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| Scene Title | A Stone's Throw |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | In the wake of a terrorist attack, citizens in Queens find themselves immediately on the front line of the latest New York disaster, with help barely out of range. |
| Date | January 31, 2011 |
Wind whips through the narrow streets of Queens, a section of the city that's fallen into some abandonment and disrepair over the last two years — the blasts of Midtown driving evacuation east and south, and then the fires of November 8, 2010 marking its territory not only in charred wood and the bare bones of buildings, but also the fences that have gone up, the warning tape, and the evidence of renewed construction further south. From here, one can see where Hunter's Point is being given the paint brush of government attention that had befallen Roosevelt Island before it. It sits beyond where Queensboro Bridge veins out to arc over that same spit of land and melts into Manhattan beyond it.
It's also snowing. Not very hard — spitty sleet that stings at skin and traps ice in hair, the weave of coats and scarves. This patch of city is mercilessly open to the elements, with wind knifing icy off the river, and only a rambling construction site sitting in place of buildings that would offer some coverage. A few lurking stores, some closed indefinitely, some selling wares still. Traffic, too, coursing through the streets like the cars have every intention of going somewhere else.
There was also a van. Shabby white, for the curious. Two letters painted on its side.
When it explodes, its colour hardly matters, and only witness accounts will be able to describe the H and the F. The devestating boom can be heard for miles around, a pluming of fire and smoke billowing sky high with metal debris raining down on people and buildings, fiery and deadly. Smoke thickens the street, blustered about by the wind, and the crackle of fire from the shell of the terrorist's vessel warms the immediate vicinity. This end of town is not crowded, so the people that mill together in curiousity are sparse and few, and the same can be said for the people victimised.
A young man, thrown off his bike, lies on his back and wincing up at the sky, eyes squinted against falling snow. Dark red soaks through a pant leg. The blast blew in the glass of a nearby store, and the sounds of another language, Korean, maybe, clatter incoherent out the gaping opening as a shopkeep cradles a customer whose face is a hamburger from flying glass.
And this won't even be the most interesting thing to happen today.
Warren is inside of a small, local pawn shop full of electronics when the van explodes, quickly buttoning his long black formal trenchcoat before running out to see what's going on. Snow crunches under his boots, and he's pulling his white leather gloves on while trying to assess the situation.
His eyes, shifting silvery, are already staring at the van and its surroundings, trying to determine anything off about it. "I can't believe people say I used to enjoy blowing things up…" He stops a moment, and adds for the sake of his own clarity, "Blowing things up with people in them."
Space.
Elle Bishop really needed some damn space. She's been either in Redbird, out with Cardinal, or out with Lola. While the security detail is rather comforting, it also entails a lack of privacy. Especially when she's also got a Swede at home who is also very persistently attracted to her. She hasn't really gotten the chance to be alone for a good long while.
So Elle Bishop was kind enough to sneak out of Redbird about an hour or two ago, on the premises of going for a walk. She's dressed lightly, as is standard for her these days; a pair of tight jeans, some snow boots, and a hooded jacket, as well as a somewhat oversized soft pink hat that matches her jacket. She looks like she should be freezing right now, all things considered.
It figures that, on her walk, an explosion would happen. She was about a block and a half away when the explosion happened. And who knows, maybe her borrowed ability will come in handy for someone. Unlikely, but who knows! So, Elle decided that she was going to try to be a hero. Or something like that.
Which mostly involve her staring at the scene. And offering Warren a small frown when she spots him coming from the pawn shop. For now, Elle hangs back, surveying the scene with a frown.
When you're a wanted fugitive, you have to take the long way around town to get to and from places. After visiting a store to pick up some things that he'd promised to get for the kids, Eric Doyle was taking a bus through Queens on his way back to the rendezvous point to return to the island. All the better to avoid the cameras and prying eyes of Big Brother.
Normally it's a good idea. Today? It may not have been.
