Max

Black Fall [Superhuman/City/Character Driven]

SLENDER BOY ON THE LOOSE CALL 911.

Black Fall [Superhuman/City/Character Driven]

Harmon Rottlage

---

The screens are everywhere

Bleeding static into reality

Every grain is an eye

Through which I see true horror

---

“-lievable… how did this fucking happen?” Frank’s voice echoes, slowly becoming clearer and clearer.

The sounds begin to bleed back into Harmon’s ears as he awakens from his Frank-inflicted slumber. He raises his head from his seat, shaking it to force himself awake and alert. His mouth hangs agape as he attempts to find something, anything, to see through. He quickly remembers that he’s very much incapable of doing so. The nullifying collar was still latched tight around his neck. And he didn’t believe asking them to adjust it would turn out well.

“Honk ‘em!” Frank calls out, “Fucking honk ‘em, Jesus Christ Wills!” He reaches over and cuts in front of the driver, slamming the horn and yelling at the pool of traffic ahead of the truck to collectively move their asses and make way for NEST agents on official business. And he is met with an array of retaliatory honks and verbal retorts. He returns to his own seat, anger spread across his face instead of that usual, god-awful smile. It would seem road rage was one way of getting him to lose his cool.

“Sir?” The agent sitting across from Harmon calls out. Frank turns and peeks his eyes through the hatch between him and the driver. “What, what?” He calls out, still steaming a little. The agent motions towards Harmon, with Frank turning his gaze. And that smile quickly returns.

“Oh-ho-ho, hey buddy!” He calls out, “I’m sorry, did we wake up you up?” After Harmon returned no response, Frank continued, “Well, daddy and his friends are just stuck in a bit of traffic, don’t you worry. Go ahead and play with Jackson, maybe… I Spy? Nah, you ain’t got no windows, never mind.”

The traffic must have been a result of scores of people packing in for a parking spot so they could enjoy the Christmas Fair without worry of having to find one later. Seems they all had the same idea. The truck was wedged near the back of a group of cars, inching further and further as the front of the pack made their way across the intersection. Frank had attempted to pressure Wills into using the alarm to try and part a clearing, but he vied against it. Not that it would have helped much anyway, the roads were clogged to high hell.

“Fucking Christmas in Arcadia, right?” Frank says, motioning towards the traffic. So much for his favorite holiday. He turns his head to put one eye on Harmon and says to him, “Now hey, Harmon, when we get back to the Base, you’re gonna be on your best behavior, right? No screaming, no scribbling gibberish on the walls?”

No response. Harmon’s just sitting there, head hung low.

“C’mon, Rottlage, don’t be difficult. Talk to me!”

Still no response.

“Fine, fine.” Frank says, “See what I care when the Barber goes mowing your lawn again. A good once-over after we get our answers out of you, and we’ll toss you back in the Joslyn and- oh… oh, wait, I’m sorry!” He chuckles a bit. “I left your door open, didn’t I? Someone’s probably packing up all your shit and making bank at a Good Will somewhere, right as we speak!” He laughed a good bit, shaking his head. “Ah…” He says, “You’ll be fine, bud. You always make the best of a bad situation, right?”

Once again. No response.

“Oh, fuck you too, then. I give up.” Frank says half-heartedly, losing interest. He turned his head away and began sifting through his jacket’s pockets. “Which… one… is… ah-hah!” He pulled out an MP3 and unraveled the chord wrapped around it. “If we’re gonna be stuck here for a bit…” He said, plugging the chord into a port on the truck’s radio. “May as well play something good.” He fiddled with the radio for a bit before it began playing something only Frank seemed to like the sound of. Wills let out an audible groan. Jackson rolled his eyes. Frank began bobbing his head, unfazed by his fellow agents’ disapproval. And then he began mouthing the words as they chimed in.

’Cause the world might do me in
It’s alright ‘cause I’m with friends

He raised his hands, motioning towards Wills, peeking a glance at the two in the back of the truck. Friends probably wasn’t the right word though.

I’ve been feeling like a ghost
And it’s what I hate the most
Guess I’m givin’ up again, this time, this time…

He shook his head, left to right.

This time I might just disappear

Frank wasn’t going anywhere as long as Harmon was around to bully and torture. And if not Harmon, then some other poor meta-human. All that was for damn sure.

