mutters.
As he steps into the shower his thoughts shift to the day ahead. Tony "Pins" didn't have any work for him today, so no out of the way stops. This meant for a normal day at the shop inking folks. Not that was necessarily normal. A guy came in yesterday talking about a guy in his apartment building climbing on the side of the building like spiderman or somethin. He also went on about some messageboard these wierdos were posting on. Heh. Crackheads.
He finishes getting ready, grabs his messenger bag and his bike, locks up, and heads downstairs. Along the way the front page of the Times declares scientists are baffled about something. Burne chuckles. Scientists are probably baffled by baseball. He rolls up to the front of the tattoo parlor, and chains his bike to the light pole out front, and walks in.
"Heyas, Rose." he says to the young goth lady who preps and does piercings. "How many we got today?"
"Hey, Burne. We got 4, each about 20 minutes apart. I know you don't normaly like them to be booked so close but...hey wow! Nice contacts!"
"Aww, c'mon Rose, dammit! I don't...what?" he glances over to the mirror on the wall by her pierceing station. His eyes had gone from and almost black brown to a cold grey. When did this happen? "Oh, uh yeah. Just picked 'em up yesterday. Say, uhh, I'm gonna grab a coffee and head back for a few minutes of wakey wakey time before the first guy. You know I'm worthless without my coffee. "
Rose absently waves him away as she's cleaning her tools. "No problem, Monty. I'll bang on the wall when he comes in." Monty. His name was Burne not Burns. Wasn't clever as a kid, and it wasn't any funnier now, but hey, she was hot.
"Thanks, O'Donnel." he said with feigned annoyance. "Hey, you remember that website Joey was goin' on about yesterday? About the freaks?"
"Yeah, he wrote it down." she rustled around on the front desk while he got his coffee, and produced a small piece of notepad paper. "Here. I dunno why, but it seemed at the time that you'd be wanting this, so I got it from him. Maybe I'm psychic?" she shot a teasing smile at him.
"Maybe!" he called over his shoulder after he takes the paper from her and moves to the back room. "Maybe I should call you Cleo?"
He heard a grumble as he went into the tattoo room, but didn't respond. He just sat his coffee down, took a seat and began typing the webaddress into his smart phone.
"Flu, my ass..."
"Mr. Duncan?" A middle aged man asks from his doorway. "You are Alistair Duncan, correct? It's just that you match the description Dr. Andrews gave me of a patient he was sending my way."
"Um, what? Oh, sorry, yeah, that's me," says Alistair, looking away from the men talking on the sidewalk. "Dr. Rasmussen?" Alistair shakes hands with the doctor. "Thanks for seeing me on such quick notice...." Alistair's voice trails off as he notices that Dr. Rasmussen is glowing, too, brighter even than the two men outside. Alistair glances wildly back and forth between the doctor and the two men.
The doctor shakes Alistair's hand firmly
"Not a problem, Mr. Duncan. If you are worried about being overheard, come in and have a seat. I have a lot I need to ask you too." Dr. Rassmussen steps back into his office, motioning for Alistair to take a seat. "I got a few details from Dr. Andrews, but I'd like to hear what you have to say."
He heard a grumble as he went into the tattoo room, but didn't respond. He just sat his coffee down, took a seat and began typing the webaddress into his smart phone.
"Flu, my ass..."
One particular part of the site seems to be growing steadily.
Mâché37: Everyone needs to be careful. These changes won't be restricted to 'the good guys' and you know it. Some people won't want to go back to normal, and they could be violent.
Aftershock211: Yeah right, like anyone would want to keep this cruddy s&#% going. Something that feels so bad when it happens to you can't be good. You'd have to be crazy to want to keep it.
Moonkin: I agree with Mâché37. There are some pretty crazy people, and now they've got powers. I can hardly control mine, and I'm not crazy. What happens when someone with a real dangerous ability is also insane/
the_bleak: they'd go on a rampage. a lot of people will die because of them.
