EVENT ∞ LOG — July 125

[thediadem]

Event ∞ Log

In the Flesh

Jump ⇅ :: Visits — First Contact — Hitchhikers — Notes

∞ Prologue ∞

It's not real, it's not real.

Somewhere in the Blocks, late at night, a young woman repeats the words over and over, fumbling with her room key. She doesn't dare look over her shoulder again, begging her hand to obey. Her fingers are stiff and smooth, and it makes each movement more difficult. Eventually, the door gives way. She stumbles into the apartment, slamming it behind her and locking several bolts.

Leaning back on the door, she lets her key ring fall to the linoleum as she holds her hand up to her face. It isn't just her fingers now. Painted plastic has taken over her entire right hand, spreading up her forearm toward a ball-jointed elbow that creaks painfully. She grabs her neck with her flesh hand, sucking in a sharp breath as she tries to steady her heart.

It's not real, it's not real...

She takes another breath, then turns on the light. The bulb flickers. Hazy light flood the room with an incessant buzz.

She freezes.

A figure stands in the opposite doorway. It doesn't move, stuck in a pose with an outstretched hand—one made of flesh and bone. Her hand.

She screams.

Info & Mechanics — NPC Forum Post — Event Interaction ::: ⇅ Top

Strange Visits

Panorama

For the first week or two of July, life goes on as usual. You have a lot on your plate—jobs, loans, rent, that creep who won't stop staring at you when you're filling up your car—and the last thing you've got time for is other people's problems. Or maybe you find room to listen, anyway? Whatever the case, it's mostly a lot of stories and pointing fingers: a shopkeeper accuses his friend of stealing from him, somebody claims their boss must've skipped town to avoid paying the employees, and a woman is frantic about her missing husband. He never goes anywhere without telling her.

If you decide to look into it, none of the incidents seem connected. After all, people frequently go missing in the Diadem, friends betray each other, and businesses often go bankrupt, leaving their workers to pick up the pieces. Funny thing, though: here and there, you swear you glimpse a figure who isn't entirely flesh. Their features are just...a bit odd. Is it your imagination? When you move in for a closer look, something gets in your way and the figure disappears.

On the other hand, you think to yourself, it's not as though everybody on this planet looks standard. If a man can have horns, why can't his skin also be a bit plasticky?

Use the Event Interaction comment any time you need specifics or some direction for an element you're engaging within the event. This can be an NPC victim your character is questioning, an aspect of the diffusion zone your character is testing, or anything along those veins. While you're encouraged to make things up on your own, too, if you're ever unsure of the results or the answers you might get, approach us there!

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First Contact

The Fringes

Inevitably, you take the risk and head back into the Fringes. It has what you need, and the bizarreness in Panorama isn't making the city feel like much of a refuge, either. Besides, long trips aren't unusual for anyone in the Diadem. As you drive, you might even find yourself reluctant to return to the city. After all, there's so much across the multitude of diffusion zones that regardless of how dangerous it can be, perhaps some part of you is attracted to the thrill of the unknown.

If the promise of loot isn't enough, a note on the Forum might be. Here, you'll scroll across a brief message from who else but the ever-eager Felix Bjurstrom, joined by his daughter, Olive "Ollie" Bjurstrom. (Looks like he's got a new phone again!) If nothing else, the investigative or curious nature in you gets you going. What if this is a piece of the puzzle you need to go home?

If you want your character to scavenge items, check how that works. The Map identifies where each Quadrant is located.

Among the Shadows — Abandoned Mall

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 10-hour drive from Panorama, a standard American shopping mall rises through the cracked and broken highway. A portion of its vast parking lot melts into the road ahead and behind. There are cars in the parking lot, each one perfectly preserved: no rust, no dust, nothing.

The mall's lights are on. The moment you step inside, you'll notice that you're not alone. Inside, shadow corpses are everywhere, frozen in time. Their bodies show no signs of distress. If you try to touch them, a dark, ashy residue coats your fingers. You see a young couple linking arms, a mother bending over to pick up her child, and a man ordering his last meal at the KFC. It's as though they all just...stopped. While eerie, whatever force swept through here is long gone.