Try and hear me when I’m done
'Cause I might just say this once
Seen this play out in my dream, it doesn’t matter

He turned back to Harmon as the next set of lyrics sounded. Stared at him, dead focused. But Harmon didn’t match his gaze. The truck moved forward into the T-junction. This part of the song stuck out for him. Made him think about just how much he hated meta-humans in general. But Harmon? Harmon was a special case and the poor thing had forgotten why.

Time for givin’ up the ghost
Fuck, it’s you I hate the most
Baby there’s no guarantee, it doesn’t ma-

Halfway through the T-junction, a loud horn sounded from an incoming semi-tractor, seconds before it made brief and sudden impact with the truck.

…

…

…

Once again, Harmon slowly regains consciousness.

The light in the interior of the truck is flickering, barely able to stay lit. The wall which Harmon was seated against is caved inward, having pushed him to the floor of the containment unit. He let out a long, fear-induced breath as he slowly picked himself up off the floor. Then that familiar sound of static in his head showed up. He quickly brought his right hand up to his collar, feeling it. The metal was bent and pushing inward on his neck, but not enough to strangle him. It was damaged – not completely broken, but damaged. That would be enough, though. The static in his head pointed out all of the devices in containment room. The collar wouldn’t let him go beyond that in its state. There was a camera hung up in the corner, thankfully undamaged by the crash. He focused on it, and he saw himself. It was blurry.

The NEST agent that was with him. Jackson. He was slumped against the opposite wall, unconscious. Peering through the camera’s perspective, Harmon slowly made his way towards the agent and began feeling over his combat vest. He couldn’t pick out the details from too far away given the collar still doing some of its job, so he had to resort to physical contact. He was almost certain that agents carried around equipment he could use to see – PDAs were most likely all protected, but not…

Body cameras.

Harmon felt the lens of a body camera on Jackson’s collar and pried it from its clip. He fiddled with it for a second, turning it on, and then transferred his vision from one device to another. His face appeared on the lens, and he nodded in self-affirmation. He aimed the camera away as he slowly stood up and took another look around the containment unit. The doors were both slightly ajar but still being held together by the bar-lock. Harmon could probably figure out a way to open them but, first things first. He had to do something about the collar. He turned the opposite direction, focusing on the narrow sliding hatch through which he could see the front compartment of the truck. Frank and Wills were both still seated there, unconscious. The radio was silent. The hatch’s grate was loose from the impact, letting Harmon push it open with ease. He slipped his hand through the hatch and felt around Frank’s shoulder and torso. Nullifier collars had remotes to them that either shocked the victim or released them, and Harmon pushed his hand as far as he could to try and find Frank’s.

Until Frank began to snap back into consciousness and feel the spindly hand inching down his torso.

“Hey!” He called out, grabbing Harmon’s arm and pulling him against the front of the containment unit. Harmon let out a cry as he attempted to take his arm back. His entire body began to shift lightly, fading in and out of tangible reality, though it was weak due to the still partway-functional collar. But it was enough to escape Frank’s grip, at least. Harmon pulled his arm back, falling onto the floor of the containment unit. Frank took out his sidearm and peeked the barrel through the hatch, calling out, “You little fucker!”

He fired blindly. Several times. Harmon’s body continued to shift as rapidly as it could, as the bullets from Frank’s gun ricocheted through the interior of the truck and towards the door. And as luck would have it, the fifth one hit the bar lock. The doors swung open as Frank continued firing. Harmon made his move, without much thought of the bullets, and leapt out of the truck, still shifting some. “GET BACK HERE!” Frank called out madly, tossing his gun aside when the clip ran dry. He attempted to exit the truck but the passenger’s side was pinned in by the semi, and the driver’s was pressed up against a wire fence. He was stuck. He slammed his fists against the sides in a fit of anger, yelling.

Harmon had escaped into the streets. His vision was still blurry but he could see the cars up ahead, halted, observing what had occurred. Horns and alarms were rampant. The T-junction was blocked off by the semi, thankfully still upright. Harmon didn’t know where exactly he was, being unfamiliar with areas outside of the Dead End. Frank had said they were passing through Arcadia, though. Arcadia Heights. Harmon didn’t realize that running from a busted NEST truck looked bad from an onlooker’s point of view, but he wasn’t paying the idea any mind. He had to do something about the collar – damaged or no, it wasn’t going to make his life any easier. He was lost and frightened and he was running haphazardly in a random direction on the sidewalk. And he was probably leaving a trail in the snow that they could follow once they got out of the wreckage.

