Participants:
| Scene Title | Breadcrumbs, Part III |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A too late arrival discovers the ruin of things missing. |
| Date | April 9, 2011 |
Outside of Eltingville Blocks
The door is flung open wide, by the time someone's silhouette fills it.
Howard Phillips cautiously moves into the foyer, his eyes tracking along the marks on the floor, the impressions made of something heavy and metal stabbing into the wood, and the black burns where superheated footsteps leave their impression. It's night time, and so he guides his way with the arc of a flashlight, sweeping over the ruined floor and then pausing at where staining colour is slow to fade from the woodwork from a chromokinetic's panic. Mouth pulling into a scowl, Howard glances for the staircase, even as he wanders for the kitchen.
"Hello?" sounds hollow in the silence of the house. "Ma'am?" A beat. "Anybody? Fuck." This last part is hissed rather than shouted, staring at the wreckage of the kitchen where the robot had gone crazy, the burn marks and the smashed furniture, and the electricity mimic begins to breathe a little faster, a little higher in his chest which is bare where BDU shirt hangs open. A few more static seconds, before he's moving fast, tugging open cupboards, hands going inside to shift through cutlery and items, pushing them aside.
Out into the living room, baring his teeth at the trashed bookcase, before he starts clawing through the scattered books in feverish, and uncaring searching. Anything that isn't his is tossed aside, which is basically all of it, until his hands find one in particular, and he shines his light on it. Stuffs it, then, into the back of his jeans.
His search takes him to the overturned cardboard box — meaningless to him in its emptiness, before he spies a sliver of paper left behind. Picking it up, his eyes scan over the strange language printed there, before it's crumpled up, tossed aside. His hands roam around the box, finding only discarded paperclips and emptiness.
Fingers drag through his mop of blonde hair, tugging it in frustration of thought, before retrieving the radio reciever at his clip. Transmission crackles, whines.
"Nora? Tell 'em I found her." Blue eyes dart over the shadowy interior of the wrecked house. "Don't get excited."