Participants:
Also Featuring:
| Scene Title | Die Me, Dichotomy |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | All Gillian wanted to do was pawn some of her possessions, but things never quite go according to plan. |
| Date | November 1, 2008 |
Bronx, Rich Street Pawn Shop
The Bronx is the northernmost borough of Greater New York, and even before the explosion, this area was diverse. Though known infamously throughout the world to be a low-income area, it was not without its finer points, as well as home to the Yankee Stadium. It was dense with life, for better or for worse.
For now, it is the the south-west areas of the Bronx that are unrecognisable. Clean up has not gone steadily, and buildings still lie in ruination. It is now hard to tell what this place is even for. During the day, construction teams work to clear more and more roads of South Bronx, although people seem to take liberties by driving over the burnt out rubble if they have the means. There are make-shift trailer camps and soup kitchens for those that don't have a place to go. One feature of South Bronx is the Yankee Stadium, so far untouched. There is irreparable damage done to the building itself, and no game has played there since the tragedy. Graffiti tags the areas available, and people often congregate illegally upon the wrecked grounds. The field itself is overgrown with weeds between fallen debris.
Heading away from Manhattan, the Bronx takes on more function and hope. This borough, once a place of Jewish immigrants, then Latin-Americans and African Americans, is now a diverse mix of all races, any and all New Yorkers taking up residence on the other side of the wreckage. There is even a semblance of a transport system, the electricity back on and functioning, but crime rates are higher than ever.
The southern edge of the Bronx still shows signs of the destruction that wrecked the city two years ago— almost exactly now. Most buildings in this area maintained stability despite the explosion, but the owners have not had the means to repaint, leaving the buildings scortched and scarred by the dust and debris of the initial blastwave. One such building is a pawnshop, a burnt out sign hanging over the door, showing a dollar sign. The glass has been replaced, as well as a metal fence on both sides of the window to help prevent theft. Inside the store, a young woman stands, at the counter, talking to the man in an oversized shirt and stained and smeared plants.
A backpack hangs over her shoulder, but she's setting down a handful of jewelry on the counter. Gillian's reluctant to sell some of her things, but without a job, and everything else that's going on, she needs the cash. Taking measures to change her appearance is hardly cheap, after all, and she had to ditch her motorcycle back at the apartment in Queens. Hair pulled back into a plaid baseball cap, she doesn't quite look herself, though her clothes continue to favor darker colors. The man picks up the necklaces and the bracelets, examining them one at a time.
For a while there's been a plucking sensation in the back of Gillian's mind, someone in the store is an Evolved, that much is remarkably certain, but pinpointing exactly who, espescially with the assortment of backrooks and people coming and going makes it difficult. The sensation, though, never really fades, brief and distant like a warning beacon of something just a little too far off to see. Lifting up one of the cuff bracelets, the balding man behind the counter rolls it around in his hand, checking the inside and then lays it down on a small scale, pushing a slide across a small bar in the middle, "Mmnh…" He reaches one hand up to rub at a white-stubbled chin, "I can tell y'right now s'not going to be as much as you want." He picks the bracelet off of the scale and sets it back down on the glass countertop. "Bracelet's plated, necklaces aren't bad though…"
The front door of the pawn shop opens with a ring, footsteps coming in at Gillian's periphery. Tapping one of the bracelets, the old man gruffly gives an estimate. "Mnnh, two hundred," the old man points at the necklace next, "Fifty," the bracelet, "one twenty-five," another necklace, "and one ten." It's about this time Gillian catches a familiar sight in her peripheral vision, a blonde man in a black suit in the parking lot out front. He must have just exited the store when she heard the bell. Straight thorugh the plate glass and cage reinforced window the girl can clearly see the man who was pinned by a sofa in the front lobby of Dorchester Towers weeks ago. He's on a cell-phone, pacing back and forth in front of the black sedan that was parked out front when she arrived.
That itch definitely has her on edge, but Gillian keeps her eyes forward, trying waiting to hear the results. "You're right, it's not as much as I wanted," she murmurs gruffly, knowing that she could reach for them and take them back, threatening to take her business elsewhere. That might be what she intended to do when she reaches up, turning her head just a fraction— but then her hand completely freezes. The suit. Her lips part in surprise and stay there for a time, before she looks back across the counter. "I'll take it. Ring me up." The haggling just got blocked by a blond man in a suit. The itch in the back of her head is making her much more cautious, now, and while she waits for her money, she starts to look around more wary-eyed. Who else is here?
