[The Grid] Chatper 1: Hardwired

[cyl]

Franck Brennick steps down the dune.


The sand is clearly not his favorite terrain, a reality most drunk share. He somehow manages to stay on his feet while closing in on the young perp.


Drawing his gun he realizes that something's wrong with this picture...


"Kid, don't move just lie down and breathe, you have been in a car accident, I'm a police officer, an ambulance is on the way...


Meanwhile, you're under arrest for the theft of the car and damage to private property... I could read you your right, but I'm not sure you'd understand them right now... "

 

[Neolarthytep]

The importance of all of this is dwarfed by the sudden pseudopod-like bulge that suddenly reaches for you from a mirror on the wall. It spreads and splits like fingers that go straight for your head until the very moment that Nurse Ratchet, still talking at you in a manner that displays her contempt, steps forward to gesticulate with the sterile syringes. The spreading hand touches the back of her head and melts into it. For a moment she is conjoined with the mirror by a shimmering umbilical cord. Then she is sucked backwards off her feet and vanishes into the reflection, which wobbles a few times as she passes. A circle of ripples expands out from the center, reflects of the mirror's frame, and stills. The syringe that was in her hand drops and tumbles to stab into the patient's seat. The room is very still except for that, for it quivers on the long needle.

Robert Maudeville


Holy Shit!


The scream comes from his mouth as he leaps towards the door fumbling for the handle. Thoughts race through his head. Now that couldn't have just happened.... but even if it didn't he had to get out of this room now


Oh crap...oh crap.. oh crap


His fingers shake violently as he finally gets the door open and he stumbles through it spilling out into the hallway floor

 

[The Bushranger]

Patrick O'Connell


...dang it! Patrick thinks after about a minute, jumping out of Brennick's police car, and hurrying over to the dunes, to have a look for himself.


Yeah, he was told to stay, but, heck, it's his car - and he's never quite been the best at following the rules, anyway.

 

[Persell]

Brennick, Patrick


The kid looks up at Brennick, and the cop can see he's got wild eyes, almost manic as he comes down from a tremendous adrenalin high. He stares at you while your words dribble through his brain, before he finally spits out an answer. "I think I need a new line of work. I don't feel too good any more." Then he goes limp, and his face falls into the cut grass. His hand, which was lying on can of Mountain Dew, releases and moves to his face. You're well within your rights to cuff him, but if he doesn't get too fiesty, the EMTs will probably ask you leave him alone. This kid is going for a ride to the hospital.


Patrick see all this, of course. He also sees the mammoth pile of cut grass, and approaches it to unbury his car. First of all, you spot the fencing that used to ring the mound. It's chain link, shorn completely through,and the fence poles are bent and mangled. Beyond that is the mound. Your vehicle's lights are still on, dimly from underneath the grass. It will take a bit to dig down far enough to accurately tell the damage.

Spoiler

Brennick, good action. Normally I'd say you can either replenish a compassion or temperance channel for it, but you didn't use either as I recall, so it wouldn't matter.

 

[Persell]

Robert Maudeville


Outside in the hallway is a perfect scene of normality. A woman in a green suit is methodically refilling the paper trays of a copier, and the lights of the carriage paint her face in white and blue. A boy is sitting on a chair, kicking his feet that aren't long enough to touch the floor, while his mother talks to a doctor nearby. Both of them glance over at you, but the mother loses interest moments later when you clearly aren't her son. The doctor returns to the conversation a moment later.


The only one who does concern herself with you is the woman filling the copier. She puts her paper down and approaches. "Are you all right? Is the floor wet?" she asks, a bit defensively, and looks for signs of recent mopping.

 

[Neolarthytep]

The only one who does concern herself with you is the woman filling the copier. She puts her paper down and approaches. "Are you all right? Is the floor wet?" she asks, a bit defensively, and looks for signs of recent mopping.