The upside is that nobody will bother you while you look around—aside from other fluxdrifts, of course. The shops and their offerings are stuck in the 90's. Big electronics are cosmic touched, rendering them worthless, but smaller electronics like cassette tapes, CDs, and Walkmans are all viable. You can also grab clothes, snacks, and (cheap) jewelry.

And, as you pass by the store windows, you see many mannequins on display. That's normal, so you don't think twice. At least, until you swear one of them keeps moving around the store. Though its pose never changes, it almost appears to...follow you? That can't be right. You must be seeing things.

Zone Effects
Touching any of the frozen shadows will cause the victim to believe that their companion(s) have transformed into monstrous creatures. Attempts to approach you will only register as an attack rather than placating gestures, while words will sound like snarls or spoken threats. An induced panic will make it more difficult to think logically and see through the hallucination. The illusory creatures can take the form of anything that might frighten or threaten you the most.

You can break free of the illusion through a variety of methods, including your own willpower, being knocked out by your friends, or seeing/hearing something that makes you realize it isn't real. The hallucination isn't overly intense, but it can cause a bit of havoc among you and your companions...and increase the likelihood a mannequin might make contact unnoticed.

Wall of Refuge — Strange Temple

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 6-hour drive from Panorama—and on the way to the abandoned mall above—stands a geometric structure made of metal and stone. Sharp angles shoot up from the ground to form a distorted hexagon. The gateway is littered with sigils: some weathered by time, others freshly carved into the rocky surface. They glow when you drive forward, beckoning you closer. Come in, whispers an unknown compulsion in your mind. You are home.

You may succumb to the whispers for any number of reasons: sleep deprivation, desperation for a place to rest overnight, or a need to hide from raiders or dangerous creatures lurking in another nearby zone. Regardless, you give in and enter the triangular entrance. The stone gate lifts to grant you passage, revealing an effigy of a multi-limbed being. A deity? A symbol of power? Though you're unsure, you continue deeper. Your footsteps echo across the cavernous halls.

Behind you, the heavy gate slowly closes with a rumbling finality. Despite the chilly entranceway, the interior of the temple is warm and inviting. Candles line the walls. Fountains flow peacefully. You can enter one of the many rooms to find a soft bed, fresh cakes, succulent meat, and fine wine available for you. Behind a silk curtain is a steaming bath lined with soothing floral herbs and oils.

Meanwhile, throughout your explorations, you might sense a figure or a shadow in the passageway. A glimpse of shiny plastic appears oddly out of place in a temple of this kind.

Zone Effects

• If you are a believer and decide to trust the gifts bestowed upon you, then you may safely indulge. The wine will warm you up, the food will fill your belly, and you can sleep through the night. When you awaken, you can safely leave the temple refreshed. Your vehicle will be outside, untouched, as if some power within was protecting your belongings.
• If you are a heretic and doubt the offerings you've been graciously given, the gifts will begin to rot and all amenities will crumble to dust. The more your cynicism betrays you, the more the temple will take until nothing remains except the oddly textured walls bearing down on you. As you examine the surface, you realize the stone is built from a manifold of dozens—no, hundreds—of twisted bodies. Their arms are raised in reverence, piled upon each other like human bricks. Their gaping mouths are frozen in a silent scream. As for you and your companions...what fate will await the nonbeliever?

The Last Stop — Foggy Town

©

In Quadrant 4, about a 3-hour drive from Panorama, east of the currently unused train tracks, a thick mist rolls through the highway. Here, the sky darkens rapidly into night and the temperature drops. If you've traveled unprepared, presuming the heat in Panorama spreads into the Fringes, you'll find that's not so. A chill spreads into your bones and creeps up the back of your neck.

Then the ground rumbles. The tremors shake your vehicle. Maybe it even makes you lose control briefly or sends you swerving off-road, straight into the fields. And in the middle of the fog, you see it: a figure standing in the middle of the field. Behind it are a few houses, making up a tiny rural town. The houses are dilapidated, many crumbling. Supplies within are minimal, and many items are broken or spoiled.

