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  • Rorye Shannon-Kearney

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    January 17, 2018

    7pm- Simultanious to the First Explosion

     

     

    “Fuck”

     

    The word was sharp, covered by the smacks and grunts of others in the gym pushing weights and punching dummies.  Hand reached behind her to hold the muscle at the base of her back that had been hit by the wooden pole, walking off the pain.  Head stretched to the side, an uncomfortable crackle in her neck.  Bokkens were plopped on a bench, one glove pulled off, stuffed under her arm as the tall frame stretched a bit before tipping back water from her favorite bottle.  She was out of breath, which was rare, making up for years of ignoring the fact she wasn’t just a mundane living in a world while trying to keep the monsters out.  She’d turned over the reins of the shop in the evenings to Nina, who seemed pleased.  Not only because she had been wanting more responsibility for a while, but because Rorye finally was seeking some kind of life outside of the building she never left.  The gym had always been a favorite place to go, certainly not regularly, and never with a specific goal to do anything other than just run, or kickbox.

     

    *npc* Control.. control, thought process and control.

     

    “Shut up Jeff,”  her face scrunched a bit as she itched the freckles on her nose with the back of her ungloved hand.

     

    *npc* No, seriously.  You’re fast as hell, but you’re like a bike… I throw a stick in your spokes and you’re a road-rashed face plant.

     

    He nodded toward the blossoming bruise on her back below her jade green sports bra.

     

    Chuckle was rare, the quick smile on her face pulling the elegant features into a youthful expression.  She tipped the water up again, swishing it in her cheek before swallowing and setting it down to return her glove to her hand and pick up the short bokkens again. 

     

    “Point taken Obi Wan,”  nod was slight, she got it.  Her power was only useful with skill.  Offense and avoid.  There was no defense, especially if the person going after her had any type of enhanced strength.  Her strength was her momentum, but it was only as strong as she was.  Pure skill would keep her from getting hit, and making the kill before it got to that point.  She could put a knife in someone’s eye socket before they mustered the power to throw a spell at her, but if they were already throwing one, she had to have the skill to evade.

     

    The middle aged man pointed toward the wooden dummy of poles mounted in different directions.

     

    *npc* Tired of getting hit by your unrestrained ass, consider that love tap a warning.  You’re banished to the dummy for the rest of the night.  Go slow.  Precise.

     

    “Traitor,” she smirked, the grip on her bokkens tightening, snatched tighter as the world seemed to throb… followed split second by a vibration that rumbled through the floor and thundered at the glass.  Eyes immediately flicked to the televisions over the treadmills, the pictures flickering viciously and sputtering back to normal.

     

    The room was silent, motionless as it contemplated what had just happened.

     

    Good god, not again.  The first thing that crossed her mind was another Event.  Instead of panic and the pushing and shoving that others were starting to perpetuate, she grabbed her jacket and headed to the door, ponytail swishing like an angry teenager.  Breath curled into the dark cold as she paused on the sidewalk, looking up at the orange glow in the sky that reflected back down from imposing clouds.  Without another thought, feet wasted no time… she had to get back to the shop and make sure everyone was okay.

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    She'd lived in New York all her life, barely strayed from the walls of Hell’s Kitchen, and still there was one sound that could wash a soul with such a multitude of meanings that transcended every boundary- bringing complete apathy, a chill to the bone or instill the feeble light of hope to keep burning.  The eerie hollow sound of sirens bouncing around the concrete goliath of a city in the darkness did nothing but chill as she got closer to her neighborhood, realizing they too were getting closer but seeing no signs of her world coming to an end.  In fact, people were also out on the sidewalks, watching the sky, trying to figure out where the orange glow was coming from.  All eyes were toward midtown, as if reliving the horrors of the past.  They knew better, they KNEW better than to stand and gawk…. It was how so many had died before.

     

    She shouldered the door to her shop, soft twinkle of bells holding no solace until the murmur of voices brought her from the deserted shop up into the teahouse.  Feeling of panic starting to subside, she was still trying to catch her breath.  Everyone was okay, at least for the moment.  Jesse had pulled the small television from the kitchen next to the cash register counter and they were all watching with bated breath at the marquis that were scrolling at the bottom of the screen.

     

    Explosion, near Times Square.

     

    “That’s less than ten blocks from here,”  she breathed.  Of course in the less than fifteen minutes it had taken her to get home news speculation was already flying as to the cause, the jiggling cameras already starting to focus on the burning and collapsing building.  Their words were lost, the large chocolate eyes watching the irreverent coverage of the complete devastation taking place the next neighborhood over.  Rescue crews arriving, they all watched the small screen with bated breath, the stunned masses of tragedy triggering the same helpless feeling as it had years before in her gut.

     

    Then again.

     

    Another series of explosions, the gasps in the small gathered crowd almost sucking the air from the room as the sound of sirens being snuffed out and shrapnel pinging the rescue lights to sparking darkness was caught on camera, the horror for the entire city to see.  Those that were on the front lines, were now under trying to save their own as well.

     

    “We can’t just stand here,”  she hissed.

     

    She didn’t have an army at her beck and call, yet she did.  Hopping down the steps back into the shop, phone was snatched from its cradle and dialed without another thought.  Every favor, every friendship, every notion of something owed was called in at that moment.  Every able hand, every blanket, every vehicle available to transport.  Instructions were clear, blow the doors open on the community centers, get everyone with medical knowledge there and vehicles ready to transport, and avoid 43rd.  A hand gently fell on her forearm.

     

    *npc*  It isn’t our neighborhood.

     

    Lisa was adamant.

     

    “I know,”  she said, dialing another number and speaking quickly with a dear friend she knew at a local shelter, hoping to set off a chain reaction. Local hospitals would flood; she was preparing everyone for overflow.

     

    Though she felt like she had a slingshot where everyone else had a machine gun, it was all she could do.  New Yorkers were notoriously territorial, but they were also notoriously bonded in a fight.  This was a fight, and she was crossing the peasant boundary into the ivory towers to lend a hand.  People didn’t come to her for help in a bind for no reason.  She solved problems, and everyone in the neighborhood knew it.

     

    “Nina, I’m taking your car.”

     

    The older woman’s eyeroll was palpable.

     

    “Jesse, take the phone… you’re the nerve center.  When that phone rings you answer it.  The shelters are for uninjured and separated families.  The community centers are for injured.  Get a list together of their phone numbers and addresses to give out to anyone that calls.  Take any food and water we have in stock and get it to the shelters, the rest of Hell’s is doing the same.”

     

    *npc* Where the hell are you going?

     

    Jesse blinked at her as she shoved the phone in his hand.

     

    “I’m going over there,” she snatched the relatively new cell phone off her charger.  She’d never carried one until recently.  She knew exactly why she was going over there, and it wasn’t just to get information to the rescue efforts that the peasants had their backs.  Someone had to step into the fray to get the message to first responders that they had help, but she’d be lying if she said it was the only reason.  The panicked hitch in her breath when she'd seen a very familiar red Jeep in the mess behind the reporters over the tiny television screen was more powerful than she'd expected it to be.  She wasn't part of the team, but she could never sit by and watch them get hammered again with the excuse that it wasn't her fight.

     

    “I’m on my cell, if there’s anything you can’t answer, then do what you can.”

     

    She pushed through her workshop out the back door, and was gone.

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