Not even bothering the thank the man, she reaches for her money and quickly shoves it down her shirt instead of into a pocket, and begins to move away to the door, reaching up to pull her hat down more securely, hoping to hide behind the brim.
Following Gillian with his eyes, the haggard looking old man behind the counter gruffly scrapes the jewelry into a bag as he watches the girl quickly take her money and rush towards the door. There's a nervous, unsettled look in his eyes, perhaps worrying how quickly the cops are going to show up asking about that jewelry, given the way she's acting.
The front door gives a chime as Gillian pushes it open, keeping her head tucked down and the brim of her hat shadowing her eyes. The loud conversation on the phone comes clear into view almost immediately once she's outside of the pawn shop, "Do I sound like I fuckin' know what he's thinkin'?" Agent Woods leans his back up against the car, one hand tucked into his pockets and a cell-phone held up to his ear, still shouting into it. "Fucker came running down in, grabbed me and told me we had to get down to some bloody fuckin' pawn shop, says it's about them inside-out — " For once censoring himself, Woods flashes a suspicious glance towards the girl exiting the pawn shop, but not for any reason that he should be suspiciously eyeing her. "Yeah," he continues on the phone. "Yeah look — I don't know, he's inside right now talking to — "
The sound of an explosion cuts off Woods' sentence. A powerful and ground-shaking eruption of bass-filled sound that tears through the pawn shop, blowing out the front window along with the entire wall around it, showering the car with bricks, twisted steel and raining glass. The concussive wave of deep and rumbling sound is powerful enough to sends the sedan skidding back despite being parked, and knocks Woods clear off of his feet as he flies head over heels through the air, striking a parking meter with his shoulder and the side of his head before slumping to the ground.
When the door closes behind her, Gillian can't help but pause, lingering a little close to the door and the window in an effort to hear what's being said. Curiousity, after all, she can't help but wonder. The suspicious look actually earns a hint of a sheepish smile, before she turns away and starts to leave. She's starting to relax, because the man probably didn't come after her. Nor is the jewelry stolen. Not that it matters much, when the pawn shop gets torn apart by an explosion. Looks like the no-longer-totally-Goth young woman exited the building just in time— or not quite fast enough.
As she's still rather close, the shockwave of the explosion hits her and knocks her quite a few feet away, tumbling a few times and ending up slamming against the sedan that skidded back. A few days ago, she'd been cut under the ribs. She thought that'd been pretty painful, at least as painful as some of her tattoos. This makes her groan even more than that had. The hat blown off her newly lightened hair tumbles into the street, and blood drips down her face from a slash in her scalp. The bag remains against her shoulder, the money remains stashed in her bra, but all she can really do is push herself onto her side and look toward the blown out pawnshop.
"Woods!" A voice cries out from inside of the pawn shop, "Taser, now!" This is followed by the sound of a sudden impact, and thorugh the blown out window flies two individuals, both clinging to one another. One of them, dressed in a fitted black suit with one sleeve torn off and the tattered remants of a tie around his neck, is clearly Peter Petrelli. The other man, struggling in that grasp, looks unfamiliar. A mop of toussled brown hair, long-sleeved flannel shirt worn over a white tank-top, loose jeans and work boots. The pair fly head on into the windshield of the sedan, sending Petrelli rolling off of one side and down onto his hands and knees, "Woods come on! What are you — " He looks up, spotting the blonde agent slumped over against the parking meter. "Shit."
A sudden, piercing cry erupts from the hood of the car, followed by shuddering waves of sound as the man in the unbuttoned flannel shirt stands up, bits of safety glass embedded in the side of his face, eyes wide, blood running out of one nostril, hands shaking violently. He tilts hie head back, hands coming up to hold either side of his head as his legs begin to buckle, screaming in what sounds like wild, agonized pain. But then his head is tilted down, that scream is leveled towards the man in the suit, and he's blown clear off of his feet, flying straight over Gillian and into a telephone pole, which splinters and cracks from the force of the impact, wavering at the top as power lines fluctuate and shimmy before the telephone pole comes crashing down, smashing atop the roof of the sedan, blowing out the remaining windows.
Peter struggles onto his knees, a good portion of the front of his suit blown away, revealing caved in ribs and glass embedded into flesh. A cracked portion of the side of his head pops out, back into place with a wet snap, followed by the split of his skin sealing closed. So too do the ribs in his chest begin popping back into place one by one as the brusing on his skin fades. His clothes, however, are not so fortunate.
