TEST DRIVE ∞ May 2025

[thediadem]

Test Drive ∞ May 2025

The First Collision

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Jump ⇅ :: Arrival — Panorama — Fringes — Invite Request

The Diadem is an invite-only panfandom game set in a retro-futuristic world where uprooted souls find themselves deep within an eerie wasteland of roads and highways frequently assailed by cosmic storms. Three united strongholds keep the population. Its capital is Panorama, a large metropolis at the planet's center.

Soon, you realize you aren't alone. Calling themselves fluxdrifts, the "locals" have similar stories to you, either for themselves or their ancestry. You speak to an old woman who claims she hailed from another star. You meet a young man who says his great-great-grandfather knew a strange language everybody spoke "back home." As you explore, you stumble across a coin you recognize or your sister's locket. How did it get here? What does this mean? That's for you to discover.

But first, you need to find a ride.

No invites needed to play on the TDM. Everyone's welcome! Use the Invite Request thread below to request an invite from another player.

∞ Summary ∞

IC-wise, arrivals are scattered throughout the month. Events described on the TDM are also ongoing throughout the month. If you'd rather jump right into the action, you're free to begin in media res with your character having already been on the planet for several days.

Post-impact, characters will wake up in a med tent by the Scrapyard. From there, they must accept a vehicle on loan and make the 2-hour drive to the nearest city, Panorama. If they refuse the car because they don't want the loan, they'll be in debt for medical bills instead...so just take the car. It'll come in handy.

Some things to keep in mind when bringing in your character:

• Pick an injury. At minimum, they got knocked out; at most, whatever they can recover from. Medicine is decently advanced so they'll heal faster if not painlessly.
• Decide items kept. Reasonable items on their person only: photos, keys, clothes, costumes. No pets or animal companions. Wildly out-of-place tech and personal cell phones will be damaged beyond repair.
• Select a weapon. Do this only if eligible. Guidelines about weapons and powers are on the FAQ.
• Choose a vehicle. Decide whether your character gets 2-3 options or if they're stuck with something they hate. Players can pick directly from our collection or source their own images. Anything under a similar aesthetic will work. If your character needs accommodations for driving, they can have them. Ask us for details.
• Get a phone. Characters have to obtain a phone (and a SIM card) themselves. If they've got one from home, it's damaged beyond repair. Phones are cheap. It'll only take a couple of weeks to afford one. You need to know the number before you text or call anyone. Read about phones and the Forum before you hop on it.

TDM threads can be canon if characters are accepted. Top-levels made to the TDM should be open to all.

TDM Questions? Here — Game Questions? FAQ

Setting — Taken — Reserves — Applications ::: ⇅ Top

Fluxdrift

Arrival & Introduction

Date: Throughout May

You've tumbled over a cliff. You were fighting for your life. You're on the cusp of death. You slipped in the shower. Whatever the catalyst, you struggle to cling to consciousness. As darkness overtakes you, a swirling vortex warps light and shadow in a way that defies all physics. A dark wail etches into your very bones. You couldn't describe it if you tried. You can barely comprehend what it is.

Then you open your eyes.

Through the figure's mask ©, you swear the face is grinning down at you. The tent you're in smells of antiseptic, and scratchy blankets line your cot. Injuries you've sustained have been bandaged. In the corner, you spot a MedBot that's fixed you up. Depending on the extent of your injuries, the doctor on duty might give you some painkillers before you go. Thankfully, your belongings are by the exit. Sorry if anything's damaged. Your landing was pretty rough.

You follow the figure outside. They are Yom Crook, here to lend a hand to fellow fluxdrifts like yourself. Their car's parked beside them. Actually, there are lots of cars around, but Yom Crook's stands out with its painted shark mouth. They explain they found you, unconscious, in a diffusion zone and brought you here. The nearest city is a 2-hour drive northeast. Forget about walking. You'll never make it. Also, you owe the doctor a lot of money for patching you up. But you're in luck: they've got some wheels for you and if you accept the vehicle on loan, Yom Crook will cover your medical bills. That's a good deal, right? It's not the shiniest car or motorcycle, but it'll do. If fortune favors, you'll get to choose between two or three options. Plus, if you need accommodations to drive—like adjustments to your seat height or modified controls—you'll receive all that for free.