But he was getting away from Frank. And that was enough to push him further and further without even thinking to turn back.

Black Fall [Superhuman/City/Character Driven]

orangebox said
Tbh im torn between a power nullifier or a healer... Any preferences?

There's already a healer, but a nullifier might be difficult to work with in the long run. If I were you I'd take a look at the characters already in place and ask myself, "What can I make that the rest of these crumb shitters won't expect?"

Black Fall [Superhuman/City/Character Driven]

Leonerdo said
Hallelujah, we're back.

But for how long.

Black Fall [Superhuman/City/Character Driven]

Harmon Rottlage

---

Wide awake, waiting like a target

Listening for things I cannot see

Insects flutter up against my window

I don’t like the way they look at me

---

Harmon’s just sitting there now, mouth agape, ‘staring’ at a screen full of flickering static. The television had long stopped showing anything that could hold his interest. He’s sitting there, on the end of the bed, wrapped in his blanket, watching static. He’s relaxed. Why would anyone disturb him?

He would.

There’s a knock on the door. Harmon’s startled, and the television screen stutters and goes black. The light flickers but corrects itself. Harmon slowly rises from his bed and examines the door. More knocking. He can’t see whose outside – either they have no electronic devices with them, or they were protected by advanced anti-meta hardware. So… whoever they were… they were most likely NEST. Harmon picked up his camera, slowly made his way to the door, and reached for the handle.

“Social services!”

The door flies open with a kick, smacking Harmon in his head. He doubles back, falling onto the floor, against the nightstand. He scrambles for his camera, breath pounding through his lungs as he aims the camera at the hulking figure standing in his doorway.

The man walks inside, his combat boots caressing the floor with each step. There’s this sense of gross pride to his walk that leaves Harmon all the more fearful. A tall, bulky man dressed in layers of warm, NEST-issued garbs, covered in a plated jacket. He’s fair-skinned with a shaved head, the light brown of his hair still peeking through around the top. His ears are large and pressed against his head a little. The rest of his features are… average. But his dark brown eyes are barely open, squinting gently, dead focused on Harmon.

And his smile.

His horrible, disingenuous, downright perverted smile, that he never dropped.

“Harmon?” He says in a calm, playful, antagonizing tone. “Remember me?” He did this to Harmon every time he was assigned to “collect” him. Tested his memory, berated him when he couldn’t come up with the correct answer. Harmon tried to build up that little shred of memory of this man that was always left when they plucked his head clean, but… it was never enough. And thus, he was always at the man’s whim. This time, however, he would try.

“Y-y-… yes…” Harmon mutters.

“Yeah?” The man replies, “What’s my name then, H-H-Harmon?” The stutter is intentional, and mocking in tone. He had a tendency for that, mocking people. Harmon mustered every shred of mental willpower he could and focused on the man’s name. “I-… I, G-…” He stutters, the man mouthing Harmon’s words along with him, still smiling, timing him. Harmon’s thoughts are rapid now, beaming from letter to letter. It’s… it’s something starting with an F, right? No, an S, there’s an S in there somewhere… “Fr-… Fri-fra-… Fr-“ Harmon says, trailing off as he desperately attempts to find the right letters, his fear beginning to overpower him. The man wasn’t having it, though. “Time’s up!” He calls out, before rearing one of his boots and kicking Harmon straight in his gut. He quickly brings his hands over the spot of impact, keeling over, dropping his camera on the floor.

“It’s Frank, Harmon.” The man says, keeping up that god-awful smile. “Saint Frank.” Harmon would have gotten it eventually, but Frank didn’t want to give him any glimmer of confidence. He knelt down and picked up the camera, examining it, aiming it downward at the poor, deranged meta-human. “Ah…” He says, turning, scanning the room with the device. “Any new home movies, Harmon?” Harmon, of course, didn’t respond. Frank aimed the camera at Harmon once again. He could see himself through the lens, still keeled over, clutching his gut. “Heh… really starting to disappoint me, buddy.” Frank says, before promptly tossing the camera against the wall, breaking it into a few assorted pieces.

“Ņ͜͢͝O͏̸̀.̴̢̨́͝” The blinded Harmon calls out, his head shifting a little, attempting to get up off the floor. Frank promptly placed his boot on the meta-human’s shoulder and forced him back on the floor. Harmon’s on the verge of non-existent tears, now. He switches over to the television to see around the room, but all he can see is Frank standing over him while he’s on the floor, off-screen.