The city bus screeches to a halt as the van explodes, out of the immediate explosion radius but near enough that the driver panics. He stops too swiftly, and a compact slams into the bus from behind. As the airbag in that Honda explodes open and the horn begins to blare, the bus's passengers mill about in confusion, some staying in their seats and others trying for the doors. Eric is one of those, stumbling out into the street to look in the direction of the smoke with a concerned frown across his face. He's wearing, of all things, a newsboy cap and fake glasses. He's in disguise, you see.
When Claire Bennet decided to take a trip to the area, this is not what she had planned.
There is a soft gasp from the young woman, where she lays sprawled out on the ground, only a moment ago dead. Dark hair loose and flowing across concrete, bit of this and that laying in it… and of course snow. Her clothing has holes in it, thanks to flying shrapnel, most of it having worked it's way out of her skin already as her ability knits her body back together. Blue eyes glance around quickly, before she moves to slowly prop herself on an elbow, only to wince as a sharp stab of pain.
A glance down finds a good size section of the vans siding sticking out of her side. "Wonderful." She murmurs with sarcasm, reaching to try and wrench that piece out so that her body can complete the healing. She can feel it trying to reject the foreign object, always an odd sensation.
Must be quiet the sight to have someone that should have been a corpse suddenly start to sit up and try to pull car parts out of her.
"Oh my god, don't move!"
The sound of an ambulance is a howl has kicked up by now — response time is swift, with a hospital only slightly further east, and the flashing lights are just now visible through building. The thudding foot steps of someone running to Claire halt, abruptly, when the good samaritan realises that the gravity of the young woman's injury is very much out of balance with what the fuck she is doing, and he backs up, glancing back towards where the bus has stopped with a sort of helpless expression.
And then it happens.
Doyle feels it, as does Claire, Elle, and a good portion of those on the street. Warren, where he stands east of the explosion, does not. It's a dull ache, like altitude pressure popping their ears, gone in moments after it arrived, more uncomfortable than painful. The wind dies, suddenly, even as it tugs and plays with the hem of Warren's clothing, but the cold remains in the air, preserved and still and letting their breaths catch as steam on the air.
The window in the store just next to Elle breaks, suddenly, shattering in candy sugar fragments before spilling to the ground, spilling out around her feet.
Machinery creaks, and the bus suddenly collapses as if its spine were broken. A scream shrieks out from within.
A line is drawn in the street, vaguely blue in glow. It writes right across the asphalt, deathly in line with where the bus is divided into two, cutting in a straight line through the window that had shattered beside Elle, mere inches from where she stands. It also cuts right below the knees of the young man who'd been tipped off his bicycle.
Shock rounds the shape of his mouth. Blood puddling on either side of the faintly blue glow, divided as if by glass.
Warren runs back into the pawn shop, slamming a hundred on the counter, then grabs a black snowblower, dragging it outside. When he pulls it once, it's apparent there's no gas, and he rushes back in to unplug an orange extension cord from a fan. The clerk seems to be understanding of the situation, and Warren is ripping the gas tank off and pulling duct tape out of his coat pocket to quickly, somehow, attach the cord to the innards of the snowblower.
It's about when he starts moving the now-working machine that snow blows right into some clear object before it can actually reach the van, flat like a panel of glass. "What the hell is going on? I really need to build that sonic wave pen…"
Elle blinks a few times at that sudden feeling, that popping in her ears. Kind of like she's in an airplane that's taking off poorly, or the pressure that comes with a really bad head cold. And something is happening. This isn't a normal occurence; in fact, it's effing weird. She's about to take a step toward the fellow who was thrown from his bike, when the glass suddenly explodes.
Elle lets out a scream, ducking down and shielding her head from the shattered glass. And then— and then there's that line. The blue glow. Her eyes raise upwards, her jaw going slack.
And then, contact-green eyes turn toward the poor fellow who fell off the bike, just in time to watch the line cut its way through his legs, to watch the blood. To watch him roll, while his legs remain stationary, cut off at the knees quite suddenly. Elle Bishop may be a sociopath. She may have a few murders under her belt, as well as a pretty massive betrayal.