Do you approach? Do you drive past? Merely staring for a second too long will be enough for the hitchhiker to choose you as its ride, but its appearance may not be all that keeps you in place. In the distance is another bigger shadow. A much bigger shadow. It looms in the distance without true mass or form. Within the void of its body, a searchlight sweeps over the misty town. It does not move. It simply looks while the ground shakes. Each time its light catches a glimpse of something that doesn't belong—an animal, a vehicle that drove too deep into the tall grass, a raider that went too far into town—a sonorous howl reverberates through the zone.

Then the shadow will teleport to its target and crush the intruder without mercy before retreating back to its watchful post. And the intruder is indeed crushed: any living organism caught by the Light Guardian will be flattened with a horrifying crunch of broken bones and squished organs.

Zone Effects
While the Light Guardian can't be defeated or confronted, you can outrun or hide from its sweeping beam. If you stop far enough on the side of the road, it won't notice you...but you can still watch as it mangles an unfortunate raider or traveler. Possibly, you see the spray of blood or hear the screams before you run. Perhaps you realize how easily you could've met your own gory fate.

If you've left your car and gone too deep into the town before you realize the danger, you can do one of two things: you can risk hiding in an abandoned house in the town and hope that the sunrise comes. In zones like this, the day/night cycle is unpredictable, and many places are permanently cast in darkness. Or, you can try to run back to your vehicle and pray you don't get caught.

Alternatively, you've plowed directly into the field when raiders in pursuit force you into the zone. Should fortune favor you, they'll be obliterated by the Light Guardian while you flee. The beam tracks quickly, but can only shine in one direction at a time so the key is to bob and weave.

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Hitchhikers

Anywhere

Not everyone who enters the diffusion zone will pick up a mannequin, but the possibility is there. Once you make first contact, you will gain a hitchhiker. Unlike most aspects of the diffusion zones, this one has gathered into a storm, meaning the effects will breach even normally stable and anchored strongholds like Panorama.

Some fluxdrifts will brush off your problems while a few might believe you. Others will offer solutions in their own way, including a doctor who'll pay to obtain strange plastic limbs. Not everyone will pitch in to help. The city's big, populated, and somebody on the street turning doll-like doesn't affect them (...until it does). They've got a job to get to and mouths to feed.

Unwanted Passenger

When do you first notice your passenger? At any point, really. Perhaps it goes like this:

You glance in the rearview mirror and glimpse a figure in the backseat. When you spin around, there's nobody there. Then it happens again. This time, you realize it's not a person, but a dummy. A mannequin. It's sitting upright. And is it...wearing a seatbelt? Or maybe it's thrown itself across the back bench as though somebody tossed it there, uncaring.

This time, when you look back, it's still there. You pull over and dump it on the side of the road. That's taken care of, you think. You drive some more. For a few hours or even a day or two—depending on how long you've traveled—you don't think much of it. Then suddenly, it's back. And it keeps coming back no matter how much you try to get rid of it.

Or it goes like this:

You return from a standard trip into a diffusion zone. It went pretty well, you think. You found some clothes at a creepy mall and now you're ready to get some sleep. When you open your trunk to retrieve your belongings, you notice a mannequin stuffed inside, limbs bent at odd angles. You're a little weirded out, but you decide to dump it on the street and move on.

You shower. In the bathroom mirror, the mannequin suddenly appears behind you. Over the next few days, this continues. The mannequin appears in a booth across the diner as you're eating your eggs. It's behind a shelf in the corner store. It's in your closet. Each time you check, it vanishes...but then, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it's right there in plain view. It'll even let you throw it away, burn it, anything you can think of. But it always comes back.

However it plays out, you realize that people around you do notice it...sometimes. That doesn't mean anyone will believe you that things are just that weird. Most people have better things to do. They don't know you, after all, and even if they did, well, this place does have a habit of driving people a little crazy. Witnesses casually push the mannequin aside and tell you that's a funny prank. Your regular waitress pats your shoulder and suggests you get some sleep. You're not looking well. The shopkeeper demands you take that thing before you go. He's not responsible for your junk.

