It starts with a roll of thunder.
At least, that’s what you think it is—a low growl through the atmosphere that seems to echo deep and low in your chest—as you turn over in bed, or perhaps as you’re finishing your last drink at a local pub with some new acquaintances, or even as you’re walking home on otherwise safe streets, lamps and moonlight guiding your path. All’s well that ends well: the city is your haven, it’s been sold to you as such, and a little stormy weather never did much harm.
You close your eyes. You take a drink. You turn the corner.
But the sound continues, the vibration grows more oppressive, and you may think to yourself: Thunder shouldn’t shake my nightstand.
Thunder doesn’t send a pulse through the tequila in a shot glass.
Thunder wouldn’t compel the asphalt to rumble and churn beneath my boots.
It all happens very quickly after that; things fall apart.
The cheers of late-night partygoers tumble into a minor chord, sliding into screams—a party of five has just lost sight of two of its members as Main Street splits itself in zigzags rippling out from the city’s center. One side surges into the air as the other half plummets several feet down, small ravines forming along the thoroughfare. The damage replicates itself like dominoes, and citizens new and old alike cry for help into the empty night.
Someone is hanging onto the edge of one jagged, yellow-striped mound of asphalt, fingers slipping, grip temporary. Do you know them?
Do you help?
Within minutes, buildings begin to buckle under the stress of the earth shifting. Metal and concrete siding, roof tiles, window panes—what first sounds like cannon fire clearly presents itself as establishments crumbling while panicked citizens race to covered positions or out into the chaos of the openly shaking streets for any semblance of safety.
“Earthquake!” You hear. “Cover your head!”
The tallest buildings suffer the most damage (the bigger they are, the harder they fall). At the city’s heart, the clock tower sinks almost gently down as if feeling faint, seeking solace in the skirts of its foundation. People blink in shock as the dust rolls over them moments later.
Victims covered in soot and debris, looking for all intents and purposes as if they’d been disturbed from their graves, disperse across the city, trying to reach the authorities, to find their loved ones. It’s clear that amidst the rubble, both formed and newly falling, some of these loved ones are trapped. You hear desperate, muffled calls, buried beneath layers of shattered stone and cement. Voices struggling to be heard through the ongoing shriek and groan of the earth… still… shaking. One of these voices may even be your own. Are you near? Can you lead someone to safety?
Can you pull victims from the rubble? Are you, yourself, in trouble?
The city bank’s vault is loose, no doubt. The shops are in trouble, security gates destroyed. Do you take advantage while you can?
Whatever you decide, watch for the emergency vehicles and fire trucks barreling their way toward the center of destruction, rescue crews ready to spot those in need. Perhaps you can help them. Perhaps they can help you, instead. (Perhaps they can apprehend you, too, if you misbehave and don’t cover your tracks.)
The rumble continues, curls its way like a fist further out towards the city limits, losing ferocity as it does, but it takes the temporary housing district for its final victim. The city’s newest arrivals won’t get much sleep tonight. Rifts in concrete walls crawl their way from the ground floors, up, all vine and sinew and spider web. Some are more severe than others. While the first floor rooms may find more damage to their walls, bedroom windows bursting as foundations tilt, the upper floors will see things end up just a hair off in balance—askew. Put a glass of water on the table, and it may not stay in one place for long.
Surely the building isn’t safe enough to sleep in, not now. Can you make it safe? Can you reach out to your neighbors? How do you manage?
Three hours after the initial disturbance, long after earlier news programs had urgently advised all city dwellers to take due cover during the apparent earthquake, a crackling message filters through across television screens, electronic billboards, and on your city-issued devices. Mayor Drake sits in full view in front of the Energem, the symbol of the city, its life force. It is in one piece, from the looks of it, and so is she (if understandably haggard and dark around the eyes). “Citizens of Cadelle, as you know, we’ve suffered quite the seismic anomaly this evening. Tectonic plate shifting is not abnormal in a city so near the coast, but we had yet to experience an earthquake of this magnitude in all our recorded history. Although most of the damage was focused towards the city’s center, that center was hit hard.”
The side of her mouth twitches minutely, as though she is biting back further words, and instead, she plasters on a smile of pure grit. “Our top tier seismology center is already on the case, and the administration will keep you informed of any significant findings. In the meantime, we wish to thank all our rescue workers and volunteer citizens who helped our loved ones find shelter and safety. Please be advised we will begin reconstruction of our Community Housing Facility immediately. Volunteers to assist with this project, and with the restoration of privately owned establishments along Main Street, are welcomed, even encouraged. After a more in-depth assessment, we may be able to create paying job opportunities for the duration of this project. Please stay tuned.”