But seeing this— it's too much. It's like something out of a horror movie. She shrieks again, jumping away from the man who now has stumps for knees. Away from the blue glow, away from the explosion. She stumbles back a few feet, before falling flat on her rear in the snow, staring up at the barrier, at that poor, struggling man.
A hand lifts up and Doyle shoves a finger in his ear to wriggle about, his face screwing up in a grimace until his ear pops. Then he looks up… just in time to see that blue line streaking across the floor like Harold's Crayon (only not purple). He has no idea what this mysterious blue line is, but he knows that he wants nothing to do with it.
He stumbles back just before it slices through the bus, and as the axel's cut in twain - not to mention the rest of the bus - and it groans and starts to collapse, he jumps, stumbling back a step, "Wh— what the hell?"
Nudge nudge. Hey Warren! Nudge nudge. "Here," Lola suggests, slapping something into the man's hand. It's a…grenade?!? "Not like the truck is going to blow up again or anything. See this, sugar?" Lola says to Elle through the force field, not nearly as upset as she probably should be - but then, Elle's in a force field. Teh Institute can't get to her there! "This is why going for walks at night is a bad idea. Next time let's try for a nooner. Hey sugar," Lola says, nodding to Warren. With a frown, she looks over the area. "So this…probably isn't good, huh."
Hand slick with thick very red blood, Claire pauses in the middle of pulling the piece out of her side, to look around. Shock shows on her face, blue eyes widening, as the bus is cut in half by an unseen force and not far from her… a man suddenly looses his legs.
Maybe she should get the piece out of her side now.
Even as worry clenches as a fist in her stomach, Claire turns back give that chunk of metal a hard tug and flings it away from her, leaving it to clatter not far from her. As fibers of tissue seek out their like, she is rolling on to her feet. By time she straightens, her skin is working itself closed, only leaving the rivlets of red behind. She takes a moment to brush blood off her hands, painting it across already done in jeans, while eyeing that line.
"What the hell?" the regenerator questions softly. A glance around confirms that others are noticing too.
As he groans, her attention is drawn to the unfortunate man, she starts to take a step towards him but then stops herself with a look at her bloodies hands. Claire wants to help, but she can't. What she carries in her blood is a much worse death for the man. She feels horrible, but the regenerator takes a step back.
A few more people flood out of the bus, one of which is a young woman trying to get her hair out of the way so as best to stumble to the side and bend over double. Nothing is heaved up as she retches, dry, gut-deep sounds, blood spattered on her clothing but otherwise unharmed. Someone else enters out the same way Doyle did, their face pale, and moving, then, for where they knew the closest hospital to be even as he takes out his cellphone.
He slams, face first, into the invisible divide, nose rearranging against what is like plate glass, sending him muffled cursing and staggering back. What the hell.
The sound of wreckage draws attention across the construction site to the left, where a road veins to their intersection — it's actually echoing, now, across Queens, and in the distance on Roosevelt Island, more and more traffic accidents. There's a slam of metal hitting something too solid to be glass, the back end of a car shearing off from the front, which drags its sliced, crippled end across the asphalt in a piercing whine of metal before momentum runs out. Jaiden is slammed forward into his steering wheel and then slammed back into his seat when the backside of his car is simply gone, swerving on ice to come to a halt in the center of the road.
In his rear view mirror, he sees the firetruck bearing down on him, having been only moments from giving it way. Those in the vicinity watch in witness as several tonnes of vehicle come barreling forward, all screaming sirens and roaring engine. Its nose slams into the invisible divide, crumple metal like it were paper as all that weight rocks forward, crushing the cab the driver is in— unfortunately— like a matchbox between fingers. Back wheels kick up, slam back down, settling in crippled crunch and groaning metal.
The man without his legs is dying quickly, an immense amount of blood emptying out of his body, soaking in slush and puddle water. He doesn't scream, just kind of huffs out groans, animalistic, hands like claws on the cold street.