But there's a small chance you run into someone who seems to be going through what you are. Unfortunately, they seem to actually have it worse and aren't making much sense. Still, you can try questioning them and see what answers you get. At least, before you lose them for good. For some of you, the victim you run into is in especially bad shape...and you have to wonder how long before you end up the same.

Trading Places

For some of you, the mannequins might not do more than be a nuisance. While that's not ideal, either, it doesn't completely upend your life. Others are less fortunate. If you're one of the latter, you'll begin to notice symptoms.

The first time it happens, you're startled to hear the mannequin speak. To begin with, its voice might be guttural and unnatural, incapable of stringing more than a few words together. Then it seems to learn. It talks in full sentences. Its voice smooths out. It starts to sound more and more like you...right down to your speech patterns and accent. As symptoms progress with varying intensity—over days or weeks—you realize with dawning horror that you're losing parts of yourself. When you wash your hands, you notice a part of your skin is smooth and shiny. The next time the mannequin appears, its previously plasticky appearance is more flesh and blood.

Eventually, the mannequin becomes independent. It shops with your money. It steals while wearing a face that looks nearly identical to yours, especially from a distance. It calls your friend and says the things you would never say out loud to them. They're thoughts you've had, sure, but you know better than to hurt your friend's feelings...except apparently, you have. And now you can't even use your own voice to explain yourself. Your leg has been getting stiff. Your joints don't bend properly.

Meanwhile, the mannequin is now striding around smoothly. Its appearance is still uncanny and odd if anyone pays attention, but at a glance, it easily passes as a part of the crowd. As its final act, it's even absorbed small bits of your abilities if you have any. Not all of them, but enough to cause trouble. Throughout everything, you cannot harm your hitchhiker. Some unknown force stops you any time you think about it. You simply can't.

Related Incidents

The impact isn't contained only to those directly affected. The hitchhikers' influence spreads through the city. For some incidents, it's difficult to trace back to the source. For others, that's a little easier. Regardless, these occurrences could help you determine how to solve your own situation. Alternatively, if you've escaped unscathed, you can still find yourself dragged into a situation involving someone else.

Return to Sender

July 11 — The Forum: An anonymous poster contributes this bit of information that might catch the eye of those affected. You can try the same method, but it's a risk going back into the diffusion zones. No one can guarantee the specific zone you found the mannequin in is still standing. Further, you have to remember where you made contact to begin with.

If you decide to try it, be sure to take a friend. The less independent the hitchhiker, the more likely it will stick to your side even as you return it home. If the assimilation has progressed too far, though, you might have to utilize methods such as duct taping inside your trunk or strapping it down with ropes. It may struggle and say vile things to you or your companion.

Victimless Burn Victims

July 14 @ 03:00 — The Pavilion (East End): A handful of troublemakers grabbed some freaky mannequins wandering the street and, in a drunken stroke of genius, set them all on fire for no reason other than that they wanted to. Not only has this resulted in damage to the corner store nearby, but Enforcers have linked the incident to four hospitalizations at roughly the same time. Doctors from Saint Margery's Hospital (located in the Blocks) report that all four individuals suffered massive shock and claim to have endured unimaginable agony as if they had been "set on fire."

Curiously, none of them bear any physical wounds and, by all accounts, are completely fine (trauma aside). Notably, all four individuals were also suffering from various stages of "joint stiffness" and "hallucinations"...which have since completely vanished. You might wonder, is this the solution? Or perhaps the better question would be, is it worth it?

The Sculptor

July 15 — The Pavilion (Medical Clinic): Around July 14 onward, word begins to spread that a Dr. Maggie Wright (who insists on being called the Sculptor, though nobody seems to heed this request) will not only do an amputation for free, she will pay you for your limb if you are boasting an "unusual trophic change to the skin, resulting in a smooth and shiny texture." All she asks is she gets to keep the sample. Her promise is that she will study it to find a more permanent cure and, if she does, she will return the limb to you for reattachment.

