alexander_icon.gif anselm_icon.gif brian_icon.gif cat_icon.gif eve_icon.gif helena_icon.gif teo_icon.gif

Scene Title SNAFU
Synopsis Brian discovers Cameron's body and draws PARIAH out into the open with his shouts. As a result, Anselm temporarily relocates some of his people to Yonkers.
Date October 16, 2008

Greenwich Village

Greenwich Village isn't what it used to be, especially the closer you get towards the ruins of Midtown. West 4th Street is close enough to the ruins that the concrete barricades that divide the habitable portions of New York from the edge of the irradiated zone can be seen between buildings. Most of the streets here are littered with trash, mostly old copies of newspapers blowing in the wind, mixed with leaves that have fallen off of the trees lining the sidewalks. Some of the buildings are lived in, those few that have power being favored above all. Some buildings, those badly damaged by debris from the blast haven't recovered entirely, and at this hour their windows are darkened, most still broken and blown out from vandals, looters or the bomb itself.

The pavement cracks in spots down the street, with tufts of grass poking up through the fissures, making driving a tedium of bumps, thumps, and grinding noises from the lack of road maintenance. It's not a safe place to stay, or at times even drive through, as evidenced by a car raised up on cinderblocks with its hood open and parts of the engine removed. To Brian Fulk, it's a sign to keep on rolling. That sight passes by his passenger side window, along with several unoccupied houses. The constant clunk and thump of his car moving over the rough and uneven pavement from two winters of frost and potholes his companion this evening. Headlights and the nearly full moon overhead are the only physical light on his journey through the abandoned portion of Greenwich, but neither light nor company is something he is ever truly lacking in.

Headlights are turned to brights as the 91 Dodge Spirit rolls down the roads away from major traffic streets. Brian sits in the drivers seat with his hand on the wheel and his other elbow out the rolled down window. Brian also happens to be sitting in the passenger seat. With a small flashlight the young man is reading a book in his lap. He's one of the few people in the world who can safely drive and read a book at the same time. He makes another turn and slows to a stop. "Could try one of these things." He mutters to himself, motioning to a run down looking house.

The scenery is much of the same up the street, with broken buildings littered with signs of vandalism. Some places marked by colorful gang signs, others merely spray-painted with tagger marks. One house features a wavy red line painted down the side, marked with three prongs, two extending from the top and one from the bottom, like some amalgam of an F and an S. Across the street from that building, another is tagged with a slogan seen across much of New York, "FORTIS ET LIBER," the slogan of the terrorist organization PARIAH, who have gained some more notoriety in the last month by changing their tactics from blowing up cars and burning down buildings, to viral media and propaganda.

All of this though, the graffiti and the urban decay, pale in comparison to what Brian catches in his headlights by that building. On the sidewalk looks to be a man laying face down on the pavement, a leather jacket covering most of his upper body, jeans on the lower. He's not moving, and there looks to be ashes scattered all around where he lays, just beneath a street-light that is flickering and sputtering.

Brian views all the graffiti and what not as he takes the place in. "I wish we.. I had a gun. Maybe I should sleep in shifts tonight." Bringing the car to a complete stop, he flips it into park and pulls the emergency brake. Other Brian remains reading the entire time. "Man.. sucks. I should make my own boy band or something. Then I won't have to sleep with f-ing rats. F!" He declares, slamming his palm on the steering wheel. It is in that outburst that Brian catches sight of a man in his headlights.

"Shit." Brian says going for the door, quickly opening it he gets out and rushes towards the man. Maybe he's just drunk.. drunk in the middle of nowhere with no one around. "You alright man?" Brian calls out as he nears the body. Falling on one knee, he goes to pat the man on the shoulder. Other Brian has gotten out of the car as well, and is looking around for anything or anyone else.

When Brian kneels down to reach out towards the body, he feels something crunch under one knee. It's ashes, the kind've crumbling white-gray ashes from a log that's been reduced to cinders in a fireplace. That momentary confusion that causes is only heightened by the man's appearance as the hand touches his shoulder, and the shoulder crumbles and collapses inside of the jacket. In the headlights, Brian can see the man's body as an ashen gray husk, hair brittle and dried, his skin withered and flaking like it had been baked in an oven. The corpse's clothing, however, is completely untouched. No signs of damage on his jeans, the jacket or even the sweater worn beneath the coat.

Not far away, an even more grisly sight awaits, a lower jaw that looks to have broken away from the body, the insides of the jaw a jet black color, bone crumbling and ashy, teeth a bright and clean white.