An ambulance careens around the corner, down the same street as the crippled bus, on the side of Warren and Lola. In a few moments, it's going to suffer the same, if substantial less dire, fate of the firetruck as it zooms obliviously for the barrier, well-meaning and soon to be doomed.
"Why in the hell would you give me a grenade?" Warren asks as he stares down into his hand, and his eyes widen to notice Elle on the other side of the barrier. But then the ambulance is coming, and god knows what'll happen if it slams into that barrier.
Desperate times.
"Lola, I have no idea what's going to happen, but I want you to stay right here." He grabs the snow blower once more, quickly running it into the street to blow more snow on to the barrier, then releases the handles to run back into the middle of it. "Stop!" is yelled, arms held out to somehow get the ambulence to stop and notice him and the snow melting down off of seemingly nothing behind him.
It was just a short test drive through Queens to make sure the front end was aligned properly and, for a time, it was, but when the back end of Jaiden's car was sheared off by some invisible force, it killed that alignment right quick. The quuick force of the dissection caused the airbags to fire with a muffled thud, leaving Jaiden blinking and disoriented for a time in the front seat of the now destroyed car.
It's like a slow-motion horror show, watching people bleed out, watching buses shear in half, watching cars impact as the line merrily makes it's way wherever it's going, leaving destruction and devastation in it's wake. Good thing he wasn't in his good car, but unfortunately, all the cool stuff he would have with him is not with him now, and this looks to be rather bad.
A booted foot sends the crumpled door open with a shower of glass and, after detaching his seatbelt and getting gingerly to his feet, looks around in amazement at the remains of the firetruck crumpled against an invisible wall, gore seeping from the accordion-like front-end. No survivors there. The ambulance, though, gets his attention, the man waving both arms frantically in order to get it to stop, moving into the street to where they can't possibly miss seeing him. Water, seeping from one of the severed pipes beneath the street, rises to the surface, ready to be used to shunt the ambulance out of the way if necessary.
Elle stares up at Lola, with that invisible wall thingie up in the air like it is. Her brows raise as Warren is noticed, as well, and she frowns a bit. Then, her eyes turn back toward the man who is dying in the street. After a moment, she edges forward, moving to his side and quietly placing her hands on his chest, frowning down at him with a look of concern and sorrow on her face.
He's dying, and the ambulances are on the wrong side of the barrier. With no medical training, she can't help him, but she can try. "This is going to hurt, even more than you're already hurting…but it might help." She pulls the belt from her jeans, and places it between the man's teeth, so he can at least bite down on them. "Just bite down, okay? Bite down really hard, and scream as loud as you need to."
Her voice catches in her throat, and she turns her back to the fellow, facing those bleeding legs of his. She gently pulls him to one side, so she can have proper access. Then, she raises her hands, the bright glow forming in her palms. Then, cringing, she promptly places her hands against those wounds, attempting to use her ability to quite literally cauterize the man's flesh, to stop the bleeding.
Doyle swiftly eliminates himself from the presence of the bus just in case it explodes or something (he's seen it on television and movies!) with a quick, shuffling step along the length of that blue line. As it happens, he's drawing closer to where Elle and the injured man are laying, although he's not looking at her. He's looking at the ambulance tearing down the street in their direction.
"Oh, shit," he breathes out, lifting one hand and staring steadily in the direction of the vehicle… and then he recoils, shaking his head, "What— what is that? That's not even— possible."
Considering what has already been torn asunder by that blue wall, bullets won't help. Lola want to shoot it, but Lola will not shoot it. She turns around, looking, seraching. "Someone's gotta be doing this," she shouts, so that Elle and Warren will hear her. And then? She points her gun in the air, and fires two shots. She looks aorund, making sure she won't hit anyone, but hopefully it'll be enough to spook some people, maybe spook whomever might be doing this long enough to make it go away.
The regenerator can't help the man, as much as it makes her feel sick leaving him, Claire turns to a pressing problem. The false brunette moves slowly towards the blue line across the ground. Both hands are held out in front of her, like a blind person seeking something solid.