Take the vehicle. (And the loan.) Yom Crook assures you that you'll have six months before collectors come around. Any time you're ready to pay a part of it down, return here to the Scrapyard. You'll get a receipt and everything. Paying off the loan in six months isn't impossible, but it will take a lot of work. Just don't get too lax. There's a good chance you'll be juggling multiple loans as you try to get by.

You either know how to drive, or you'll have a bare-bones manual to get you started. Road rules are more a suggestion than enforced, so just hit the pedal and go. The car has some basic features. The built-in compass will help you navigate.

OPTIONAL PROMPTS: a flat tire; a body on the road (is it a trap?); a fender bender

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Panorama

Explore & Settle In

Conditions: Warm spring temperatures, light showers

After 2 hours on the road, you find civilization. The largest of the strongholds, Panorama is where the economy thrives. Massive power plants glowing red make it visible from a distance. The city is divided into three districts. For now, you can access the Pavilion and the Blocks. Don't worry about the Sanctum; they're not letting you in.

You only need to know two things about Panorama: 1) it's big, the size of a modern metropolis, and you'll need your car to get around; 2) anything goes as long as you don't pick a fight with the wrong person. Street smarts will get you far. Despite its geographical size, the population isn't huge. With roughly a million people in a city designed for over twice that number, Panorama is far from deserted, but nor is it overcrowded. It's a good thing. Resources are limited as it is.

The Pavilion: Free Samples

©

Like any large city, Panorama features a couple of supermarkets. The stock's not as consistent as a proper supermarket. On occasion, shelves can remain cleaned out for a week or two. Regardless, the long tradition of free samples remains. If you're not already shopping, you'll notice the crowded parking lot and clusters of lines inside.

Try samples, push through the crowds as you shop, or give yourself a five-finger discount. If you're cautious, you can pocket a few small items without consequences. The Pavillion doesn't have the infrastructure for surveillance; unless someone sees you, you won't be caught. Steal from the store or pilfer someone's wallet. Maybe you even make a new friend if you bump into another fluxdrift. Or, start a fight with somebody who cut you off in the cheese line. Don't make too much of a ruckus, or you'll be thrown out.

As you look around, you'll see posters advertising temporary positions for the cash register or graveyard shifts in the warehouse. Seems they might've lost several employees recently (how'd that happen?), which is good for you! It's just a 6-week position, but it'll get you on your feet. The city has temporary positions like this all over. Permanent ones are harder to come by when you're new.

Samples include: steamed cabbage dumplings, synthetic cherry juice, cheddar cheese, and chocolate-covered alien eggs (it's crunchy and weirdly tasty). They're served in the usual throwaway paper cups with little toothpicks.

The Blocks: Power Outage

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Power's finicky in Panorama, especially in the Blocks. Saint Margery's Hospital, located in the same area, has priority for power so the first to go are the motels. Maybe you've been in your room for a couple of weeks, maybe you just got here—and by the way, every motel desk is happy to put the fee on your tab if you don't have the money upfront—but all the motels on the east side are in a blackout, leaving only the west side motels up and running.

What do you do? You have three choices:

• Risk leaving your room and head to the other side where there's power. Knock on some doors and negotiate with another to share the room. They might shut the door in your face, ask for a favor in return, or be nice enough to help you with no strings attached. There's no guarantee your unattended room will be untouched, though, and you'll be on the hook for any damages an intruder causes.
• Sit in the dark and deal. It's not the worst idea, but the TV's down, the vending machines are powered down, and with the entire place plunged into darkness, you risk getting robbed. If you struggle with defending yourself, you might want to find some trustworthy company. You can also sneak out of there and let them take your leftover pizza. It's not like you've got a ton of valuables, right? Plus, clobbering someone in the face with a frying pan sounds great until you realize you've gotta do something with the body. And what if this person's got a friend waiting?
• Get in your car and drive (or grab a friend for a road trip). If you scroll the Forum, you might notice reports on diffusion zones southward. Besides, these motels are hardly your forever home. The city can only provide so much. Why not go for a ride and see what you can find out there?

OPTIONAL PROMPTS: clean up on aisle 3 (what is that goo?); a knock at your door but no one's there; you hear screaming or a commotion down the hall

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©

The Fringes

Quad 3: Lockdown

Conditions: Stormy, with flooding roads

Felix Bjurstrom
> Date: 125-05-17
> Time: 02:15:57

> Emergency road lights have been reported in Quadrant 3! Please, can someone go see what's there? When last we chasers investigated emergency lights, a whole truck filled with sour candy had tipped over. Our stores were stocked for weeks! Oh, be careful - reception looks bad in that zone.