Robert Maudville


Ignoring the woman Robert picks himself up and ran for the door. His head was a race of thoughts and sanity was not in the lead. Passing people as he went he kept looking over his shoulder to see if anything followed him

 

[The Bushranger]

Patrick O'Connell


"...oh, for crryin' out loud..." Patrick says, almost in a sigh/moan kind of tine, as he spots the taillights shining dimly within the massive pile of grass clippings. "...nice coincidence that the Secret Grass Burial Mound was here, though," he mutters as, grabbing a broken-off piece of fencing, he starts using it an ersatz scoop to start digging through the grass.

Spoiler

Hmm. Are any rolls needed here?

 

[Persell]

Robert Maudville


No one does. It isn't long before Robert sprints out into the ambulance receiving area and stands still, somewhat sweaty, feeling nothing but cool breeze of the evening. There short, stubby grass is waving in the evening, and by a butt can three EMTs are standing around smoking. The night is very quiet. Some stars are shining above, but there are a lot of clouds racing across the sky. They don't stay visible for long. It's a short walk back to the beach from here.

 

[Persell]

Patrick O'Connell


By the time you actually get down to the car, you're covered in grass, and there's hayseed in your hair. It smells farmy. But the process doesn't take that long.


The crunching noises were caused when the Challenger sheered through the fence posts. Those are pretty much destroyed, and they dented the grill. But the grille has little chrome caps that run over it, and those run twenty, thirty bucks. You can reinstall them yourself. It'll take an hour or so. Also seriously damaged is the paint job. Your car is the color of grass and mud. One of the headlight covers needs to be replaced too. And externally, that's about it. The frame doesn't look bent, the tires aren't popped, and other than cleaning grass out of it, you don't really have too much else to do. You pop the hood and look in.


Well, your AC pipe needs to be replaced. A stick went through it. Also, some of the other soft work is sheared or broken. That's all precision work that you can't do yourself. But it should be that expensive, honestly. If you can find a decent custom shop in the area, they should be able to fix all the engine work for less then the cost of a new paint job.


You know a guy named Monty who runs a paint shop. Monty also loves to deep sea fish. A deal could probably be worked out.


All things considered, the car isn't really banged up that bad. If you go slow and don't turn on the AC, you can probably drive it home.

 

[Persell]

Kase


After an application of the rock, the ball of snot goes splat. You whack it a few more times on general principle, and then start peeling the tentacles off your leg. It's harder than you expect because the suckers cling to your skin, but with a pen and some patience you get them to finally peel loose. By now, the burning sensation in your calf has faded. In fact, all sensation in your calf has faded. Your leg from mid-thigh down is completely numb. You stare at it in the faint glow of the street lights, and see that where the central body was, your skin has puckered up into a white mound. It doesn't hurt, but it's burning hot to the touch. Won, who's standing next to you looking fascinated, disgusted, and intrigued, looks at you seriously.


"Dude, I'm calling 911." Then he goes running for a pay phone.

 

[Neolarthytep]

No one does. It isn't long before Robert sprints out into the ambulance receiving area and stands still, somewhat sweaty, feeling nothing but cool breeze of the evening. There short, stubby grass is waving in the evening, and by a butt can three EMTs are standing around smoking. The night is very quiet. Some stars are shining above, but there are a lot of clouds racing across the sky. They don't stay visible for long. It's a short walk back to the beach from here.

Robert Maudville


Hurriedly Robert gets to his car and fumbles with his keys to get in. After dropping them several times and doing a number on his car's paint around the lock trying to get it in he succeeds in unlocking the door. Once inside of his car he locks the doors and lets out a breath in relief. Putting the key in the ignition he gives it a turn

 

[lordofthestorm]

Kase let Won go. Right now, all he could think was three words.


Worst. Day. Ever.


Sitting down upon the ground and turning his leg with the wound skyward, he groaned and facepalmed.


"My life is an utter mess."

