The cara view tilted as the chopper jerked into a panicked yaw. A wave of brilliant gold and blue scorched the city streets as the chopper ascended into the sky. The thump of a passing shockwave sent the caraman tumbling backwards into the cabin, and the chopper spiraled briefly out of control.
After a few heart-stopping monts, and several seconds of screaming, a hand appeared over the screen. The view blurred as soone wiped a rag over the cara lens. A face appeared briefly, the reporter from before, and the cara reoriented towards the city.
Atlanta was burning. The blast had extended over a thousand feet in every direction. Streets were lted and cracked, while buildings glowed cherry red from the heat. Cars lined the streets, charred black, and a massive wall of smoke drifted skyward. The villain siren continued to ring, sounding more like a wail than a warning.
The cara drifted back to the office building where the blast originated. The outside was a shattered husk. Every window had been broken, the walls were cracked, the doors were halfway across the street and fused together. Bits of concrete flaked off the building, though it remained standing.
In the parking lot, where the SPEAR Team had stood, a glowing golden do hovered protectively. It rippled like the surface of the lake, holding strong despite the overwhelming heat that filled the parking lot. The air around it shimred in a haze like you might see in a desert mirage.
"Holy shit," Abigail murmured.
The cara zood out. The reporter reappeared, looking frazzled and sunburned. His hair was tousled and his glasses slightly askew. He stood strong, however, with steady hands and a grim voice.
"We've just witnessed a large-scale villainous strike on the city of Atlanta. A SPEAR Team is already in place and moving in. We urge anyone who can still hear the villain siren to evacuate imdiately, or take cover if evacuation is not possible. We are pulling out of the area for now. More news to co as we get it. Back to you, John."
The screen flipped back to the news desk, the anchors managing to look worried despite their eerie perfection.
The female anchor bit her lip, glanced towards the cara, and said, "We are waiting for the official word on the situation. The governor of Georgia has already scheduled a press conference for five minutes from now. We will be bringing you that press conference, along with up to the minute news on this latest attack when we return. Those of us here, at Warner news, urge the citizens of Atlanta to stay calm, stay indoors, and wait for instructions. We'll be right back."
Comrcials filled the television screen, and the sound automatically muted itself. The room was silent. Dan could've heard a pin drop.
"Yeah," he repeated quietly. "Holy shit."
Abby watched the silent comrcials play out on the television, one hand twisting her hair into knots. "It's a good thing the SPEAR Team survived. That blast was.... bad."
"Good thing," Dan echoed automatically, his mind reeling. "What do you think will happen now?"
She shrugged, the motion looking a little too casual. "SPEAR will go in and deal with whoever is still alive in that building."
"Will the news crews really evacuate the area?" Dan asked with morbid curiousity. Reporters regularly visited war zones, back ho. Surely there would be an intrepid cara man or two, willing to risk his life for a good story?
Contrary to his expectations, Abby shook her head with a frown. "Of course. Interfering in a SPEAR operation is a great way to go to prison."
"Oh. Right. Of course," Dan agreed feebly.
"I just can't believe that its been less than a year since the last major villain attack," Abby continued to Dan's utter horror.
"Only a year?" he asked, eyes wide. How often did things like this happen? More importantly, why didn't Marcus ntion it!?
Abby looked at his pale face. "You lost track? That Lexington thing was just last October."
"Right. The Lexington thing," Dan said slowly. It was the end of August, currently. "How many died in that, again?"
Abby pondered his question, absently rubbing on a dozing rrill. "Just a few dozen in the end, I think. But there were, like, thousands in comas, right?"
"Sounds about right," Dan remarked. He needed a cell phone. He needed a cell phone with internet access and a search engine, and he needed it yesterday. How had he survived this long without one?
"Either way, we got lucky. That fireball couldn't have been larger than three or four city blocks, and the evacuation had already been sounded. It could've been way worse." Abby concluded with a helpless sigh.
This was a suprely odd experience for Dan. He was sitting in his friends living room, sowhat calmly discussing the body count of what should have been a major terrorist act. He rembered, back ho, when the twin towers fell in New York. He rembered exactly where he had been when he'd first heard the rumor, rembered dismissing the words as an impossibility, as a joke or hearsay. He rembered his parents crying in the living room while they watched the evening news. He rembered the twenty-four hour coverage, the theories, the talking heads arguing amongst themselves. He rembered the huge, sweeping changes that occurred in the aftermath.
Abigail was not nearly worried enough for a young woman who had literally just witnessed an act of dostic terrorism. Her talk about previous attacks boded poorly for Dan's continued sanity. He really needed to go back to the library and finish that damn history book. What the hell had happened in this world to make its people so hardened to tragedy?
Another thought occurred to him, separate from his discomfort. He turned to Abby.
"Is there so sort of volunteer program for helping in the aftermath of villain attacks? Search and rescue, or things of that nature." Dan asked her.
"Yeah, of course," Abby replied slowly. "They usually put a call out for licensed volunteers as soon as the situation is handled. Why?"
Dan humd to himself. On the television, the comrcials were ending. Two worried faces appeared once again, and the news anchors began to speak. Subtitles appeared at the bottom of the screen, scrolling quickly through their words while the sound was muted. Pictures of blackened buildings and scorched concrete filled the empty space on the screen.