The crunch of the fire truck has her ducking down out of instinct, arms over her head. At least til she realizes the wreckage isn't hitting her. "Whoa."
Again she reaches out, but when her finger touches it, Claire jumps a bit like she's been shocked. Only startled. It only takes a moment for her to recover, before she pressing her hands on the invisible wall. "It's…" Her hand runs across the surface leaving a smear of red behind for the on lookers on the other side, its pressed against, nothing. "It's an invisible wall?" She glances over at the large puppeeter as she says that.
The stench of flesh burning is distracting, pulling Claire around to look at the scene behind her… it also turns her back to the on coming ambulance.
The howl from the young man and his missing legs is ungodly.
It tears from his throat like it were more than just noise, back arching. There is hesitation from a bystander before they scuttle forward to help hold him down, his nose wrinkling at the stink of burning flesh and acrid radiation. Each exhale brings out a sawing whine in his voice once scream runs out of fuel, passing out from shock and bloodloss both, but his heart remains beating weakly in the cavern of his chest, head lolling.
Water rushes under Jaiden's command— and on the wrong side of the barrier to the ambulance, feeling like there's something missing when he tries to extend his power past the blue divide. Much like Doyle, interference of some unprecedented nature cuts off power use from either side of the barrier, as if the world simply did not exist on the other side. But the wall is painted over with melting snow— and a minor blood smear from Claire's hands— and the ambulance comes to a halt some several feet away, the medics that file out staring at the sight before them.
And then staring beyond.
Distanced though it may be, they can hear it — and see it, when dust and smoke rises on the far, far side. Across the river, across Roosevelt Island but stopping short of Manhattan, the Queensboro Bridge that runs over the top of the Evo-friendly isle, is buckling where its sawed off from its support. It's difficult to see, from their perspective, but they can hear it, the scream of failing iron and steel, the crumple of concrete beneath the weight of cars that go sliding into the icy river.
And they can see where dust and smoke stains another glass-like barrier, reaching up into the sky. Either another barrier… or the other side.
Twin gunshots cut through the moment from Lola's gun, and though they aren't pointed at the barrier, they do get the attention of people most immediate. The bystanders on the east side of the wall scuttle back, some simply leaving before shit can get too real for them, some sort of realisation that even though they don't exactly know who the hell is trapped, they have more city behind them than the people on the river-side have behind them in turn. A party of two, on Lola's side, are taking off along the blue border, curiously following along where it slices through construction site, peeling back divided diamond-wire fencing.
But no one comes forward. The EMT reaches back into the ambulance, to radio in help — the police, the military, anyone. "Ma'am— " his partner is saying, holding a hand out to Lola in silent imploring her to cease and desist.
What in the ever living hell….
Jaiden pulls his camera out of the pack on the seat of his car and starts taking pictures…Elle's heroic attempt to save an injured man, the bridge buckling, threatening to fall and crush the buildings beneath. THe fact that his powers don't extend past the border of whatever this thing is doesn't really register right now…what registers is recording this, getting the story, and hopefully getting out of here in one piece.
Lola's gunshots send his camera swiveling, taking three quick shots of her, of the EMT's approaching. "Oi, miss! That's not doing any good! If it stopped an ambulance and a firetruck going full speed, 44mm of copper and lead isn't going to do anything!" He reaches in to grab his backpack, zipping it closed and shouldering it, heading over to the edge of the barrier, looking closely at it along with everyone else, following the smoke trails with his eyes, tracing the destruction from his point of view, looking up. Is this thing a sphere or a column? Clouds may tell the story, as may smoke.
And she may want to save her bullets….y'know….just in case they're necessary.
Warren's eyes almost immediately shift to silver again, watching the commotion with the bridge in disbelief. He's trying to put it all together in his head, these things simply do not happen. At least not in the lifetime that he can remember.
"I-if…" he tries to collect himself, taking a breath when he notices the other field. "I think it's a dome, maybe, I'm not sure…"
Elle cringes at the sound of the screams, and wretches slightly at the smell of the burning flesh, and the scent of her own radiation. Hopefully, he can get medical attention before any bad effects of being burned so directly by a source of radiation take effect. Once she's satisfied that the man's legs are not bleeding any more, she draws back, a distressed look on her face as she turns to peer at the man.