 

[Persell]

Robert Maudville


The car starts just fine. The radio comes on automatically with a fast food commercial while the engine grumbles to itself as it gets moving. Then the car hums and vibrates in place as you sit in the hospital parking lot. Street lights reflect off your windows, drawing vertical lines of glare across the night sky. Those lines shimmer with the faint movement of the parked car. In your rear-view mirror, you see yourself, wide eyed and flushed. There's a bruise across your forehead that you think you got from the doorframe as you exited the examination room. Otherwise you look fine, if somewhat panicked.

 

[Persell]

Kase


Over the next few minutes the police come with ambulances. The EMTs on the scene check you out and ask permission to send you to the hospital. After they get it, you're strapped to a gurney and loaded up. Won has long since disappeared. Once the police and medics arrived, he vanished. It's not surprisingly really. He always was a paranoid smoker, and after the experience you two just had, combined with the fact that he's probably carrying something of dubious legality, there's no way he's hanging around with the cops. But you're in good hands now.


The local hospital is a quiet, clean place. The ER doctor examines your wounds and does his best to pump them for venom. It isn't much later that you're in an ICU when your parents arrive with a couple of residents. One, a taller man in green scrubs, explains the matter simply.


"Honestly, sir, we have no idea what bit him. It seems that the building he ran through was an exotic pet store. Inside were a variety of deep sea fish, including the octopus that we pulled off his leg. Around here only those animals which cannot survive in the wild are allowed as pets if they're poisonous or venomous. While that means the risk of ecosystem corruption is small, it also means we have no idea what bit your son, nor what to do about it. He could be fine, but given the numbing around the bite point, we aren't going to take any chances.


After raising a hand to ward off your parents' worried questions, he continues. "Of course we're not leaving the situation at that. Don't worry. We got in contact with a number of experts on venomous sea life. There's actually a convocation of them on the East Coast right now, and so far we've received a dozen offers to examine Kase. What we're going to do is put Kase on a medical transport flight, and send him right out. He'll be taken directly to Dare County Hospital, which very close to the convention, and has an excellent treatment facility. With your permission, he'll be on a transport helicopter on the way to the hospital inside of ten minutes."


No one asks you what you think of all this. Instead you're bundled onto a medical helicopter and flown directly to the airport, where a small plane is waiting for you on the airstrip. The flight crew hands you off like a parcel, and before you're really sure what's going on, they have you airborne. The flight passes quickly, and uncomfortably. You're tied down, unable to move, and mildly sedated. They do let you have one hand free so you can read, but the drugs make the words swim in front of your face. It's hard to pay attention.


Worse, or perhaps better, neither of your parents are allowed on the plane with you. Since you're over eighteen, they don't get to accompany you, and have been bumped to a commercial flight. Your father remained behind to handle insurance issues, while your mother has entered into airline limbo.

 

[The Bushranger]

Patrick O'Connell


Sighing, Patrick slams the hood down on his car and steps back, shaking his head. All in all, things aren't TOO horrible, considering his car was just stolen, semi-high-speed-chased, and run through a chain-link fence into a compost pile.


Of course, it's about this time that, as the adrenalin starts to dip, he thinks of the fact his garage is sitting wide open back at home...


"Hey! Hey...um, officer!" he calls in Brennick's direction. "Can you call to have somebody make sure the other guy doesn't come back 'till I can get my garage fixed up a bit at least tonight?"


...and even as he speaks, he's also starting to remember what started this whole mess. And, taking a look at the guy on the ground, he really doesn't seem like the type who'd go along with setting up a "we're going to do this" kind of news report to taunt somebody.

 

[lordofthestorm]

So, to sum up, In the space of only a few hours, Kase had:


1. Avoided death by a crashing tanker truck.


2. Avoided death by a crumbling building caused by said tanker truck passing through.


3. Gotten bitten by a posionous fish of some sort that was in the crumbling building caused by the passing-through tanker truck.


4. Was going to be flown to the other side of the country to treat his wounds after getting bitten by a posionous fish of some sort that was in the crumbling building caused by the passing-through tanker truck.