"Fuck me! Fuck me!" Brian exclaims as he jumps to his feet. "Fuck me!" He yells again as if to drive home the point. He does notice the jaw, but through Other Brian's eyes. Which incites another, "Fuck me!" Brian taps his jeans pockets in wild search of his cell phone. Nothing. He looks to other Him, who does the same. But this time, procures the small Verizon phone. It is promptly flipped and 911 is dialed. "Fuck me.." Brian adds again as he backs away from the corpse.

The sound of Brian's screaming echoes through the otherwise quietly abandoned neighborhood, his panicked cries ringing off of the buildings. As the phone is dialed, a voice chimes over the other end, «911 Dispatch, what is the nature of your emergency?» Around this time, the front door of that large brick building the corpse is near opens, and down the street a dog begins barking from the sound of shouting, the repeated sound adding to the chaotic scene out front of the apartment.

It is indeed a strange scene to enter into, and it is one Anselm Gilbert is unprepared for, to say the least. He's still rubbing his jaw, his face turned downward as he steps through the door to the Hanger with his wool coat slung over one arm. He doesn't look up, or even focus his eyes for that matter, until he has the garment half-way on. It's then that he notes the body and the jaw not too far away.

Anselm freezes. Something in him pulls the coat the rest of the way on as his stormy eyes travel up the legs of the men standing near the stoop. Out of here. They've got to get out of here! his mind quickly builds to a scream. Whatever this is, it is not something PARIAH needs to be found at the Hanger during.

"A fuckin dead body. Fucker.." A breath. "Fuckin' jaw torn off! Fuck! Fuck me!" Other Brian continues to say. "Uhh.. I'm.. I don't know where I am." Brian looks around. "Greenwich or something. somewhere. Fuck! Just use your triangulators, homing beacon, whatever the fuck! FUCK!" Cell Phone Brian yells out before shutting the phone closed. Probably a bad move but he isn't exactly thinking straight. Brian scans around for anything that could give him any hint to what happened. He steps closer to the jaw, and a hand clasps over his mouth as he fights off a gag reflex.

The Brian closer to the car looks at the man who has shown up on the scene. He backs up instinctively and slides into the back of his car. If anyone was watching closely they would see two naked men.. pop? out of the Brian in the back seat. The clothed one gets back out and slams the door shut as he points at Anselm. "Hold it fuck! Don't move until the police get here! Shit!" The two Brian's in the car are quickly getting dressed.

Satisfied he's not waltzing into a sniper's sights, or the loving arms of HomeSec, Alex comes out the entrance, wearing a fierce expression, his hand hovering at his side in that distinctive way that means that somewhere on his person is an item that goes 'bang'. He frankly brushes Anselm aside in his haste to get out. "Gilbert. Back in the building," It's not a request, really, as he tosses over his shoulder to Teo, "Right out here," And then he's surveying the scene, eying the twins. "And who the fuck are you to be giving orders?" he demands, making a little series of gestures at those behind him. Time to bail. This place is blown. OR about to be.

And then Alex spots the crumbling remains of what used to be the fearless leader, and abruptly goes gray in the face. "Holy fucking shit," he says, in tone of flat amazement. He jogs over the the heap of ashes and clothes, and frankly wastes no time in digging through the clothes…looking for a wallet, and ID. This was already bad, but it just got a hundred percent worse.

The dog barking in the distance keeps yipping loudly, probably a few streets down. Overhead, the street light above the corpse flickers and sparks again, the light going in and out at uneven intervals.

When Eve spots what is going on outside her whole face drains of color. Her lips tremble and she visibly goes weak. Not waiting for anyone, Eve brushes past the other people that were in the Hangar and just stands. Eve shakes her head, "No?" a weak mumble is uttered. Her eyes become wet with tears. As she looks upon the face of the man she loved, the seer sinks to the ground and rocks back and forth. "I told him, the dream?" Eve has a faraway look in her eyes and she inches forward closer to the corpse that was Cameron. She doesn't even act as if Alex is there. Her eyes are glued to Cameron.

The edge of Teo's head pokes out of the doorway, his eyes narrowed against the distorting glare of the parked car's high-beams, making out Brian's peculiar conglomerate of figures a moment before Anselm's shape, reassuringly upright and seemingly intact, distracts. It takes him the space of an eyeblink to focus in on the corpus prone on the ground. The jacket dimly familiar, the span of denim-clad legs. And then he's privvy to the sickening pall of suspicion long before he has the luxury of confirmation. He shoves the gun back in underneath the hem of his jacket, calls back, "Man down, two civvies on site. Otherwise clear. It's— I think it's Cameron." He follows Alexander out the next moment at a dead run, by Brian. He looks at the twin holding the phone and asks, his voice coming out a little odd: "What did you see?"

