Post by Christian Savino on Jun 23, 2023 21:13:16 GMT -5
[nospaces]
[break](CW: Blood, guns, violence, injury/death) [break][break]
[attr="class","quailfoot-text"]Officer Thompson and him been chasing the man for what felt like a half-hour but, realistically, was only a couple of minutes. Their car was abandoned on the curb a couple of blocks away, door thrown open, lights and siren still screeching. Christian could hardly hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears. They'd been called in as backup under heavy precaution and, when they saw the man bolting down the sidewalk in their direction, they hadn't hesitated to throw themselves in his path. Christian could hear other officers and dispatch making call-outs through his radio but he almost couldn't comprehend them. Especially when the man turned into an alley and faced a dead-end. [break][break]
Everything seemed to still when Christian turned after him, stopping at the alley's mouth and raising his firearm. "Hands on your head!" He boomed, fingers flexing against his gun. The man stopped, posture rigid. He lifted his hands out to either side of him, fingers splayed. "Turn around! Slowly!" Christian licked his lips, vaguely aware of Thompson moving up behind him, breathing hard. The man did as he was told and his hood slipped down, revealing a shaved and tattooed head. He was grinning.[break][break]
"Hands. On your head!" [break][break]
The grin curled a fraction further. Then the man twitched his fingers and Christian's nerve faltered as the gun in his hands began to dismantle before his eyes. It split and broke down into pieces within his grasp, pulling through the air in the man's direction. There was the faint feel of vibrating energy around them and Christian took a step back as he realized the man was pulling not only the gun, but more surrounding metal toward him as well. Grit and other small shrapnel skittered across the ground. Cars and streetlamps groaned wickedly. He leaned into the radio mounted upon his shoulder. "Suspect engaged. Advise Sector —" [break][break]
The man's eyes flashed, his smug grin tipping into something colder, and then the radio cut to a roaring static. Christian could almost hear the sounds of an operator under the noise, requesting clarification, but then there was nothing. A cloud had formed in the air in front of the man, composed of metal of all varying sizes that hovered, suspended by an unseen force. "Squeal, piggies." The man gave a tiny chuckle, quirked a brow, then snorted the crude imitation of a hog. [break][break]
Christian's eyes barely had time to widen. He spun around, ready to hit the ground. "Get down!" [break][break]
The words had barely torn from his lips when the collected metals ripped through the air. The chaos was quick; a brief, stretching moment of high-pitched, whizzing noise. He felt shards rip through the muscle of his shoulder as he struck the sidewalk. Watched Thompson, too slow, stumble back and fold as the bits thudded into him. Heard shattering glass and the tinny peppering of the cars around them. It was over in a second. And when Christian raised his head and whipped it around, the man was gone. [break][break]
Blood pounded in his ears. Car alarms blared. For a moment, Christian did nothing. Then Thompson, laid on his back a couple of paces in front of him, gave a pained, gurgling heave, and he quickly pushed to his hands. He crawled to his partner, gaze darting helplessly across his wide, terror-filled eyes. Thick, dark scarlet poured from an opened neck and from the corners of his mouth and Christian panted down at him for a helpless second, before he clasped a hand firmly over the weeping wound and tried to staunch the blood flow. "Dispatch —" he said desperately, leaning into the radio upon his shoulder, unsure if it was working now that the Gifted had presumably gone. "Officer down, I need — suspect fled. I need, I —"[break][break]
Thompson raised a shaking hand to curl weakly over Christian's wrist and tried to speak. But the result was only a thick, pained cough. Bloody spittle sprung from his lips, mottling in frothy speckles across his cheeks and upon fluttering eyelids. Christian shook his head, icy dread crashing with hot adrenaline in his veins as he watched his partner visibly fade. "No, no, don't talk. Look at me, open your eyes." He pressed his fingers more firmly against his neck but the warmth persisted in a pulsing ooze between them. "Thompson." The hand slipped from his wrist, the gurgling ceased, and Thompson's eyes dulled. [break][break]
Christian blew out a shaky breath, watching the boy's vacant gaze for a long moment before he withdrew his blood-slicked hands and fell back. Only distantly, he was aware that some of the blood was his own — he could feel the warmth soaked through the sleeve of his shirt. Could fill the steady drip of it down his back. But he couldn't yet register the pain. He sucked in a couple of breaths and tried to still the tremble to his fingers. The car alarm blaring beside him was both deafening and muted as his surroundings faded away to only dulled, distant stimuli. [break][break]
Then he was moving. The world came back in a rush of too-loud noise and blinding light. Wide and wild-eyed, he pressed his lips together with decision and shoved to his feet after ripping Thompson's firearm from its holster. Breathing hard, he glanced around, trying to deduce which way the Gifted would have run.