Whether you end up here on your own or you were following a tip on the Forum, the outcome is the same: you come to a stop in front of a 2-story office building that's flooded several inches deep. Emergency lights from a roadblock flicker through the stormy night. Stepping out of your car, you're soaked within seconds. When you check your phone, you don't have any bars. No calls in or out.

Through the open windows, a computer awakens and displays a cheerful smile. The lights inside switch on.

Pick your scenario role below. Your thread partner doesn't need to take the opposite role! They can join you in the same scenario (i.e. trapped together). Players are also free to create a generic NPC for the other side to facilitate the thread.

After characters escape, they'll find one bottle of antibiotics in their pocket or car, whether they remember taking it or not.

A: Sealed In
As you peer through the windows, you see crates of medicine floating around. Antibiotics in the diadem are valuable. Hospitals and doctors are always buying. You can keep it for yourself or make a quick buck. Or maybe you're compelled to help somebody back in the city who's in need. Whatever the reason, you decide to take the risk and step inside.

Water splashes around your ankles. The lock buzzes behind you. If you try to break the windows, you discover they're unnaturally resistant to shattering. With the whole place locked tight, the water begins to churn. Then the computer lights up again.

Warning, it flashes in large, bold text. Quarantine in progress. Release code required for exit.

• To find the code, you'll have to search. Duck under the water, go through sopping envelopes and sticky notes or pick the locks on the filing cabinets and desk drawers. You can also try hacking the computers. Use your computer knowledge or fall back on the age-old trick of seeing who wrote down their password.
• The files, notepads, and emails start innocuous, but as you look through them, disturbing phrases jump out at you—a dark thought you've had or a cruel taunt from someone in your past. The longer you're fixed on the terrible words, the higher the water begins to rise. Only another can break you out of your trance.
• With the rising water comes fear. And the more you're afraid, the more the water also rises. You begin to see faces in the water, bobbing like balloon heads. Do you recognize them? If you move to take a closer look, they will sink back beneath the surface as if never there.
• If you manage to swallow your panic, you can eventually find a triple-laminated binder with the release code and instructions. Bad news: you need someone on the outside to punch in the 6 strange symbols in order. The instructions explain that the code panel is located at the back of the building.

Let's hope a friendly face comes along.

B: Set Free
As you peer through the windows, you see not just the crates of medicine but someone trapped inside. They look like they might be in trouble, and from your vantage point, you notice that the water is bubbling strangely. It's definitely not normal rainwater. As you watch, the water rises unnaturally, stopping and starting. It's as if the water level is responding to an external stimulus.

• The glass is soundproof. You can't hear what the person inside is saying, so you'll have to communicate with each other another way. Try charades, typing on your phone, or whatever you think of. Eventually, you determine that they're stuck and that you need to enter some sort of code onto a pad located—according to your trapped partner—at the back of the building.
• Around the back, shadows swallow your surroundings. The panel must be pried open, but a slippery substance makes it hard to get a good grip. Each time the substance touches you, you grow uneasy. You swear you see eyes watching you, though when you turn around, nothing's there.
• You can't seem to keep the instructions in your mind. And those symbols...they burn into your retinas. Through them, you glimpse an incomprehensibly massive figure unfurling in the darkness, pulsing as if in a deep sleep. When you snap back to reality, you realize you've injured yourself, slicing your hand on a sharp edge or a bruise you can't remember getting.
• Once you manage to release the doors, the water inside the office drains upward into the sky as though sucked out by a giant hose. The darkness spreads. Get out of there fast before the shadows drag you or your partner into the void.

Of course, you don't have to help anyone. You can leave the individual there, make a deal, or outright extort them. But remember, you're not the only person on these roads. You might want to play your cards carefully, even if altruism isn't your first instinct.

Main Navigation ::: ⇅ Top

Comments

Jesse Pinkman | Breaking Bad

[yeahmagnets]

[ Threads are open to anyone! Here's my EMP Comment. You can PM this journal, or hit me up on plurk (rizzoto). Feel free to tweak prompts as needed and I'll follow your lead. Will match style - brackets and prose are both fine! ]

Arrival & Introduction

[yeahmagnets]

[ He doesn’t quite remember hitting the floor. One second, Hank’s fist is pummeling his face like he’s trying to pound Jesse into something pure, or dead, or both, and the next, his vision whites out. Everything tilts. Something inside him gives. Bone? Willpower? Doesn’t matter. He’s weightless. Then the world splits open. Light tears sideways. Gravity forgets what it's doing. Jesse spirals into something deeper than unconsciousness. A vortex warps the corners of reality, light spinning into sound, sound into shadow. A scream scrapes across his spine like rusted claws on glass. He tries to breathe, but there’s no breath left in him. Time doesn't exist. Neither does he, maybe. All that's left is a single, fractured thought: This ain’t the end. It’s just a new kind of hell.