As far as Anselm is concerned, 'rolling' Cameron's body is the last thing any of them should be doing. But there is a man — a man who has so many dopplegangers — telling him to get back inside in no uncertain terms. As ruffled as that might have made Anselm, he is far more shocked. Easing back into the house, Anselm does his best to look like an innocent, obedient bystander. That is, of course, until he is back inside. Just inside the door, he lets out a low grumbling order. "If you can't claim 'residence', get out. Now."

Helena looks out the window, and then suddenly they're saying Cameron's name. "What…" she moves to the door, brushing past Anselm to the doorway to stay. For about five seconds that's all she does, eyes wide. Then she turns around and when she speaks her tone is brisk. "Escape and evade." she orders. "Forty eight hours. After that, there'll be a transmission with a location on the new safehouse. Remember your passwords. Everybody go!" With that, she herself prepares to evacuate, her expression stiff. "Alex, Teo, you'll hear from me within twenty-four." With that, she's moving to grab her stuff as members of PARIAH begin their own scattering.

She glances out the window, spots the desiccated body, and turns her attention to Anselm as he enters and speaks. Then Helena's instructions come, but Cat's already on the move. She stashes the firearm in her backpack, then hoists both items of her gear over shoulders and heads after the inheriting leader. "Stick with me, Stormy," she recommends. "I'll get you a safe place."

The lead Brian squints at Alexander. "Alexander..?" Brian asks quietly, remembering the guy he met from the park. Though he isn't surprised the man doesn't recognize him. He was wearing face coverings at the time. But then Alexander starts searching the corpse, the corpse who crumbled when Brian touched it. "Woah! What the fuck man! You fucking robbing him?!" Brian cries out at Alexander. And all of the sudden there are a bunch of people on the scene. But luckily for him, Brian has back up. Two more Brians get out of the back of the car, now making quadruplets. The four Brians stand unified opposite the newly assembled crowd of people. One Brian looks to Teo. "And who the fuck are you man? You a cop? As far as I know it was you fuckin people who popped him.. or.. whatever happened to him. " Brian says uncertainly. He looks to Alexander. "Man get the fuck away. Your prints are gonna be all over the jacket. The cops are coming. Right now." He thinks. He squints at all the frantic actions behind the fore front members of the crowd. His eyes then go to the graffiti that is everywhere. His eyes then return and they widen a little bit. "Fuck me.." He says softly.. "You guys are them. Aren't you?" He asks quietly, to Teo and Alexander.

And it is all too much, at the moment. Eve is not allowed to go spooky and catatonic. Having frankly robbed the ash-heap that is the remains of the newest martyr to PARIAH's cause by stuffing wallet and ID into his own pocket, Al reaches over, yanks her to her feet with something less than gentleness, and hands her off to Teo. "Get her out of here," he orders. Brian gets a positively icy glare. "This is not the time to pursue that line of questioning," he says, from between gritted teeth. It's only a thread-end of sanity that prevents him from either unleashing his power or brandishing the pistol at the Brians.

The moment Alexander's hand begins feeling for pockets, the lower portion of Cameron's body collapses like a delicate ashen structure. Bones, brittle and fragile from whatever happened to the body break apart under the weight of his clothing and Alexander's touch, causing a cloud of sooty dust to blow out from the legs of his pants and the neck of his jacket, carrying with it a dusty and dry scent devoid of any particular odor one might imagine from a body. It is the mix of shouting voices, the headlights and the sound of people running out the back exit of the Hangar that makes the scene seem even more chaotic than it already is. As if as a result of the pressure of the events, the flickering street light finally goes out with an audible crackling pop, leaving the nearly full moon and the headlights of Brian's car the only illumination on the street.

"Who did this?" anger enters Eve's eye and she turns her head toward Brian, "Who did this?" she asks again, it isn't clear whether or not the seer is talking to Brian or just to everybody in general. Eve doesn't seem to be in her right mind, that isn't exactly new but this seems different somehow. Her breathing is erratic and her eyes shift to and fro. The dog and other signs of her dream strike her hard, that she could have prevented it if she had been given more information from her dream.