Torn power lines wriggle and snap, crackling loudly around the car. The wild man, panting deeply, runs one hand over his mouth, wiping blood that won't stop flowing from his jaws. He exhales a deep, shuddering breath, then begins drawing in again.
Gillian can feel now, clearly, she's empowering them both.
And being so close to them… only makes the situation worse. Where she's rolled on her side next to the car, Gillian catches sight of Peter Petrelli, easily recognized by his scar, even if his clothes are torn and tattered. Only caught by the blastwave, there's no burning or major destruction of her own clothes, but as she shifts, a tear is visible in her right sleeve, and along her jeans on the left side, from the skidding and debris more than anything. Blood slides along her cheek, to her chin, and down her arm and ankle. A taser…
As the man who destroyed half the city gets thrown away, she starts to crawl, moving in the direction of the parking meter, teeth gritting. There's a certain birthday present in her backpack, hidden under clothes, but pulling out a firearm when she still hasn't gotten lessons… not her idea of fun. Instead she makes her way, as quickly as she can, to the man against the meter. Taser— he must have one somewhere. With a cautious glance back to the two men, she tries to search his clothes, looking for said weapon, while blood and dust obscure her vision, and pain slows her motions.
The pull is stronger at the one near the car— he's closer. He's drawing on her more.
The first thing Gillian finds is a pistol under his right arm in a jacket holser, almost identical to the one Gabriel had given her. Then, down at his waist, a wire-dart taser in a holster. Woods isn't moving, but she can tell up this close that he's still breathing. This, among so many other things today, will be added to the laundry-list of things he has to complain about given his partnership. It's only Gillian's movement that cues Peter in to her being here, but there's no sense of recognition at all, even with having a clear look at her face there seems to be no indication that he remembers her from the previous times. "Go! You have to get out of here!"
A shrieking wail comes from the man by the car as his fingers curl into his hair, tugging at the wavy brown locks. He takes a few steps forward, bending over and screaming in a hoarse, bloodied voice before rising up as Peter starts to come closer to him, followed by a deep exhalation of pain and agony, a wave of sound so intense it throws Peter back again, knocking him once more off of his feet to bounce across the ground. The first time there is a deep smear of blood, then less as he lands on his back, one leg bent and twisted in a wildly impossible angle.
He groans, helplessly, pulling himself up as one hand moves to straighten his leg, sinking a bone back beneath the skin with a sucking sound. He manages to get up to his feet, blood now covering himself, running down one bare and dirty arm, across his partly exposed chest and down the side of his face. But there are no injuries from which the blood could have come from.
Gritting his teeth, the man in flannel falls to his knees, holding the side of his head as his mouth opens wide, hands shaking as he turns his head towards Gillian, mouth opening to scream. There's a rush of air, a surge of pressure changing as in the blink of an eye Peter appaear between the screaming man and where Gillian and Woods are, just in time to take the full brunt of the subsonic wail with his arms spread to either side. The scream doesn't knock him off of his feet this time, hands braced in front of himself with a low thrumming vibration in the ground.
Telekineticly braced, he suffers the full exhaust of the screaming man as bones crack, skin splits and blood begins trickling from his ears from the wave of sonic force. It's strong enough on either side of him to have split apart the street, but short lived enough that his body blocks the worst of it from Gillian. Peter staggers, then falls down onto his knees, hunching over with his palms pressed flat against the pavement.
The man in the flannel shirt lurches, choking for a moment before spitting up blood, one hand over his mouth, and then focuses past Peter's prone form to Gillian, beginning to breathe in deeply again.
With all the activity around her, Gillian barely registers the similarties between her birthday present and the pistol the man has. She's hoping to find the taser soon after. The screaming, the yelling at her to get out of her, all of it serves as a distraction, making her curse the decision to try and stop this from happening. When her hand finds the taser darts, she twists around, sitting next to the unconscious man, and turns just in time to see the man who destroyed half of the city shield her from a sonic blast. Even shielded as she is, her ears ring, she ducks down, raising her arms to try and protect herself, and kicked up pieces of the street and glass from the shattered window cut new holes in her clothes, one such slash exposing a tattoo on her wrist, the yin/yang symbol in a tribal design.
Still grasping the taser gun, her arms lower, eyes blinking as the air settles— watching the man stumble and fall. She hesitates almost a second too long, but while the man breathes in deeply, her eyes focus on him—
Not as hard as it sounds. Point and shoot. That's what Gabriel said. And this one doesn't even require a safety. She hopes. The taser is leveled unsteadily, and fired.