“Want to know why I’m here, Harmon?” Frank questions softly. There is, of course, no response. Only short, fearful breaths.

“There’s been some very unfortunate things happening around here lately. Shootouts, gold thefts, gangs picking up their paces… really bad stuff. And it’s all happening around Christmas of all times, now-“ He pressed his foot against Harmon’s back, making sure he was staying down. “You know how I feel about metas breaking laws during my favorite holiday, right Harmon?”

Again, no response.

“Well, anyway…” Frank continues, “I was just minding my own business over at the NEST Base when one of my boys brings all of this up with me, and… well, I got to thinking. Who sees everything that happens in the Dead End? Who records everything in his head and leaves it ripe for the picking later?” He waited for a response, of which there were none. Again. He knelt down and got as close to Harmon’s head as he could before he quietly said to him, “It’s you, buddy. My favorite pal.” He gently removes his boot from Harmon’s spine and grabs his left arm, hoisting him off the floor. “So, here’s the plan, Harmon. You… me… and two of my boys. We’re gonna take a ride down to the Base, and you’re gonna tell me anything interesting that you’ve seen, or read, or heard lately. That sound like fun, buddy?”

Harmon’s practically limp, letting Frank lead him out of the room. “C’mon, c’mon. Black Fall isn’t known for its candy-asses.” The agent says softly. He takes a split-circle device from his waist and clamps it around Harmon’s neck – a nullifying collar. His vision goes black, away from all the devices in his room. He feels a numbing sensation as Frank takes him across the upper walkway, like bags of sand slowly pressing against his head. “Snow’s beautiful in this afternoon light.” Franks says, “Wish you could see it.” They reach the stairs, which Frank promptly shoves Harmon down, confident that the snow would cushion his fall. It did, but… not too much. He lands on the bottom step, sprawled out on the ground. “Oh, no!” Frank calls out in a feigned manner, “You slipped.”

Harmon doesn’t respond. Not because he’s afraid this time, now he’s unconscious.

Frank descends the stairs and takes a quick look around. There’s no one else around the Motel, probably all huddled inside, waiting for this to be over. There’s a few people across the way, though. Watching. Judging, most likely, as well. Frank never cared, they could judge all they wanted. He was just having too much fun. He reaches the bottom of the stairs and grabs the unconscious Harmon’s left leg, dragging him across the snow to the armored truck with two other NEST agents standing by for him. “Bet you wish it was that lizard instead of me, huh?” He says mockingly. There’s a light trail of blood stemming from Harmon’s nostrils that quickly disappears under the snow. “Open her up, Jackson.” Frank calls out. The agent standing by the back of the van opens one of the doors to the containment section. Frank lifted Harmon up and tossed him into the back – a relatively easy feat given the poor thing’s measly weight. Jackson climbs in and props Harmon on the side bench. He sits on the opposite, rifle needlessly at the ready.

Frank shuts the door and adjourns to the passenger seat of the truck. “To the Base, Wills.” He says to the driver, nudging his shoulder. The agent nods and starts the vehicle. They’re off, into the night streets, headed out of the Dead End and towards the Arcadia Heights, all the way to the NEST Base.

Frank left Harmon’s door open this time. Intentionally.

Everything he’s gathered up to now is ripe for the taking.

Black Fall [Superhuman/City/Character Driven]

Post is ready but I only have 3G out here so, tomorrow when I'm back home.

Black Fall [Superhuman/City/Character Driven]

In Black Fall, it's all in a number. If that number's high enough, NEST pretty much gets free reign to diddle you filthy without your permission, whenever.

Black Fall [Superhuman/City/Character Driven]

4P does not pound.

He peddles.

Black Fall [Superhuman/City/Character Driven]

Mr Allen J said
You're only setting him up to meet Tentacle Steve.

The only one Tentacle Steve is gonna meet up with is Priapism Pete.

Black Fall [Superhuman/City/Character Driven]

Mr Allen J said Anyways, I see an acute lack of character interaction - in an interaction heavy RP nonetheless! Time to fix that. I have five free characters wandering around, hit me up if you want in.

I'm setting Harmon up for interactions a little later. There is a thing called timing and I'm making full use of it, boss man.