When Helena speaks, Eve stands shakily her eyes are still glued to Cameron's corpse. Then the effects of the death of Cameron and the dream replaying in her mind over and over, seem to destroy something inside of Eve. Her hand grabs Alexander's hand and with more than not gentleness she rips it away from her and she walks over towards Teo on her own. "Do /not/ touch me" she says in a quiet voice. Her gaze narrows even more as Cameron's 'body' is turned into ash.

In the meantime, Teo is going to try and not throw up all over somebody's crime scene here. That would screw up the evidence pretty bad. But God damn. God damn, God damn; nor is that using His name in vain, as far as the young Sicilian thinks. God damn whoever the fuck— "He's right about that," he mutters sidelong at Alexander, jerking his head toward Brian. Prints, fibers and shit all over those desiccated remains. Desiccated, powdery, sterile, the imploded substance of a person.

It's the complete inverse and opposite of the bloated radiation and dehydration victims he'd helped pull out of the water years ago, Teodoro thinks, before he promptly stops thinking about it.

Brian's question is answered succinctly: "No." He acknowledges Helena's order with a hand lifted over his shoulder, not looking. The same hand snaps out automatically, touches Eve's she steps into his space. He steadies her weight with an easy grip, staring at Alex a moment. "You get him out of here," he replies bluntly, jerking his head at Brian— all of him. The next moment, he slips an arm around the seer's slender waist, pulling her shirt up over her nose, hiding his own face in her hair. He pulls her along, a swift walk that accelerates rapidly into an athlete's sprint, away from the forming crowd.

"I already have a safe place." Helena assures Cat. "You know where it is. I'll call you." Slinging on her oversized jacket and ramming her cap down on her head, she takes one more glance at the body, her face briefly crumpling as she darts out the door, around the house, and takes off on her bike, pedaling furiously in the direction of the Lower East Side.

Helena's reply gets a brisk nod, as Cat makes her way out of here alone. She rounds the next corner on foot, headed for the Upper West Side. The faces are recorded in memory, the words she heard, all of it. None of it will ever be forgotten, including the sight of a dusty Cameron through the window. Sometimes a perfect memory is a curse.

"You are fuckin' them.. You're the fuckin' terrorists." Suddenly the antagonism drops immediately from Brian, his whole attitude shifts. "I can help you." He says quickly towards Alexander and Teo. "You need to get outta here? I got my car right there." Brian says, motioning with his thumb behind him to the white Spirit. "I'm different. I'm not a normal human." He assures Alexander. "I can help." He repeats.

"Brilliant," Alex retorts. "Burn your registration card, buy yourself a cookie, talk nice about us to the neighbors," he says, shaking his head. ANd with that, having made sure the others are safely away, he's fading for a nearby alley.

"You're a fuckin' idiot! Just gonna leave me. I don't have a card." Brian cries out. "You don't fuckin' take me with you, I tell the fuckin' cops who you are. I know what you look like!" Brian cries out. "So either take me with you, or kill me. All of me." Brian shouts, the three Brians behind him, standing at the ready.

With most of PARIAH leaving the vicinity of the Hangar, it leaves Brian by the crumbled body and his idiling car, headlights reflecting off of the cloud of free-floating particles of dust and ash. His voice once again carries out across the street, joining that loud and piercing ring of the dog barking in the distance. Given the way 911 calls are tracked through cell phones, it won't be long until police manage to arrive on the scene, giving some credence to Brian's threat. There would likely be many questions to ask, and not many answers to be given by whoever remains. But further still, departing could leave Brian in a precarious position of leaving the scene of a crime. A difficult decision is left in his hands.

"Run, you fool," Alex's parting shot is barely audible. But he's gone — there's the metallic clinking of a chain link fence as he climbs and vaults over it. Time to be gone, before the cops are there in earnest.

"Fuckin' terrorists." Brian mutters. "How hard is it to join a fuckin’ terrorist organization? Fuckin' hard." Brian cries out… Soon, there's only one Brian left. and just a pile of clothes where the Brians were before they melded into the lead one. Picking up the clothes, he piles it into the back of his car. Taking out his phone he puts it on the ground. "I'm sorry celly." He says before raising his boot and crushing the thing, a few times. Picking up the bits, he runs off a little bit before hurling the crumbs of his former phone as far as he can away from the crime scene. Then he rushes back to his car. Hops in, and roars off as the sirens begin to be heard.

October 16th: We're Going to Give Them Miracles
October 16th: Not So Special Delivery
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