The taser darts shoot out with a soft click, followed by a steady popping sound that is so remarkabll quiet compared to its very obvious and immediate results. The mans' body tightens and tenses as volts of electricity are sent arcing through him. He tries to scream, but only manages a strangled gurgle as his throat clenches and limbs begin spasming. He staggers, sways and falls down to the ground, legs kicking and arms flailing wildly.
Peter manages to pull himself up to his feet, tattered scraps of black and white that was once his jacket and shirt loosely hanging off of himself as he does. One pant leg is split apart into tatters, revealing a blood-soaked but uninjured leg. He walks, tiredly, towards the man on the ground, dropping to his knees again when by his side before placing a hand on his chest. He closes his eyes, brow tensing before a sudden rush of air accompanies the man's body vanishing without a trace. The two taser darts that were stuck in him fall to the street with two soft clicks.
Silence is as deafening as the screams were, and save for the ringing in Peter and Gillian's ears, there is no other sound on the street, except for distant sirens wailing and the crackling spark of downed power lines. It's a piece of loose glass, falling fron the blown out window of the pawn shop that breaks the muffled noise with a sharp crack. Peter turns, breathing in and out heavily, looking towards Gillian with a confused expression. She can feel him now, feel that pull and draw, and as his eyes settle on her it seems to grow more intense.
"You…" He glances over to Woods, trying to catch his breath before looking back to Gillian. "You have to get out of here, before the people I work for get here." His tone of voice is imploring, tinged with worry, "They'll… You saw something you weren't supposed to, you need to get out of here or they'll — Nnnh…" One hand comes up to the side of Peter's head, and he stumbles back towards the car, almost leaning against it before he stops himself. He winces, eyes closing tightly, and his skin seems to ripple like the surface of a once still pond disrupted by a thrown stone. It's an entirely different reaction than before.
The taser gun seems to take her by surprise, because Gillian looks for a way to reload it— and finds there is none. After a moment, she discards it completely, tossing it to the broken street around her. There's another weapon that she found in her search, but she's recovering from the adrenaline of the moment as the silence settles, pain starts to settle in her limbs. At least the deafening sound has ceased. But that doesn't make the pull go away. Now it's more focused— one source instead of two.
Hazel eyes dart up to greet him, while blood trails down the side of her pale face. "You're…" she starts to say, only to watch him stumble back, touching his head, and— rippling. His skin isn't glowing, at the very least. Looking down to the man beside her, she reaches for the second weapon, wrapping her fingers around the gun in the holster, hoping to take it with her as she stands up. Not because she's stealing it, either, but because she's raising to point it at the man by the car. She's forgotten about the safety, and she hasn't checked to make sure there's a bullet in the chamber either. She needs that lesson.
When Gillian takes Woods' gun out of his jacket and levels it toward Peter, he holds out one hand, trying to dissuade her from filling him full of bullets. His mouth opens, trying to speak something despite the pain inside of his head. Any warnings Peter might have tried to give, though, are broken by a look of intense discomfort. He turns, looking towards one of the broken pieces of plate glass from the store's front window, settled onto the pavement at his feet. His eyes widen as he sees something in the glass, something that draws a look of fright on his face. Shakily exhaling a breath, Peter chokes out a rasping warning, "G-Get out of here." His skin ripples and shifts again, rippling and twisting as his hair changes, lengthening and slicking back atop his head, a grown-in looking goatee forming over his mouth, stubble down his jaws. His brow tenses, eyes focusing on Gillian with a more firm, almost stern expression.
His eyes divert to Woods, then around to the street as if seeing it for the first time. Then, without knowing the mistake he's about to make, Peter steps back and rests his hand on the crushed side of the car to steady himself. Whatever words he was about to say as his mouth opens are replaced by a scream of agony as thousands of volts of electricity are sent through his body from the downed power line connected to the car. Peter struggles, wrenches forward and screams again, his skin shifting and distorting once more as his hair spikes forward, shortens, and his goatee sinks into his skin.
There is a howling look of pain and confusion before the car is sent skidding away from him with an impulse of magnetokinesis, the metal crumpling and bending from where his hand was. The shower of sparks from the power lines scraping over the top of the car shower around Peter as he falls backwards, but something is clearly wrong.