Some end up trusting her. You wonder, maybe she could help? Dr. Wright will happily accept you as her patient if you agree. Her methods are indeed proper and sterile: she'll put you under and provide you with plenty of pain meds. She appears to have all of the equipment required to preserve the limb, too.

If you're suspicious, you can also pay her a visit, but you won't have much luck getting her in trouble or sniffing out any evidence of nefarious deeds. Her office hasn't got anything strange, she is indeed a real surgeon, and there are testimonials from patients who've had success under her care in the past. Plus, nobody's going to her who isn't doing so voluntarily (they've signed waivers)—even if you could argue how much desperation plays into their decision. Still...the thing about her "title" is a bit weird, right?

Dr. Maggie Wright is 5'2, Caucasian with a light Northeastern accent and silver hair often worn in a bun. She's in her 50s and looks fairly good for her age. Her voice is soothing. She has intense, wide blue eyes, which some might find unnerving, but that's not necessarily her fault.

∞ Notes ∞

• Mannequin contact is not required. Not everybody who goes into the diffusion will make first contact, and many won't. Characters can explore the mall, the temple, and the foggy field without ever picking up a hitchhiker.
• The diffusion zones described are only examples. Others will exist where mannequins can be found, including grocery stores, gas stations, abandoned parks, and more. You can make up your own, but check with us if you have any questions about limitations!
• The speed and intensity of all mechanics are entirely up to you. Generally, the earlier a character makes first contact, the more severe their consequences.
• Investigating the zones or helping others are perfectly fine ways to participate! Since the hitchhikers are meant to be more insidious, it won't be strange if your character isn't in the middle of the action right away or notices things a bit late.

Questions? Ask here

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Comments

[brandingproblem]

[He wouldn't have, necessarily, asked after the huff of laugh. Although it's a sound he's only starting to understand one Frank Castle can actually make. He'd done it before, a brief almost not there sound in the diner. Guy has a sense of humor in spite of everything. That's one of the things guys like them need to cling to. Maybe sarcasm disguised as humor, maybe one glimmering sparkling bit that realizes the need to laugh at the absurdity now and then--it's in them both. Just, sure, this doesn't feel like an apropos time. He's keeping eyes peeled, but he's listening.

Marine. Scout Sniper. He's sure some of these things are details that got talked about endlessly during the trial--hard to avoid it, the brief few days of actual trial and the weeks after in a news cycle talking about vigilante justice versus unhinged psychopaths until finally the rest of the country moved on to other awful things. That was a while ago. Feels like a lifetime ago. Military stood out to Clint, he remembered that detail for sure. What a horrifying ordeal, to have ones life dissected and laid bare for everyone to see and debate.

It's not hero worship. That's not what Frank's trying to get across, not exactly. But it's also not not that. Makes sense, that snipers would rib each other about the Avenger Who Shoots Things Real Good. Both a joke and someone to aspire to. Yeah, he can see it. The idea of some jarheads shitting themselves at the idea of getting to snipe with Hawkeye is--

Yeah, it's kind of surreal and kind of humbling and mostly just silly and absurd in an abstract way. Especially when paired with the idea of try and outshoot you. Make it a competition set up so they could very definitely lose to a guy with a weapon from the paleolithic. No, okay, fine, no matter what, his bow does not have the same range as a modern rifle; that's just a matter of physics. But still. In principle, he would win. The idea of a tie is a very distant idea.

Still, yeah, he gets the chuckle now, gives it a moment to turn the idea over in his head and then lets out a scoffing chuckle of his own in return. It doesn't matter, doesn't really matter, but some tiny part of him has the there-and-gone thought of asking if Frank actually--what, looked up to him? Found him to be a role model? Something that sounds so self-serving on one hand and sentimental on the other that he simply disregards the idea immediately.

They have bigger issues anyway. They can shoot the shit (as it were) later. The ground shakes. Frank's hands tighten up on the wheel. It's still hard to see shit for shit, but he can make out shapes, distant shadows coming up on--]

Pull over. [He doesn't wait for Frank to do so, just needs to repeat the order to make damn sure it's listened to:] Pull the fuck over and turn off the lights.