[break]
[newclass=.quailfoot-text b]color:#3B3F88;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass][googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]
FRIEND, THAT'S THE END OF US
cause you're way behind in empathy and overdue on trust
[break](CW: Blood, guns, violence, injury/death) [break][break]
[attr="class","quailfoot-text"]Officer Thompson and him been chasing the man for what felt like a half-hour but, realistically, was only a couple of minutes. Their car was abandoned on the curb a couple of blocks away, door thrown open, lights and siren still screeching. Christian could hardly hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears. They'd been called in as backup under heavy precaution and, when they saw the man bolting down the sidewalk in their direction, they hadn't hesitated to throw themselves in his path. Christian could hear other officers and dispatch making call-outs through his radio but he almost couldn't comprehend them. Especially when the man turned into an alley and faced a dead-end. [break][break]
Everything seemed to still when Christian turned after him, stopping at the alley's mouth and raising his firearm. "Hands on your head!" He boomed, fingers flexing against his gun. The man stopped, posture rigid. He lifted his hands out to either side of him, fingers splayed. "Turn around! Slowly!" Christian licked his lips, vaguely aware of Thompson moving up behind him, breathing hard. The man did as he was told and his hood slipped down, revealing a shaved and tattooed head. He was grinning.[break][break]
"Hands. On your head!" [break][break]
The grin curled a fraction further. Then the man twitched his fingers and Christian's nerve faltered as the gun in his hands began to dismantle before his eyes. It split and broke down into pieces within his grasp, pulling through the air in the man's direction. There was the faint feel of vibrating energy around them and Christian took a step back as he realized the man was pulling not only the gun, but more surrounding metal toward him as well. Grit and other small shrapnel skittered across the ground. Cars and streetlamps groaned wickedly. He leaned into the radio mounted upon his shoulder. "Suspect engaged. Advise Sector —" [break][break]
The man's eyes flashed, his smug grin tipping into something colder, and then the radio cut to a roaring static. Christian could almost hear the sounds of an operator under the noise, requesting clarification, but then there was nothing. A cloud had formed in the air in front of the man, composed of metal of all varying sizes that hovered, suspended by an unseen force. "Squeal, piggies." The man gave a tiny chuckle, quirked a brow, then snorted the crude imitation of a hog. [break][break]
Christian's eyes barely had time to widen. He spun around, ready to hit the ground. "Get down!" [break][break]
The words had barely torn from his lips when the collected metals ripped through the air. The chaos was quick; a brief, stretching moment of high-pitched, whizzing noise. He felt shards rip through the muscle of his shoulder as he struck the sidewalk. Watched Thompson, too slow, stumble back and fold as the bits thudded into him. Heard shattering glass and the tinny peppering of the cars around them. It was over in a second. And when Christian raised his head and whipped it around, the man was gone. [break][break]
Blood pounded in his ears. Car alarms blared. For a moment, Christian did nothing. Then Thompson, laid on his back a couple of paces in front of him, gave a pained, gurgling heave, and he quickly pushed to his hands. He crawled to his partner, gaze darting helplessly across his wide, terror-filled eyes. Thick, dark scarlet poured from an opened neck and from the corners of his mouth and Christian panted down at him for a helpless second, before he clasped a hand firmly over the weeping wound and tried to staunch the blood flow. "Dispatch —" he said desperately, leaning into the radio upon his shoulder, unsure if it was working now that the Gifted had presumably gone. "Officer down, I need — suspect fled. I need, I —"[break][break]
Thompson raised a shaking hand to curl weakly over Christian's wrist and tried to speak. But the result was only a thick, pained cough. Bloody spittle sprung from his lips, mottling in frothy speckles across his cheeks and upon fluttering eyelids. Christian shook his head, icy dread crashing with hot adrenaline in his veins as he watched his partner visibly fade. "No, no, don't talk. Look at me, open your eyes." He pressed his fingers more firmly against his neck but the warmth persisted in a pulsing ooze between them. "Thompson." The hand slipped from his wrist, the gurgling ceased, and Thompson's eyes dulled. [break][break]
Christian blew out a shaky breath, watching the boy's vacant gaze for a long moment before he withdrew his blood-slicked hands and fell back. Only distantly, he was aware that some of the blood was his own — he could feel the warmth soaked through the sleeve of his shirt. Could fill the steady drip of it down his back. But he couldn't yet register the pain. He sucked in a couple of breaths and tried to still the tremble to his fingers. The car alarm blaring beside him was both deafening and muted as his surroundings faded away to only dulled, distant stimuli. [break][break]
Then he was moving. The world came back in a rush of too-loud noise and blinding light. Wide and wild-eyed, he pressed his lips together with decision and shoved to his feet after ripping Thompson's firearm from its holster. Breathing hard, he glanced around, trying to deduce which way the Gifted would have run.
[break]
if and when we rise to our feet again [break]
we'll be on our own
we'll be on our own
Tag: Open
[newclass=.quailfoot-text b]color:#3B3F88;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass][googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]