Aftershock211: You are all crazy. I felt like I couldn't breath, and have every time I tried using my ability! No one could want something like that...
Whoever Mâché37 is, he/she seems to ignore Aftershock211 after that and starts giving out advice. Typical "keep an eye open" self-defense stuff, but also a few ways to spot someone who is trying to use their ability to attack someone.
Burne creates a handle
TattBoss82: Heyas...umm, has anyone gone to a hospital to get checked out?
Mâché37: I was in one, but that was because I had been in an accident years ago and woke up from a coma. Same day my friend's arms got covered in fire. We both got checked out. The doctors couldn't find anything wrong.
Moonkin: I went to one to get an MRI after I told my parents what I saw. Nothing was wrong or even the slightest bit different. Got told I was probably just stressed or something.
TattBoss82: Have you gone back since? I had a whacked out day...then was back to normal...now...I dunno man
TattBoss82: Seems to be getting wierd again
Aftershock211: I did... Second time I change, I went back and got poked and prodded for hours by more needles than I want to remember.
Mâché37: Got another day before they let me out. they want to make sure I don't go into a coma again. They say all the extra tests are necessary, but I know they aren't.
Mâché37: Haven't heard of it getting weird more than twice. Second time seems to be permanent.
the_bleak: there's no help for us...
Burne doesn't like the 2nd comment from mache37...
TattBoss82: Great. Instead of becomming a guinea pig, is there any other place to go?
Moonlit: Doc Rassmussen thinks he can help if he can figure out where this came from. calls it a pulse or something, so it had to come from somewhere
Aftershock211: you mean someone DID THIS to us!?
Moonlit: I don't know
Aftershock211: I'm gonna kill whoever is responsible for this!
Mâché37: big talk for a guy on the internet
the_bleak: we'll see what happens, won't we?
Elise was practically shaking as she stood in front of the door of the fifth floor walkup trying to gather the courage to knock. This was insane. She shouldn't even be here. She should be at home in Iowa cleaning the house and thinking about what she was going to make for dinner. Not standing in front of some stranger's apartment in New York hoping that they really would be willing to take her in for a bit.
Portia butted her head against Elise's hand reassuringly and Elise took a deep breath and knocked.
The guy goes to shake Roger's hand, but stops and let's his hand drop to his side.
"Gotta be more careful... It sounded like you might know something about all this. Any clue what any of this S&%$ is supposed to mean?"
"None. No clue. I haven't met anyone else who knows a thing. It's happened to me, and that's all I know."
Seeing as how the guy doesn't shake and seems to be looking for proof, Roger pulls his 'oud from his case and sits down again. He begins to strum, pulling that mystic feeling out of the music again. Even against the beats being spun by the DJ (Kinky or Mexican Institute of Sound, hard to tell from where he's sitting), the notes snake out and entwine around listeners, bolstering their confidence. He can see a nerdy looking kid summon up the courage to talk to a girl dressed in sparkly...alien like...green fuzzy stuff and smiles at his misplaced luck. He keeps playing, getting deeper into the song, glancing up at the guy who nearly shook hands to see if he's understanding.
TattBoss82: So...can he help? Where can I find him?
Portia butted her head against Elise's hand reassuringly and Elise took a deep breath and knocked.
"Mom didn't say Doc Rass was sending over a cutie." Someone says a little further down the hall. A boy, probably no more than fifteen, walks up an smiles. "I'm Gerald Murai. Here, I'll let you in."
He's got on what looks like a school uniform, though his hair can't be allowed by the dress code. It's way too messy and the streak of blue in his bangs can't possibly a natural hair color. He leans around an unlocks the door, opening it and revealing a pretty decent apartment.
"Ladies first." He says politely.
"Um, thanks....is....does your school allow that hair, or is it....are you....like me?" She sighed as her hair changed from green to an alarmingly vivid purple. "It keeps doing that. I wasn't really into adventurous hair colors even when I was as young as I look. It's...unnerving."
She looked curiously around the apartment. "Is your mom here?"