[The latter sounds like a potentially bad idea, but while he's sure he can see buildings, houses?, a town not altogether far, he can see something else in the distance. Something huge. Something that makes his senses go alert, triggers alarms. These places, they can get weird. It could be anything. He just knows, Big Unknown Shape in the middle of a little town makes him all kinds of antsy.]

There's something big out there. I think it's got a light, see it? Like a lighthouse but...

[But not. Probably.]

[terrorisms]

( He pulls over. Probably for the best that Clint drilled it in so severely, otherwise he'd have wasted time demanding an explanation, a good reason, so he could decide for himself if it was warranted — but the urgency's enough to get him to follow through, to veer off the side, cut the engine, shut off the lights in a swift two-second maneuver. The car lurches with the abruptness of it, they press heavily into seatbelts until the forward momentum chills the hell out, but they've stopped.

The engine ticks quietly in the dark, a rhythmic clicking in the otherwise silent, ominous eternal night pressing down on them in a way that suddenly feels claustrophobic.

He leans forward over the wheel, peering out the windshield, eyes narrowed, squinting into the night to try and find that shape Clint's talking about. For a long second, there's nothing — and then the light sweeps around again just for an instant.

His lips turn down unhappily, thoughtfully. )

Search light?

( Like a flood light, or a security light, sweeping the perimeter? Could it be the raiders themselves? That'd be some really hefty, unwieldy equipment to haul out here for it to have such a range and such a high strength beam. It must be something that was already here, something that came with the town, with the storm.

Could they use it? Get to whatever that is, use it to spot their prey? What are the tactical advantages they could wring out of this, what are the disadvantages they need to be prepared for? In the quiet, his mind starts working the problem — until a glint of new light reflecting out of the rear view mirror distracts him. Headlights. )

We've got company.

[brandingproblem]

[If they're going to be a team--and putting together a hunting party of two does make them a team for the duration--then they need to learn to trust each other. Even just temporarily. One says stop, they stop. One says go, they haul ass. Clint thinks that maybe Frank's used to a team given the military background, but less used to doing it when he's doing the Punisher thing.

That's okay. Clint's worked with teams a hell of a lot, and then stopped when he picked up the Ronin thing. So long as they can listen to each other when it counts.

Search light. Hm. Yeah, maybe, but it moves fast when it moves at all. Not sure what it means; they're too far out yet to get a sense of exactly what's waiting for them, a lack of intel he doesn't like and just has to suck it up and deal with.

The lights in the mirror make him pull back from the dash, sink a little in his seat as he turns in it to see what he can make out in the dark and the fog.] Did we beat 'em to the punch, or are these normies, you think?

[Because normal people would wait until day, except that it was daytime not too long ago, so this place might not get a day-night cycle at all, or it's offset from the rest of the world. Beggars and choosers. It just wouldn't be his first choice to go loot is all.]

I don't think they see us, or give a fuck about us if they do. Let 'em pass, grab our gear, go see what we can see on foot.

[terrorisms]

( They do move in tandem on at least one thing: leaning back and sinking down in their seats, hoping to be discreet, hoping to leave the impression that the car's empty. It seems to work; the first car goes flying by. Followed by a second, then a third, all rapidly on each others' heels.

Eventually, they become distant pinpricks of red tail lights. When they feel far enough away he shoots a look at Clint and nods — good enough. Let's go.

They gear up. Frank's got a go-bag with the basics that he slings over one shoulder, because these diffusion zones are unpredictable. He's reluctant to enter one now without at least some staples, even if this trip's only supposed to last the night. The vet's strapped snugly against his chest. He carries his rifle loose but ready, like they're venturing into enemy territory expecting Charlie to pop up any second.

In the distance, the road curves around the field before them, swooping around the long way to lead into the town directly. It's easy enough to track those points of light as they angle around, a few hundred yards of dark, tall grass between the two of them and their potential quarry. The pair of them are nearly whisper-quiet in their approach, blending in with the darkness, footsteps careful, only the swishing of grass against their legs. He keeps his voice low despite the distance. )

Pretty sure we got our answer. I think they're lookin' to do the same thing we are.