As Abby reached for the remote, Dan made a decision.
"I think I'll go and help."
Abby blinked. "You're licensed?"
Dan replayed her earlier statent in his head. "Licensed?"
"Yeah. It's not like they just let any random person help. You have to take a training course to get licensed. It's supposed to be really intense, too," Abby said with a concerned frown. "You didn't really think you could just show up did you?"
"Er, I just thought they might need the help," he replied sheepishly.
Abby shook her head wildly. "You'd hurt more than you'd help if you didn't know what you're doing."
"I guess," Dan aceded uncertainly. He didn't really see how an extra pair of hands could ever hurt. There were trained volunteers back ho, sure, but he doubted that help had ever been turned away during major disasters. At the very least, he was another body able to move crap around.
This had to be so sort of cultural difference, though, so he wasn't willing press the issue. Maybe rcury could give him a better explanation. In the anti, Dan would just...
Would just what?
Just sit around?
Dan would just sit around and be useless?
No.
Suddenly, Dan found that thought intolerable. There had to be sothing he could do, sowhere he could actually contribute, even if it was only a little. He was tired of just sitting back and doing nothing. It was ti to act.
"I'll try to get a license, then," he decided firmly.
"That's a great idea! Teleporters are really hard to co by." Abby's exclaid, but her enthusiasm faded quickly.
She grimaced. "I'd offer to join, but my upgrade is worthless at search and rescue."
"They turn you away if you don't have the right upgrade?" Dan asked, slightly perturbed.
She shrugged. "Sort of? I might be able to get a license but I wouldn't be much use practically speaking."
"What is your upgrade, if you don't mind asking?"
"Proprioception Pro," Abby replied quietly, rubbing rrill's belly.
Dan rolled the na around in his head.
"That sounds like a Pokemon," he decided, trying to inject so levity into the room.
"What?"
"What?"
They stared at each other for a mont. Abigail broke first.
"My upgrade: it's called Proprioception Pro," she repeated with a hint of confusion in her voice.
"I have no idea what that is," Dan admitted.
"Proprioception is your, uh, body sense I guess," Abby said haltingly, mulling over her response. "It's how you know where all your bits are, relative to the rest of your body, and how much strain you are putting on them."
"Oh. Neat."
"It's very neat," Abby said, regaining so cheer. "Also, necessary. What P-Pro does, though, is it allows to access soone else's proprioception by touching them. It let's know the difference between you wimping out and actually being exhausted."
Dan blinked, slowly. His head fell back onto his seat. "Goddamnit."
"Yup." Abby's tone had a hint of smugness.
"Why would anyone design a power so specific?" Dan lanted.
Abby gave a dignified sniff. "It's extrely useful for people in healthcare. Most nurses use it, and so doctor's as well. Knowing the state of your patient is invaluable, and we haven't yet invented a way to beam that information into soone's head."
Dan sighed. They had gotten off track, sohow. He should be in shock at the mont, having just watched a fairly explicit video of a city block on fire. Maybe he was in shock, him and Abby both, and this was just an easy diversion. Or maybe this whole situation was just too surreal for him to process. Maybe he was still just too disconnected from this world, this place that wasn't his.
rrill hopped over to him and snuggled onto his knee, shattering his mopey thoughts. He glanced towards Abby, only to see her focused on the television. The sound was still muted, but subtitles scrolled along the bottom at great speed. The news caster from the helicopter had returned, and was looking slightly cooked.
A few tiny stress lines appeared on Abby's eyes as she read; little crinkles, nearly unnoticeable, but they ant the world to Dan. She wasn't as dissociated from the tragedy as she was pretending to be. It comforted him to realize that.
"So your power isn't useful for search and rescue. What about first aid?" he asked, breaking the silence. Abby enjoyed helping others. Maybe he could find her a role.
She jumped slightly. "What?"
Dan pointed at the television. "First aid. You said that you'd volunteer if you could be useful. I'm sure there's so way for your power to help people who are injured, right?"
"I, uh," Abby floundered for a mont and Dan realized that he might have misjudged the situation. "It's just— I'm technically not certified for first-aid, so I can't act as a dic, and my power isn't good for much else."
"You don't have first-aid training?" Dan blurted out incredulously. Sure, he didn't either, but he wasn't a personal trainer.
Abby shrunk in on herself.
"Blood makes uncomfortable," she admitted weakly.
Dan opened his mouth, then shut it, slowly. He shrugged helplessly. "Ah."
Dan didn't try to press the issue. The teaspoon's worth of tact that he possessed scread at him to shut up. This was clearly none of his business.
"It's good that you're trying to help, though," Abby repeated. She tried for an encouraging smile, but it ca out slow and timid.
He smiled back anyway, puffing out his chest dramatically. "I guess I'm just a really swell guy."
She snorted slightly, but still appeared glum.
So Dan chucked rrill at her. The mouse landed on her head, and Abby fell back with a yelp. rrill worked her magic, squeaking cutely while wriggling in place, and infused fluffy joy directly into Abby's brain. The girl giggled, then smiled, then laughed.
Dan considered it a win.
Tonight, he could interrogate rcury about the horrific details of this world. Tomorrow, he could volunteer for search and rescue training.
For now, he had a friend to comfort.
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