Her hoodie is removed, leaving the woman wearing only a short sleeved shirt. She has Howard's jacket in her purse, in any case. After a moment of struggling, she manages to rip it in half, and ties the cloth to both of the man's legs to the best of her ability. She turns, offering a thankful smile to the bystander.
Then, the not-natural-redhead turns green eyes toward the sound, her brows raising up as she stares. She lifts herself up to her feet, doing her best to see. That's…wait. Really? As if to confirm that they are indeed in what appears to be a big glass prison, she reaches back, tapping the glass with a hand.
"Holy shit. What the hell is this?!" Elle lifts her contact-green eyes skyward, a look of dread worn upon her features.
The crumbling of the distant bridge has Doyle whirling around to look in that direction. He actually stumbles a step back as he sees the cloud of dust and smoke molding to the side of the far barricade, pulling himself short only from an irrational fear of what might happen if he touches the invisible wall.
"What… we're, we're locked in," he breathes out, looking around frantically, his gaze pausing on the equally-disguised Elle not far from him (does he know her? she seems familiar…) and the others, then back towards the sky, "What the hell ius going on?"
A few follow Jaiden's cue, looking up to see how the smoke still pillaring up off the burning wreckage nearby interacts with the sky above, including the man who broke his nose on the faux-glass, a hand covering his smooshed face. "Oh, god," sounds a little damp from his throat where blood has trickled back down his throat, but with no less feeling. High, high above, a bruise-like shape is beginning to develop on the underside of the 'dome', a nasty looking stain that doesn't seem to escape through the invisible ceiling above them.
It's beginning to snow harder, too. Ice dots Warren and Lola's hair, gets in their clothes, the bystanders on the more fortunate side and the EMTs. Everyone else across from them are sheltered from the winter's dusting. They'd probably rather be snowed on.
"Look— " One of the EMTs moves closer to the barrier, staring beyond it, distraught at the sight of the legless man lying prone and unmoving just out of reach. He speaks to Elle, but also anyone close by and interested. "We came from Floating, and that's— you're not gonna be able to access it. I guess. If it's— like this. Mount Sinai is north from here but— maybe you can get through, if this thing finishes. They're dispatching units. There's a medical centre— "
"The geriatrics place? That shut down in November, come on," mutters his partner. "There's Coler-Goldwater on Roosevelt Island and it's your best bet. And I'm talking if you can't get to Sinai, and if you can't get to Sinai, you can't make it to the bridge leading onto Roosevelt because that's even farther out of the way, so you're gonna need a fucking boat." He glances towards where the shop keep who's place of business suffered the terrorist blast is finally emerging, helping an injured customer to walk, a man who has blood down is front that stains his clothes dark wine purple-red. "We'll try to radio in and arrange that, but you people need to move for the coast and fast if you want this man to live."
The EMT pauses, glances up at that ominous, floating smoke-bruise above the people 'inside', and hisses a curse between his teeth.
You don't need a boat when you have a Jaiden about. "Well, then. I think that's our goal, then. We'll have a nice caravan and hopefully will see a way out of this bloody thing." A glance to the 'roof' indicates that it won't be bloody likely. "Come on, Mate…." Jaiden says tenderly to the unconcious man, more out of habit than anything. "Let's get you some help."
Grabbing the man under one arm, Jaiden hoists him over one shoulder in a fireman's carry the man's mangled and now burned legs hanging in the front, the man hangign in the back. This has the dual benefit of keeping blood in his torso and not coming from his legs. "I hope everyone can donate blood, 'cause I think this won't be the only injury."
He looks to the EMT's, the girl with the gun, the strangely familiar redhead that cauterized the man's legs, then to the sky again. "Bloody fuckin' hell."