( Get there early, set up a trap or an ambush. )

Plan's still doable, but we're gonna have to be careful about it. Navigate around them. Hope we don't get spotted finding a good position.

[brandingproblem]

[Plan's still doable. The only hiccup is letting these assholes take first crack at getting set up before them, but they know what they're doing. They're good. Sneaky. Quiet. They've both done infiltration before, and for as big as Frank is, he's got the training to move silent. And given Frank knows damn well who Clint is, there's never going to be any snide remarks about using a bow instead of a rifle. Can he? Of course he can. But he made a name with a bow, and at the end of the day, arrows are renewable. He can get those back, even make new ones easily enough. A bullet?

Bullet's a much different story. But they can both kill all the same.

His sword, he figures, was lost in the rubble somewhere. At the very least, it didn't come with him. Great for up close and personal combat. But with these raiders, if you give them the time enough to get up close and personal, you have fucked up somewhere along the line. They ever take the fight to them, Clint will want it, that secondary extension of himself, but until then? Rifle. Bow. Gear enough to set up for Just In Case.

They communicate silently. They know their signals. There aren't a lot of tall buildings in what seems to be a sleepy little town that's seen better days, but there's a church, and the steeple looks to be mostly intact. Can't say that about some of the houses. Setting up the bait really is more out a window than on a roof, something just enough to get attention while Clint scampers up the church.

Everything starts working. At first.

One raider taps another on the shoulder, points out the light. There's a scurry of quiet motion. The fog sucks, but they're still able to be picked out. And off. They just have to time it right so as many of them are in the crossfire as--

The searchlight that's been swinging around in no real pattern alights across the front of the building with the decoy and a few folks planning on jumping whoever is(n't) inside.

And very suddenly, in a blink, the tall shape that seems to have no real form from whence the light comes is there. One manages to barely get out of the way, but something comes down very suddenly on the ones not so lucky, a sickly crunch and pop of bone, flattened viscera in their place.

That's when the screaming starts, and the light swings around again, catches one running for a vehicle in a straight line, and the same thing happens. The light swings up, and Clint flattens himself on the opposite side of the steeple, one foot starting the slide on the shingles, but the light never touches him.

This is how, and more importantly why, Frank and Clint end up hiding around corners in this little town until they can kick open a door with enough wall still standing to give them what they hope is some kind of shelter.]

[terrorisms]

( For a moment, just a moment, he's thrown back to the first night he met Clint. That waterlogged office building with the security system around back, and the way he felt while trying to disable it. That sensation of some enormous, dark shape bearing down on him. Something just to the left of his perception, something malevolent and unreal and pitiless. What he felt then had been an invisible thing, a sensation more than a force.

What comes down on those raiders is very, very real. Very, very physical. And very, very forceful. He's watched men die in a hundred different ways; it isn't often he comes across a new one.

Being flattened, crushed, with the snapping of bones and the outward splash of viscera as he crumples like an insect under a boot... It's brutal. There is no better word for it.

That's not the kind of thing he can shoot, or outsmart, or outrun. It is a thing made of shadow and gravity, and it's something Frank cannot kill. They have no choice but to run, to duck, to get the absolute fuck away from the scattering, screaming idiots preoccupying it.

They wind up, of all places, inside a perfectly preserved flower and garden shop. The wide glass-windowed front is obscured by tiered shelves sporting bouquets of blooms cast in shadow by the night, and when they hit the ground to avoid the sweeping bright light peering around, it's with their backs pressed against bags of fresh-smelling garden much.

His chest rises and falls; the heartbeat in his ears slowly begins to recede, quieting, as seconds pass and adrenaline edges down from its absolute peak. He dimly comes to the awareness that his rifle is still clutched in his hands, and it takes work to get his fingers to release enough to put it down beside him.

Slowly but surely, things... settle. The screaming stops abruptly with a crunch, silence descends, and the light that had been darting furiously around returns to its slow, lazy sweeping, passing by on a semi-regular revolution.

The first thing he can manage to say about it all is: )

Well, shit. ( And then- ) What in the hell are we supposed to do about that?