It looks like an after-image at first, Peter falling backwards to hit the street with both arms out at his side. But he's still standing up where he was as well, hands up to hold his head at either side. The Peter who fell backwards is completely naked, hair slicked back with that roughly unshaven beard, yet they seem to meet at the ankles, as if locked together by their feet. The still-standing Peter mannages to take a step forward, pulling his feet away from the other's before falling down onto both knees. The Peter on his back, once fully disconnected, snaps his eyes open and arches his back, sucking in a deep breath as if for the first time.
The hand does not need to dissaude her. Gillian tries to pull the trigger once when his eyes settle on her— with the safety in effect, it doesn't budge. She looks away for a moment to find it, when the street in front of her lights up in an electrical storm. Shaking, she almost drops the gun entirely, taking a few steps back and almost tripping over the leg of the blond agent when she does. Startled gasps come from parted lips as she watches him. The after image strikes her as shocking, especially when he starts to fall apart— literally.
The hands around the gun shake violently, and she stumbles over the leg and backs up a few more steps as the naked version of the man takes in a deep breath.
Two of them. And the pull remains. She's close enough that she's getting drawn on— she knows it. The safety is clicked off, and this time, she remembers to chamber the bullet, pointing it back at him. "You— you're going to— " If only she wasn't shaking.
The finger pulls on the trigger again, but her hand shakes so much she hits the tire of the car, rather than either of them. She said she would help.
Agent Petrelli looks up only at the sound of the gunshot, his eyes wide from the sound of both gunfire and the sound of the tire blowing out. He looks wild-eyed at Gillian, but only for a moment until the sight of someone rising up from the ground at the side of him catches in his peripheral vision. The Company agent turns, spotting his doppleganger moving up from a crouch, scowling. Agent Petrelli's mouth hangs open in disbelief. The bearded double reaches up for a moment, flexing fingers before flicking two ahead and sending the Company agent flying thorugh the air and over the hood of the car, out of sight. He turns, looking towards Gillian, ten down to his hand. He hadn't intended to send his double flying quite that far.
"You…" Peter says with a crooked smile tugging up one corner of his mouth, "…have a spare jacket?" One brow raises almost jokingly, looking down at his held out hand as he snaps his fingers, creating dancing tongues of flame over them. His dark eyes level back to Gillian again, head tilting to the side, "I think there's a bit of a draft."
The fact that this man didn't expect to see his own doppleganger might surprise her. Backing away a few more steps, to regain her composure, Gillian inhales shakily, hoping the breath will steady her hand. Not so much. Even bringing the second up, between the adrenaline, the pull of power, and the shock of all the going ons, it's a wonder she can hold the gun upright at all. It wobbles quite a bit, a panicked look coming into her eyes as one of them goes flying. The fight can't happen now. He was dressed in that painting! She can't help but follow the one who flew away— out of her range. One of the tugging beacons cuts off.
There's another tug when the fire lights up the man's hands, and her eyes slide back. "You're— you're going to destroy the world," she finally finishes what she started to say, voice shaking, hoarse from pain and exertion. Using both hands to try and hold the gun still, she squeezes again. Point and shoot. And she promised she'd help. But she's firing at a naked man. While there's sirens in the distance.
"Destroy the world?" Peter tilts his head to the side, watching Gillian closely for a moment, "I'm the only person who can save the — " Gillian squeezes the trigger, and a bullet punches through Peter's shoulder, sending him spinning around and back down onto the ground. He wasn't expecting her to shoot, not again, and that sudden pain and impact settles in his mind how to handle her. A bullet pushes out of his shoulder as he looks up, falling to the street with a clink as the bullethole closes itself up. When he looks back up again, one hand moves quickly to the side, and the result is faster than he expected. The gun in Gillian's hand is wrenched free, hurled across the street by an unseen force, that very same one that grabs her by the throat and lifts her up off of her feet.
Peter rises slowly, gaze leveled on the girl, "Who told you something like that?" Bare feet brush against the concrete, walking forward slowly through the smoke that billows from the car, now beginning to catch on fire from the shower of sparks. "Where'd you get a stupid idea like that stuck in your head?"
There's a look of shock on her face, surprise— and Gillian's lips part as if she wants to say something— only to see the gun jerked out of her hand suddenly. She lets out a yelp, a red painted fingernail breaking off where it catches against the weapon. The yelp transforms into a strangled scream, because she feels something grab her neck. Much like a few mights ago— only it's not someone behind her doing it. She still kicks helplessly at the air, tries to struggle. Hands go to her neck, as if she could grab the invisible grip holding her, claw away at it.