"I have to do something." is all Warren can think, quickly unbuttoning his coat as he pulls one of those formerly-explosive silvery rings from his coat. Only, he's not insane anymore, these rings are entirely different. He presses one against the invisible wall, then pulls that duct tape back out of his pockets and tries to stick it there. "Lola, get me some jumper cables from something, I'm going to try an experiment."
Elle turns, listening carefully to the EMT. She frowns. Who'd have thought she'd be doing this— saving someone? Hell, who'd have thought she'd actually want to do what the EMT says? She nods tightly, tipping her head toward the man. "Thanks, we'll do that." She glances toward Jaiden, brows raising a bit, before nodding to the Australian.
She turns, peering first at Claire with raised brows, and then at Doyle. She knows him, doesn't she? No time to wonder now. "Come on, let's get this guy to the hospital." She went out of her way to save him, as disgusting as it was. Her hands are still steaming in the cold after her adventure in cauterization. A glance is cast back toward Lola, frowning.
"Sorry, Lolls. Looks like you and I are split up. Tell Cardinal to see if he can find a way in, yeah?" She frowns. Then, that green gaze turns to Warren. And his ring. And she just…frowns.
Of course not! Doyle is a complete stranger. Elle's never met someone with that hat, glasses, and goatee before. It is a brilliant disguise, and he is, in fact, the master of disguise for coming up with it.
Mala told him so.
The puppeteer looks at a bit of a loss as he stares up in the distance where the grey dust cloud is just beginning to settle across the other side of the unseen fence that's suddenly hemming them in. No, not at a loss, he's looking a little desperate, his gaze flitting around like a claustrophobic suddenly locked in a room looking for the exits. Or an ex-convict, perhaps. He only peripherally hears the EMT's suggestions, turning back to look to the others that are nearby. "Y-yeah. Yeah, Mount Sinai, I hear you," he agrees, looking to the others - to Elle, Claire, Jaiden - and moistening his lips briefly, "D-do you mind if I come with you? I don't want to just— I can help with the legless guy, maybe?"
Lola nods, happy for the task. She moves to a nearby parked car and busts in the window with the butt of her gun. She's able to pop the trunk that way and she starts digging in the back. No luck. Second car, however, yields fruit. "Hey! If you get shot, it's so not my fault!" Lola points out to Elle. You know. So this doesn't hurt her record or anything. With a swoop of her arm, she launches the cable at Warren.
It takes a moment to pull her eyes from the cellphone, to look at the EMT. What? Her eyes go to the injured man as Jaiden picks him up. The cellphone is closed and tucked away. "Yeah… we should all move together…. probably." Blue eyes drift up to the darkening section of… "It's a dome?" Yeah, a little slow.
"But that means…." Claire's mouth snaps shut, not wanting to voice the obvious problem of nothing getting out… which means air can't get in. Instead, the regenerator — even if she is covered in blood — moves to help the shopkeeper with the other injured. "Shall we?" She asks the others as she works to get situated.
There's a bark of laughter as the legless man is hefted up by the Australian — this from one of the EMT's. It's kind of a god help us all sound, bitter and harsh, before he's shaking his head and moving to investigate the half of the bus on his side, approaching the woman who'd come close to heaving up her lunch from whatever happened inside. There are no immediate injuries for them to tend to. The blast occurred on the wrong side.
A few of the bystanders seem to have the same idea as Doyle, various groups of twos and threes to support the few injured, drifting, the shopkeeper nodding his gratitude to Claire as she helps him. The second EMT glances to Warren but isn't opting to intefere, just shuffling away and watching, as if through a fishbowl, the people he can't help. He wouldn't even have to throw a stone to get in there — he could simply extend an arm.
His fingertips brush the warm, tingling edge of the forcefield, before retreating for the ambulance. Time to see what more damage he can help with has been caused.
Then, something flares bright into view — far away, more south, above the lowest tip of Roosevelt Island, and the group on the street really only see it went it flares bright. Something's hit above Roosevelt Island— a plane, maybe, but it seems much too low, likely a helicopter, crumpling against barrier and lighting the hazy sky on brief fire when it erupts in its collision, the sound of the collision a little like thunder, and the event happening far away enough that it's, in turn, a little like watching fireworks.
