Everybody wants to rule the world

[maskormods]

WHO: YOU.
WHERE: Downtown Cape Canaveral
WHEN: Wednesday January 15th, around 5 PM EST
WHAT: Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome.
WARNINGS: None anticipated; let us know if this should be edited.

Cape Canaveral. It's no longer the heat of the day and in January the temperatures will be livable; not too hot and not too cold, either. A pleasant change from the City, perhaps. The sun is on its way to setting but the last light of the day still fills the sky, bursting the city into color. The air smells like ocean.

The locals are friendly and smile and wave, looking on at you in awe. They'll approach if you ask for help, or a question, but they don't want to interfere, either; if you want to be left alone you probably will be. American flags can be seen in many windows and restaurants are rolling out their dinner menus. There's no parade, no big banners, but many storefronts have handmade signs and posters that read:

Welcome, imPorts! We love you!

The woman at the Porter told you what to expect: You know what your tattoo means, you've been given your file, and you know in a few hours they're going to be here to answer more of your questions and see if you'll stand with them or if you'll go off on your own. "It's your decision," one of them had said, but you were already told what you get if you agree and what you don't if you don't. After that's done, she told you, you'll be driven to your new homes.

In the meantime, enjoy the area, or try to. It may not be what you're used to, but after the apocalypse even Florida might seem like an improvement.

Comments

[viced]

"Now?" he asked, looking around. His eyes wandered just as much as his hearing did, listening and looking throughout the entirety of the roadway he was standing on. Contemplating. Without the City, without New York, or DC, or even the one thing ever-present at the back of his mind, the promise of something larger encroaching on his own universe -- he wasn't sure what to do.

He'd read his assignment, of course, he knew what he was supposed to do, but how to do that was still in the air. Still something he really didn't know, until he';d put all the pieces together and actually adapted. It would take more than just an hour or two to figure this place out.

At least. Sensory overload was a hell of a thing.

"Figure it out, adapt, I suppose. Figure out what the hell we're going to do here," he admitted.

Mitchell wasn't happy, unless he had something driving him, however.

[waiting]

"We don't really have a choice," Bradbury conceded, rather wryly. Adapting would take more time and information than they had right now. For once, he and Mitch were starting on more or less even ground... though he wasn't sure that was something to be grateful for. At least one of them should have a better idea of what was going on.

"It's weird, isn't it?" He murmured, glancing over to watch the pedestrians passing, shaking his head. "It's all... normal here." He still had the vivid memories of a world collapsing in his head.

"Wonder what happened to Lachesis."

[viced]

"I don't know if I'd say it's normal," he mentioned, his voice touching on wry. Or at least to him, it wasn't normal. Mitch could feel the differences in the way that he always felt differences. He listened, and could sense it, but he didn't voice it. The way he occasionally clenched his jaw or closed his eyes said enough.

Someone like Bradbury? He could probably tell, but then again, Bradbury knew Mitch better than most.

"Anyway, I don't think the old bitch is gone, but I don't know where she'd be, either. She's probably around, waiting to fuck with us again."

[waiting]

He was looking Mitch over, more closely than normal even, the slight furrow between his brows a familiar sign of worry that usually preceded him about to say something that Mitch wasn't going to want to hear.

"How's your head?" He hadn't had a chance to test his own powers, for the obvious reasons, even if the file he'd been handed mentioned those powers in detail. And wasn't that distressing.

"Are you still, you know..." He twirled a finger by one ear, nodding out towards the city. "...plugged in?"

[viced]

Mitch almost narrowed his eyes at his bodyguard. Almost, but he could understand the question. After all, wasn't he the best damn indicator for whether powers still worked? God, he wished they didn't. It would be nice, for once, to come some place, and not hear everything in that same, familiar, intimate way he always did.

"Yes, Bradbury. My powers are still working," he groaned, holding his hand up to the bridge of his nose, to pinch there. He hated talking about them, even as he complied, understanding why.

He just hated addressing it.

[waiting]

Bradbury exhaled, not sure what answer he'd been hoping for, really. It wasn't exactly disappointing to hear -- at least Mitchell Hundred talking to machines was still a constant in this world, even if nothing else was. At the same time...

"They knew about it coming in, didn't they?" He said, crossing his arms. His own powers had been on his file, and so he assumed Mitch's had to be as well. "Kind of creepy. How much do you think they know?"

[viced]

Mitchell had a feeling it was more than they let on. He didn't doubt it in the slightest. "Did you see your file?" he asked, his voice a little soft. He'd read his, skimmed it. There was a lot there, a bit too comprehensive, without delving too deeply into -- well.

There were things left unsaid, but he didn't trust that this was all they knew. Call him paranoid, but if he were in their position, he'd not share every scrap of information. If just to make sure that the implication hung in the air.

"I certainly think they know more than they're letting on."