And then, he opens his eyes. The air smells like bleach and blood and antiseptic. Harsh light slices through the seams of a patchy tent. Scratchy army-surplus blankets itch against his skin, and there’s a pressure bandage wrapped around his chest that makes every breath feel like a dare. A MedBot clicks quietly in the corner, its mechanical arms folded like it’s just waiting for someone else to fall apart. Across the room stands a figure in a mask. They introduce themself as Yom Crook and offer him a ride, a deal, a life. Jesse doesn't ask too many questions. His eye is still swollen, and his head throbs like there’s a drumline playing in it. But he listens. Nods. Because what else is there to do?

He owes money now for being saved, for not dying in some weird, inter-dimensional gutter. They call it a loan, but it smells like chains. Fine. Whatever. Jesse’s had worse strings tied to him. They take him out to the lot. The van that catches his eye isn’t flashy, but it’s loud in its own way. A matte gunmetal 1986 Chevy G20, rigged together like it’s survived every apocalyptic road war the world forgot. Welded armor plates patch the side panels like a Frankenstein exoskeleton. The front grille’s been reinforced with rebar, and a cracked red siren light sits on the roof - nonfunctional, but ominous. Inside, the dash is scrawled with marker tags and names Jesse doesn’t recognize. The seats are mismatched and duct-taped at the seams. He climbs in. The van groans like it’s waking up angry. ]

Yeah. [ Jesse wraps his fingers around the wheel, giving it a testing squeeze. ] You’ll do.

[ He doesn’t get far before it happens. Cruising down a slick road, what feels like a couple hours from the Scrapyard, engine humming and compass twitching on the dash, Jesse rounds a bend and sees headlights. Too close. ]

Oh shit!

[ He jerks the wheel. Tires scream. The van skids sideways, gravel exploding under the wheels, and he swerves off the road, fishtailing into a shallow ditch before he can stop it. The van bounces, then slams still, angled hard, engine still coughing. Jesse just sits there, knuckles white on the wheel, heart banging against his bruised ribs. No damage. No blood. But he’s pissed. He throws open the door, storming out, no clue who the other driver is or what kind of heat they might be packing, but Jesse’s vibrating with the kind of reckless adrenaline that begs for a target. Act first, think later. ]

Yo! What the hell, man?! You blind?

[ Were you driving the other car? A passenger, caught in someone else's recklessness? Hitching a ride in his van? Just a witness, parked nearby, or driving/walking past? ]

Driving by the accident

[godjr]

[ It has been slow going for Jack since getting his motorcycle because he doesn't know how to drive it and keeps crashing. So sometimes he just slows down and looks at the strange world around him. He is going approximately thirty miles an hour, just enough to not be too wobbly, when he hears a pretty loud shriek of tires and then a crash. He adjusts the blue helmet on his head and heads in that direction. Someone might need help.

He parks near the ditch and the motorcycle falls over because he's not good at balancing it yet, and he keeps the helmet on as he walks over, but then a man is coming up out of it yelling. Jack understands. He would be upset too, if his car was damaged like that. He glances over to see that the other person who was in the accident simply flips Jesse off, ignoring the bad dents in their car and damage, and just decides to drive off while they can. No honor amongst drivers apparently, it's not like they have insurance. ]

I can probably get your car back on the road if it still drives. Are you hurt?

[ He doesn't look like anything special on the outside, but the truth is much more complicated. He's young, barely looking old enough to drink, but his tone is very polite and his expression honest, concerned. Jack is supposed to not show any supernatural abilities so he can be accepted by the normal people here, so he'd have to decide on that in a few minutes. ]

[yeahmagnets]

[ Jesse watches the other car screech away, flipping him off like he was the one in the wrong, and it ignites something white-hot in his chest. He throws both hands up in disbelief, voice pitching toward a frustrated growl. ]

Seriously? You sideswipe me, run off like a little bitch, and I’m the asshole?!