Eyes widen as she gasps for air, fights for air, ragged sounds, squeaks really that she would probably wish erased from anyone's memory. Along with the newest thing— tears. The men who attacked her the first time wouldn't have seen them— not under the pouring rain.
The painting that showed the future. Peter Petrelli. Two of them. One nearly destroyed the city. Two fighting each other could destroy the world. All these thoughts go through her head as she stares at him, but all that comes out of her mouth is a very hoarse and tight sounding, "Fuck… you."
Peter's head cants to the side, one brow slowly raising, "A painting?" His brows knit together, eyes widening as he growls out the name, "Sylar." And a moment later, the entire black sedan lifts up off of the ground with a wrenching scrape, and hurls thorugh the air, smashing into Peter and driving him across the street until it collides with a chain-link fence, ripping it up from the ground and sending the car up over and onto itself in the vacant lot across the road. In an instant, the telekinetic hold on Gillian fades, dropping her down to the parking lot. With one hand held out, Agent Petrelli walks over, looking towards the car manipulated by his magnetokinesis. He breathes in and out deeply, looking down to Gillian with wide, fearful eyes.
Across the street, the car lifts up and is rolled over, and the other Peter takes a few steps out from beside it, flames rolling down his arms. He stops, upon spotting his other self across the street, and the two of them lock eyes for but a moment, until his duplicate rockets up into the air with a burst of speed, taking flight and vanishing up into the clouds. "Shit." Peter turns, as if to leave the scene until Woods starts choking and coughing, rolling onto his side. He looks, nervously, at the Company agent, then over to Gillian. Fear sets in, fear and uncertainty as he rushes towards her side, even as blue flashing lights can be seen on the north end of the street. "I need to get you out of here…" He crouches down at her side, hesitantly reaching out a hand towards her, "Tell me where you want to be, quick!"
As she'd not said anything about a painting— certainly didn't mention the man who his brother named as the bomb— Gillian stares wide eyed, still trying to breathe— right up until she's dropped down to her feet, hitting the pavement with a yell that's drowned out by the flying car and the scrape of metal. She doesn't even see what happened, as her bangs fall into her face, obscuring her vision as she grits her teeth. Between all the blood on her, the tears in her clothes— and now a twisted ankle from landing poorly, she's wondering how she can even still be conscious. One pull of energy gets replaced with another. She's starting to feel weaker— lightheaded.
Shock could be settling in. That, or exhaustion. The bag hangs completely forgotten from her shoulder, tore across the strap, the side, but the contents remaining inside.
Only when the man approaches and holds out his hand, yelling words in her ringing ears, does she look back up. He's tattered and torn, but very much intact, breathing. He should be dead about five times over. And she has nothing to fight him with.
There's so many places she could answer that. But none are close by— none are ones she should choose. Her mind hasn't hardwired to deal with this change in her life, so she answers one of the first places that pops to her head. "Wilkens Park." Even if it's no longer safe, and no where near her current home. And despite the possible badness that could occur, she reaches up to take his hand.
"Wilkens Park." Peter nods his head, remembering visiting the park when he was younger, the brief thought of passing thorugh with his father bringing a hesitant if not somewhat inappropriate smile to his lips. Peter tilts his head to the side, looking down at Gillian, "I'm… I'm sorry." He says in a hushed voice, even as police cruisers can be seen whipping into view. The moment Peter takes Gillian's hand, though, there is a momentary lapse of judgement on his part, due in no small credit to the fact that he has directly contacted Gillian with her power amplification. Peter winces, struggling against the sensation of his multitude of abilities all struggling against him at once. But he's utilizing one in specific at this very moment, utilizing one that controls the very fabric of space and time. Wilkens Park flashes thorugh Peter's mind, and his jaw tenses, hand clamping down onto Gillian's for a moment.
And then in a rush of air, Gillian is gone. Peter chokes, staggering back to land on his rear, looking over at Woods who still is having a difficult time getting onto his hands and knees. Police cruisers skid to a stop all around the parking lot, and Peter closes his eyes, concentrating for a moment as his skin shifts and contorts, changing appearance to match that of Bryan Buckley. He gets up onto his feet, looking over to the police, then to where Gillian was.
And he prays that her trip to Wilkens Park…
…is in the present.
 November 1st: Misinterpretation |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 November 1st: Yesterday Is Today |