A constructive spin on this tale couldn’t hurt, could it?
“For now, we wish for you to stay safe. Food and shelter accommodations at the public gymnasium are being made ready for those of you currently left without rooms. We apologize for the communal nature of these accommodations, but it is the best we can provide on emergency notice. We appreciate your patience, and your help.”
And with that closing remark, the feed cuts.
Mayor Drake’s shoulders slide out of their poised position, and she bows her head, hand over her brow.
Behind her, unbeknownst to anyone, the Energem flickers—just once.
On the far side, beneath the cover of the protective wall, a small fissure has formed in the crystal surface.
A kinetic rift.
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cuddlemods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
cuddlecity2017-08-12 12:00 pm
no subject
( with that confirmation in place, sara's attention turns back to the boy content that steve's got the debris covered; she's seen those muscles that he has hidden beneath his red, white, and blue costume. of course he's gonna have superstrength of some sort — which, much like steve, sara finds herself grateful for his presence.
the kid, she can handle. the awning, not so much. while steve lifts, she takes it upon herself to hold onto the boy's hands, let her thumbs brush over the top of his white knuckles, murmuring quiet platitudes to him. you're gonna be okay. stay as still as you can. almost there ... )
Right there, Steve — hold it right there, that's perfect. ( it gives sara just enough room to wrap her arms tightly around the boy's forearms, teeth gritted together as she rises to her feet, slowly and carefully as she can, pulling him out from underneath the rubble, his feet dragging through rocks and debris. she can't let go now, though; no, she can only hoist him up so all of his weight is leaned onto her shoulders, his arm draped around her neck. she'll drag the kid if she has to, as long as it means getting him to a medic somewhere. )
no subject
Steve doesn't hesitate once he's got a grip. He holds tight and he lifts. Muscles rippling and pulling taut as he attempts to free this kid. There's no ceremonial grunt or anything. Steve's quiet as he holds it up. Waiting for Sara to get him clear. She reacts fairly quickly. Getting a grip on the kid and pulling on him. Dragging him. He holds it up. Keeps his grip and tries to not focus on the way his muscles burn. He's been through worse. But once he sees that Sara has pulled him clear he slowly lets it be lowered. Doesn't just drop it. Scared it could jostle and make more destruction. Down it goes.
Once it's stable he's going over to Sara. He comes up alongside the kid on the opposite side and loops his arm over his shoulders. Helping Sara support some of the kids dead weight as they start to move forward together. ] How's he looking?
no subject
though she was busy comforting the trapped kid, keeping him as calm as she could and telling him exactly what they were going to do, exactly what he shouldn't do, she wasn't too busy to notice the way steve very effortlessly hauled that awning up with seemingly minimal effort. sure, she's seen those muscles of his, traced fingers over his abdomen, felt strong hands at her hips — but it's so much different to see it in action, this unencumbered strength of his. she's only ever seen one person capable of such a feat, and supergirl's an alien.
her moment of appreciation is quickly diverted as the kid's eyelids droop closed and his body goes even more limp than it already was. ) — No, no, no. Listen. Listen to me. You have to stay awake, ( sara frantically demands, her volume increasing. the kid blinks his eyes back open, seems to be trying hard to follow her request. to steve: ) How many more blocks?
no subject
Steve's just trying to move forward with the kid and Sara when she notices it first. The kids eyes are drooping and he's getting tired. Which isn't good after an injury like that. He stops moving and turns his head to look at him. He looks forward again trying to calculate in his head. With all the chaos and the debris there's no telling how much longer. Saying how blocks they have left wouldn't do a damn thing if they had to take a detour. ]
I dunno.
[ With a grunt he shifts to take all of the kids weight. He swings him upward and into his arms. He starts to move forward. ]
Keep talking to him. Keep him awake. Hey, kid, can you tell Sara who you are? What do you do? I bet you they're gonna have to put a cast on your arm. I kinda wanna be the first one to sign it, but I'm willing to give that honor over to Sara if she wants.
no subject
she can't think about any of it right now, though. she can only let her gaze, focused as hell, shift back and forth from the kid, to steve, and then back again, worried that he'll stop breathing at any moment. she'll do cpr if she's gotta, but in surroundings this volatile, getting him into more professional care is sara's number one priority — keeping him awake comes in an extremely close second.
sara keeps her voice even-keeled, doesn't let the adrenaline racing through her veins or the pounding of her heart rattle her or show when she speaks; that'll only scare the kid more. ) No, I think Steve deserves first dibs. You think so, buddy? You're doing great, by the way. Just keep talking. You got a girlfriend? Is she pretty? She sounds amazing. — Hang in there.