[ No point in yelling, but he does it anyway. The offending car is already shrinking in the distance, and it'll be long gone by the time the van gets in working order. He turns back toward the van, still tipped at a stupid angle in the shallow ditch. His ribs ache with the effort of yelling, and his breath comes sharp, adrenaline fraying at the edges now that the immediate danger's passed. That’s when the kid(?) steps up. Jesse squints at him, sizing him up defensively. But no, this one looks weirdly calm. Helmet still on, voice polite. Jesse blinks once, then again, not sure if he heard correctly. ]

You can what? [ He glances between the kid and the van, incredulous. Then back again. He rakes a hand through his hair, fingers catching on grit and sweat. The sarcasm practically falls out of him before he can stop it. ] Look, unless you’re hiding a tow truck in that helmet, I don’t see how you’re fixin’ to get that beast back on the road.

[ There's no real venom behind the sarcasm, just tired disbelief and a little whiplash from the whole situation. Jack’s tone isn’t smug. He’s not posturing. That throws Jesse off more than anything. He exhales sharply, his shoulders finally starting to sag, the tension bleeding out slowly. ]

Sorry. I'm just...it's been a long day. I'm not hurt. Not worse than I already was, anyways. [ He glances at the van again, scuffed but still upright, a hand gingerly pressing to his ribs, feeling the pressure bandage beneath his clothes. One of his eyes is bruised and swollen. He chews on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, then sighs. ] Think we could try popping it in neutral and pushing it out? [ He's skeptical, but it's better than standing here and doing nothing. ]

[godjr]

[ That is something Dean would do, for sure, so Jack relates to it. It would be frustrating. He considers using his powers to pop one of the man's tires so he would be stranded and they could have a stern talk, but focusing on his new friend's car situation is probably more important. He looks at the car and back at Jesse, passively letting him get out his feelings since it seems like he has a lot of them. It's perfectly reasonable. This situation is confusing. ]

It's okay. I'm glad you're not injured. I'm going to do something scary, okay? You don't have to be scared though. I want you to have your car back.

[ Jack told himself to try and act like a normal human as long as possible, but he is truly terrible at that, and it wouldn't be right if he stood there and acted like he couldn't help get the car out of the ditch. What was he supposed to do, let it break and leave it? No, that would be mean.

Jack hops down into the ditch and puts his hands underneath the car. He gets the best grip he thinks he can have and starts to lift. He is very strong but he rarely uses it this way, but his father's power is especially bursting inside of him at the moment, so it is very easy for him to simply lift it over his head and walk up onto the road. It looks as if it weighs no more to him than the helmet on his head, and that's mostly true. He's an angelic Superman here.

He is very careful when he sets it down but it does clang a little and he frowns, flinching. He looks back to Jesse and his eyes glow an inhuman white-gold.]

Sorry, the balance was a little off. [ He adjusts it to make certain it is solidly on its tires again. Success. ] Okay, there.

[yeahmagnets]

[ There’s a split second where Jesse doesn’t think anything of it. The kid says he’s gonna do something scary, and Jesse figures maybe it’s some weird metaphor. He opens his mouth to say something snarky, but then the kid lifts the van. Like, lifts it. Not a jack under the frame. Not a push from behind. He picks it up over his damn head. Jesse just stands there, lips parted, expression blank. Not because he doesn't feel anything, but because his brain has just quietly left the chat. His hands are half-raised like he’d been about to help, only to freeze in place as if his nervous system went into a factory reset. The Chevy hangs in the air like a toy, like gravity forgot its job for a second, and Jesse’s pupils track it the whole way up until it’s back on the pavement.

When the van clunks down and the kid turns around with his eyes glowing like sunshine caught in glass, Jesse staggers a half-step back as if his body finally catches up to the fact that something deeply unnatural just happened. His breath hitches in his throat, his jaw tightens, he tries to swallow but his mouth feels too dry. He doesn’t run, but it’s clear some deep part of him is screaming: That ain’t normal. ]

Yo. [ Another beat. One eye squints. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s still not sure whether he’s terrified or impressed. Maybe a little of both. ] You, uh...you wanna tell me what the hell you just did? 'Cause I don’t know what protein shake you’ve been chugging, but that was not Gold’s Gym shit. Like, not at all.

[ His tone isn’t angry. It's not hostile. If anything, it's full of a strange, wary awe. Maybe a little excitement. Is this some superhero shit? He glances back at the van, now perfectly parked like it never left the road, then back at the Super Strength Kid or whatever. ]

You an alien, or like...or like some kind of robot?