And what was to be learned from this? Never take Won up on an offer for coffee again. EVER.


In all seriousness, a boring day at college was proving to be quite an adventure, if maybe one that was a bit...well, contrived, to say the least. It was like Fate was giving the classic retort: "well, if you prefer the air, there you go, you're in it. Enjoy."


So, Kase settled down for what he would expect to be a long flight across the country for the sake of a poisonous fish bite.

 

[Neolarthytep]

The car starts just fine. The radio comes on automatically with a fast food commercial while the engine grumbles to itself as it gets moving. Then the car hums and vibrates in place as you sit in the hospital parking lot. Street lights reflect off your windows, drawing vertical lines of glare across the night sky. Those lines shimmer with the faint movement of the parked car. In your rear-view mirror, you see yourself, wide eyed and flushed. There's a bruise across your forehead that you think you got from the doorframe as you exited the examination room. Otherwise you look fine, if somewhat panicked.

Robert Maudville


Looking at the bruise on his forehead Robert touches it gently. He wasn't sure what he saw back there but he knew he was lucky to get out with only a bruise. Taking the car out of park he reverses and drives out of the parking lot. Heading for the house he tried to make sense of what happened. He couldn't have seen what he thought he did... could he? Arms do not come out of mirrors grabbing for people... not in real life anyways.

 

[cyl]

Franck Brennick clumsily climbs back up the dune towards his car, leaving the poor kid to shed his tears over his overly expensive car instantly turned into a piece of junk.


Fate it seems is not without a sense of irony... damn this dune is high, shoulda quit smoking... he thinks to himself.


He grabs the com, panting, and confirms the ambulance for the perp and requests some units to clear the perimeter, gets out a few papers and handcuffs.


Rolling back towards the dunes, he cuffs the unconscious thief and looks back towards Patrick.


"Hey, you seem like a nice kid, but you really got a lousy aim and you almost killed a cop tonight, so... let's talk you and me !


I hope you want to press charges against him and his pals, we'll get to that...


For now, we need to focus: is the gun you fired legally owned ? if it's not I can manage to put the shooting on his tab" he adds pointing his thumb at the young man lying on the ground.


"But if it is registered under your name, you're going to have to say that he took it from you by force and shot several times with it to cover your ass... he'd have taken it with him while stealing your car, and thrown it out of the window during the runaway... I'd confirm the facts, keep you outta jail... and maybe one day I'll call you for a favor or two.


Anyway you're gonna have to loose the gun... it's very important that it's not fired by you or anyone close to you again. You could give it to me when we go back to your house... I don't suspect the rookies will find it.


And I want you to promise me that if you want to own a gun again, you're going to take some frickin shooting lessons !"


OOC

Spoiler

sorry for the delay, been quite busy.


Do you understand what I'm saying ?!"

 

[The Bushranger]

Patrick O'Connell


Patrick, his mind still turning over the implications of the news report that had started this whole mess, half-listens to Brennick's lecture, and options. When the cop finishes, he stays quiet for a few minutes, quietly thinking (and, in fact, he is); finally, he speaks up.


"I do have both the pistol-purchase permit and a Concealed Carry permit, Officer," he says, taking a deep breath. "And well, I'll do what you suggest. And I'll also be happy to help out in any way that I can, sir. But...there's a few things that are bothering me here," the young man says in a low, earnest, solid tone. "First would be that...well, that shot that hit your car? I don't see how I fired it. I fired once, and I was aiming at the tires of my car. The trajectory doesn't add up."


Did I hear another gunshot back then? Patrick asks himself, trying to remember, from the heat of the moment...


"There were two men, one went out the window when I burst in on them. We should look and see if maybe there's brass from him firing, before doing anything else." Realising he's almost lecturing the police officer, he coughs a bit embarassedly. "But regardless of that, there's something else weird here too, sir - I went out to the garage in the first place, because the radio news said there had been a robbery and car theft. The address mentioned was mine, and the robbery - obviously - hadn't happened yet.