That'll probably leave a stain, too.
"This is probably stupid, but it's the only thing I can think of. If this barrier is some sort of energy field, then maybe I can at least disrupt a small section of it." Warren clips the teeth of the jumpers to the metallic ring, then yanks out the orange extention cord from the snow blower and walks to the car that Lola found the cables in. He's ripping things apart, attaching the other end of the jumper to the car's battery, then manages to rig the extension cord to the battery as well, followed by a large spark.
"Everyone near this car should probably stand back, just in case." He takes a breath, then steps into the car, easily hotwiring it, and steps on the gas. That's when the light show begins, the pawn shop's electricity flickering as the car's battery is used as a funnel for the store's power, into the jumper cable, and then the electrical ring attached to the barrier, trying to send a massive amount of energy through the field to see if it has an effect.
That car battery, well… it doesn't seem to be in it for the long haul after this.
Elle frowns over at Doyle, brows raised. She knows that guy. The voice, the looks…she leans closer, quietly considering him for a long moment. Then, shaking er head, she turns back toward Jaiden, moving closer to him and the legless man. "If…If we can't get to the other hospitals, we might be able to get the injured into the Suresh Center. I think they have a medical floor."
Not that she will be going anywhere near Roosevelt Island. She knows what's there. When it comes down to it, she'll happily stay on the mainland side of things.
Contact-green eyes flit back up to the sky, her mouth dropping slightly. "Oh— oh shit!" She cringes. "It's even in the sky…what the hell." She frowns up at the fireworks, putting a hand to her mouth. Then, she shakes her head. "Come on. Let's move, people are hurt. They need help."
Also, Elle thinks that it would be a very good idea to get the hell away from the experimenting Warren. Nothing good can come of this.
"It's like fireworks," Doyle says in an almost dreamy, detached voice as he watches the flash of fire in the sky, imagines the helicopter coming apart like a broken eggshell and falling, falling… to cause more destruction where it lands. "It's going to be worse this time. Every… every time, it's worse. I told them it would be. They didn't listen."
He jerks himself away from it with a grimace, a shake of his head, and then he moves over to assist Jaiden with the legless man. No more words for the present, his gaze down, troubled.
Lola steps back as well, wanting to get away. "Elle! Every hour on the hour if you can get a signal." She informs the woaman, knowing she won't be able to follow the girl for long along the wall. "Do you understand? I'm not kidding!" Lola informs the girl. "And I'll talk to Dicky, and see waht I can find out."
There is a linger glance back to the world outside(?), worry creasing her brows. Lengths of hair, some glued together by blood and things, slide into her face. After a flick of her head to get it out of her eyes, Claire glance at the others and starts to follow the slowly forming exodus. Best to get the distance from the crazy man on the outside anyhow, just in case. Plus, there is no reason to linger when there are people needing help.
But as the ex-cheerleader moves, she can't help but look up again. The trapped smoke above has her wondering. How long will the air last?
There's a sickening kind of snap of electricity, and for a second, the face of the barrier glimmers translucent blue, shimmering for a radius of some thirty feet in all directions, including beneath the ground where it slices through asphalt. Fire comes off clear from the surface on the east-side, but it gets no farther, glow and fire both vanishing. In the blink of an eye, it retracts, and in a split second, electrical bolts spider leg and erupt sparks from car battery, the smell of searing heat, melted plastic and metal filling the air on the other side. Battery gets killed, a flare of fire fanning to fuse and melt the wiring, but not before the lights go out from the pawn store with a snap.
A yell echoes from the shop. Something is on fire. Probably the building. The entire block of power, sporadic though it already was, dies out from the surge.
The dome remains standing, the charred remains of the equipment tacked to it doing little more than leave soot behind.
Fortunately, the band of injured and those helping the injured are on their way away from the site — not because they were in any danger, but because it's not heartening, to see a failed attempt. Hopefully it will be the last one.