Snippet #2733134

The morning had started off just like any other, though Logan had to admit, he wasn't feeling as terrible as he used to. Up until his trigger even, he couldn't recall the last time that he truly felt good. He was always tired to some degree, mind always filled with troubled thoughts (which still hadn't changed), and aches and pains accompanied him constantly. Now he felt rested every morning when he woke up, and he was further surprised by the lesser amount of sleep he needed.
Finally pulling himself out of bed, he steadfastly went about his morning, following the three S ritual, as most men undoubtedly do.

Shit, shower, shave. Always in that order.

For him, it was just another lonely, lazy Sunday. It had been a couple of months since his he gained his newfound abilities, triggering in a hospital bed of all places. The fact that he had accidentally harmed his partner had been preying on his mind since. Two months, two, and Mal still had yet to return a phone call or so much and shoot him a text. It was an injustice that he couldn't wrap his mind around. He had done nothing wrong, hadn't even been conscious when it had happened, and now he was being punished, and ignored for something he'd had no control of. He tried putting it all out of his mind, cigarette between his lips, music playing from the phone in his breast pocket. He made his way towards his favorite pub, the idea of a few beers and some good food helped ease the burden his thoughts were quickly becoming.

A short while later, Logan was enjoying his first beer. Being a regular had it's perks. He typically sat at the same table, and since he came in on the same day every other week, he always had the same waitress. She always gave him a smile, called him "Hun', and brought him the same beer he always drank without asking. With his life suddenly being the tumultuous storm of uncertainty that it had become, this last bastion of normality and repetition was a rock he could stand on. It was only after the shrimp tacos and his third beer came, that he finally started to feel better about the day. He read a story on his phone while he ate, steadfastly ignoring the football game on the television, as well as the shouts of the insipid fucks that whooped and hollered for their favored team or players, even as they went through one play and five minutes breakdown and analysis. It would never be clear to him why people liked American football. Sure, European could be interesting, but even that was a stretch. The only sport he truly liked was hockey, and Logan felt he was a little biased on that front.

Logan was just finishing the last of his beer when a high pitched whine caught his attention. It was quiet at first, barely on the borders of perception and he almost dismissed it as the roar of his tinnitus. That is until the wail of the nearby siren reach its full magnitude and became nearly deafening, even inside the pub.

Confusion crossed his features as he heard it. There weren't any drills or tests scheduled for today. As it was, his eyes widened and he felt like his heart might crush itself as his phone mimed the siren outside, telling everyone to seek the nearest shelters immediately. It was all suddenly so surreal, everyone in the pub suddenly standing, even a woman screaming as she broke out into hysterics. Her husband tried calming her as he grabbed their child, but by then, there was no longer calm anywhere to be seen. People were running for the door, heedless of the others in their path. Fighting, arguing and screaming drown out the light music playing over the speakers and even the booming televisions as Joe Schmoe scored another touchdown. The battle through the door only intensified while the manager tried shouting to be heard in a vain attempt at calming everyone down. Little did he know that his staff had already vacated by way of the back door, leaving him to his fate.

Logan watched everything in an aghast daze and retried his phone from the table. At first he tried making a call, but as he had guessed, everyone in the city was probably doing the same thing, and none of his calls would go through. So, he resigned himself to two texts.

Female Parent: I'm fine, getting to shelter, call you when everything blows over.

Mal: Get to a shelter, let me know which one you're at so I can find you after. If you can't get to a shelter, find somewhere safe, I'll call you after. I don't care how pissed you are.

He watched as the little ring simply spun in circles at the bottom of the message, telling him it was sending, but making it clear that the effort was futile at the moment.

With that done, Logan slid his phone back into his pocket, and followed the logic that the kitchen staff had displayed and he left through the back. Upon entering the alley behind the pub, he looked around, ensuring the coast was clear. He didn't want people he saw regularly to know that he was no longer one of them.

The dark stone erupted from various points on his flesh, and wrapped him in it's cold embrace. Suitably armored within his glossy black shell, claws sprang from the covering on his feet, affording him better traction as he broke into a dead sprint. Taking back alleys and scaling between buildings, he was able to spot groups of flying capes heading towards the HLA. He changed his course, avoiding the worst of the pandemonium and arriving within the perimeter as quickly as possible.

He was awestruck by the sight of so many capes gathered in one place. Heroes standing alongside villains, murmuring in discussing, anxiously awaiting the announcement of what it was they would face. It was still all so surreal, and being a new player among the parahuman community left Logan wondering if this was all just some bad dream.

He mostly stuck to the fringes, making his way towards a few of those keeping their distance like himself.

Feeling more than a little out of his depth, he approached the nearest cape, trying his best to hide his nervousness, and asked, "How long does it usually take before we start getting information? I almost expect a riot simply because of the collectively anxiety."