...oh, and yeah, I'll be pressing charges. Throw the book at 'em."


Rolling to try to remember if Pat noticed the second muzzle flash and shot being made.


(and also discovering the Invisible Castle roller can count successes, and auto-reroll)


(Perception + Awareness) = 3d10 → [7, 10, 10, 4 ,6] (2 successes)

 

[Persell]

Spoiler

Patrick does not remember a second shot. He does distinctly remember the radio bit though. Though on consideration, he doesn't recall what happened to the second punk.


Cyl, when you're ready the EMTs are going to take the kid away. Just tell me whether you want Brennick to ride with them or not after you and the Bushranger finish their conversation, and that will end the scene.

 

[cyl]

Brennick frowns.


"So you're telling me that what alerted you in the first place was your radio ?


You sure you were not imaginating things ?! I gotta tell you kid, I've no love for drugies, so you'd better not be having poison in your system" he adds thinking I'm such a hypocrit !


"Let's go back to your place, and maybe we can clear our minds before going to the precinct." he adds when he sees the EMTs arriving on the scene.


He waits a bit, for the medic to do their jobs.


"Is he gonna be okay ?! he took quite a fall."


OOC

Spoiler

nah don't plan on sticking with the thief. Back to the secret lair Jarvis !

 

[The Bushranger]

Patrick O'Connell


Patrick raises his hands in a 'calming' type gesture, although he does look a bit disgusted.


"Trust me, Officer, I'm as freaked by this as anybody, but I've never taken so much as a pinch of anything like that. But that's exactly what happened. And yeah, you're welcome to come by. Dinner's probably cold by now though," he can't help but quip, as he turns to head back to Brennick's car.

 

[Persell]

Patrick, Brennick


It isn't long before the medical personnel arrive and load the kid onto a backboard. It's only then you learn his name, Chase Reilly. The ambulance can't drive across the dunes, so the two EMTs carry the guy along, trucking over the sand without a word of complaint. They've done this before, and the would-be car thief is a small guy. When everyone gets back to the road they expertly transfer him from backboard to gurney with the ease of long practice.


There are two men who watch the proceedings. Dressed identically in black suits, they speak to one of the other officers for a little bit. They have low, well modulated voices that are devoid of emotion. After Chase Reilly is loaded up and the ambulance heads off, they get back into a Lincoln town car and fall in behind. There's a black and white in front of the ambulance, but it doesn't bother to turn on its flashers or siren. There aren't enough cars on the road in the off season for it to be necessary. The three vehicles head off, and one by one the street lights go out overhead as they pass. Then they round a corner and are gone.


From there Brennick gets to do real, true police work: he fills out forms. The case isn't complicated, but between the pursuit affidavits as well as the scene marking that needs to be done since one vehicle lost control and left the road, there's several hours of pencil pushing to be done. One of the local guys picks up coffee and donuts, and brings them round while you all put in to paper. One old hand notices Patrick and quips, "This is the true face of justice kid. And it needs to be filled out in triplicate."


For Patrick, the evening is filled with bad news and boredom. For a while one of the officers on scene wants to impound the car as evidence until the trial. Given the current backlog, that means it would be in lock down for at least a year. It is only after almost an hour that Brennick is able to persuade them that crime scene photos will serve. Of course, then there's the matter of brushing down the vehicle, photographing, and searching for prints. At some point Brennick tells Patrick to leave and wash the cordite off his hands. It's a good call, and there's no powder residue when they fingerprint him.


Not long before dawn the sky is lightening in the east over the ocean when the police wrap up the work site. A local wrecker comes out and tows the Challenger back to Patrick's place. The driver is willing to waive the fee if he can go fishing for free, everything provided. You make a point that it's BYOB, and shake on the deal. Then it's back to your place.


There's no sign of the second thief, except broken glass and uprooted cactus. These are the cacti with short sharp thorns that go through clothes and sandals, and break off once they pierce the skin. Chuckling evilly, you realize that the escaped thief didn't get away uninjured. The gun is missing. There's powder remnants in the basket where you dropped it, but the weapon itself is gone. The two of you scrounge around for a while, searching for brass, but don't find any. It'll probably turn up when you clean your garage. By the time Brennick leaves your stories are straight, and you've each got contact information. Then it's time for a couple of hours of sleep before work.


Everyone


It's a long, quiet day. Erin goes to work. It sucks. It's mind numbing, soul sucking boredom occasionally punctuated by bewildering moments where you can't even believe any of this is real. At one point she feels so distant that she washes her hands for minutes, wondering if the hot water is suppose to feel hot, or if the bland stimuli is merely intended to serve as cognitive sustenance. Her computer hasn't done anything odd yet, and last night was probably just a peculiar dream.


Robert's foot begins to throb. He ignores it for a while, and the alcohol from the night before helps. But by early afternoon there is no denying the constant, dull ache. The skin around the wound has purpled, and the veins are large and puffy. Oddly enough, his butt is also starting to ache.


Patrick's only charter of the day is after Hibernia, a fish that runs at dawn and sunset. He takes five intent, close lipped workmen out only sixty minutes after Brennick leaves. It is almost incongruous that one of them catches something. Then it's back to land. After that he spends a while calling body shops, and around ten one replies that it can do the kind of work necessary. The woman on the other end asks if Patrick can bring the car by before lunch. They have an open bay now, and can provide an estimate quickly.


Kase is ferried from the airport to a hospital, the same hospital both Robert and Chase Reilly were taken to. A nurse tells him to that the expert will be in later that morning. At least he thinks that's what she said. They put him on a morphine drip that morning, and now the world is getting a little tilted. Everyone sounds like they're talking underwater.


And Brennick comes home to a horrible, horrible problem. Every drop of booze in his house is gone. Every bottle, every can, even the old cups with dregs in the bottom that he hasn't washed yet, it's all gone. In desperation he checks his medicine cabinet and finds...aspirin. One bottle, unopened, with the seal intact. It's sitting alone on the shelf where his percocets, vicodan, and codine all used to reside in stately array. There's nothing else.

 

[Arynne]

Erin Hagens

It's a long, quiet day. Erin goes to work. It sucks. It's mind numbing, soul sucking boredom occasionally punctuated by bewildering moments where you can't even believe any of this is real. At one point she feels so distant that she washes her hands for minutes, wondering if the hot water is suppose to feel hot, or if the bland stimuli is merely intended to serve as cognitive sustenance. Her computer hasn't done anything odd yet, and last night was probably just a peculiar dream.

The water runs over Erin’s hands, dripping down into the sink…


Pride Weekend. The summer rain coming down in sheets, sticky wet rain, neither hot nor cold. Like bathwater if you let it sit for too long. She almost didn’t go downtown, it was raining so hard. But she put on her jacket and got on the train, and by the time she reached the Village the rain had let up and people were bringing clarinets and sitars and trombones out into the streets. The sun came out, low and gold under big gray clouds.


In Washington Square Park there was a girl leading a round dance, long thick brown hair, green eyes, freckles, laughing, a noisy, laughing girl, too loud, brassy, self-confident, but Erin joined her dance because the dancers seemed to be having such a good time and that kid with the saxophone made terrific music. She and the green-eyed girl came face to face in some figure of the dance they had just invented. They took one another’s hands. One laughed, and then the other laughed. They never let go of each other’s hands all night…


Erin realizes that she has been staring blankly at her hands for the past five minutes while tears drip slowly into the basin. With a muttered curse, she hastily washes her face and gets back to the reception desk.

 

[lordofthestorm]

More waiting. Joy.


At this point, he just wanted it to be over and done with. He was wondering if anybody had told his teachers he was going to be gone for the next couple of days, maybe the whole week. After that, his thoughts became muddled as the morphine kicked in. He might as well be swimming somewhere.