[godjr]

[ Jesse's lack of screaming or scared reaction is greatly appreciated because Jack would much prefer someone be impressed by him than be upset. It's nicer this way and he can save the car without feeling bad about showing off. Jack's always wanted to have a reason to show off without it being something that makes other people hate or fear him, which seems to be the default reaction. Which he understands is normal and human, but it makes him automatically a monster in the eyes of someone else.

His new friend isn't looking at him like that, which is nice so far. Jack waits, as if expecting there to be yelling, but instead Jesse talks and doesn't call him names, so he relaxes, smiling. He isn't pretending to be human so he can just tell him the truth. ]

I'm a Nephilim. Half-archangel. I'm glad you aren't scared, I promise I would never hurt anyone intentionally.

[ The intentional part is sort of a key. And also, he should add now, because he's hurt people before, but he's not so stupid as to bring attention to that with someone new. The point is that Jack is trying very hard to be good and not hurt anyone like he says. He is in much better control of himself and his powers these days. He can handle this. Usually he just says half-angel but considering he has archangel power radiating through him at the moment, he might as well use the right term. ]

I'm Jack. I'm also half-human though, if that helps.

[messenger]

[ castiel has been behind the wheel a few years now. enough to have seen his fair share of accidents. but, shocking though it may be, has never been in one— until now. he's coming up behind the chevy in his own rusted impala 2001 when the van comes around the corner. he swerves his car in the other direction. instead of beached in a ditch, he merely spins out, tires screaming as they leave long black stripes on the pavement. all in all, he's more concerned about the car than his own body. and it doesn't seem like anyone was hurt.

but the man in the other car is angry, and as the person driving the van steps out it's clear they're disposition is no better. should he go, or...

no, probably not. feeling harried, looking harried, castiel steps out of the car. ]

Are you all right?

[ he's speaking to both of them. ]

[yeahmagnets]

[ Jesse doesn’t answer right away. He just stands there in the wet gravel at the side of the road, chest heaving like he ran a marathon he didn’t sign up for. He winces at the bruises still blooming across his ribs and his face from earlier, but his focus is locked on the van (his van) angled awkwardly in the ditch. The front bumper’s crooked, nose-down into the mud, engine still clunking away like it thinks it can get out on its own. He swears under his breath. ]

Yeah, I’m fine. [ He responds to Castiel, but his eyes are still surveying the damage. ] But I dunno about my ride.

[ His voice is gravel-laced, tight with leftover adrenaline and the deep-rooted, ever-simmering frustration of someone who’s constantly one shitty situation away from losing everything. He scrubs a hand over his face, pushing his hoodie back from his forehead, then shoots a glance toward the other car (the one that actually caused this whole shitshow). The door flings open, and a guy steps out already halfway into a tirade: ]

You were the one who cut me off! Learn how to fucking drive!

[ The other driver is younger than Jesse, but he can't tell by how much. He's got a neck tattoo, a mouth full of bad attitude, and the kind of overconfidence that usually ends in sirens. He throws his hands wide in a theatrical gesture, like he’s daring Jesse or Castiel to contradict him. Jesse doesn’t rise to it. Not yet. His jaw tightens, hands flexing at his sides. His eyes flick toward Castiel, then back to the loudmouth, then down again at the van, sunk in muck and bad luck. He lets out a slow breath through his nose, trying to bite back the instinct that wants to start throwing punches before asking questions. Instead, he points down at the van, voice low and tight. ]

Oh yeah? Then explain how I ended up in a ditch while your punk ass is still on the road. [ Jesse’s not looking for a fight, but if this guy keeps pushing, he won’t walk away from one, either. What's another bruise or two? His gaze swings toward Castiel again. ] You saw it, right? [ Yep, he's gonna drag you right into this, Cas. ]

[messenger]

[ his "ride" looks rather worse for wear, but to be honest, they all do. even the man who cut him off isn't driving in a pristine vehicle, but he supposes that's besides the point. it's going to be difficult to get to the city without something to ride in. two miles is a long walk, even when you aren't human.

castiel looks between them, mute until he's dragged into the altercation against his will.

he didn't have to stop.

he did this to himself. ]

... Yes?

[ he offers, truthfully if reluctantly. the other man puffs up, no doubt to regale them with some angry diatribe, but castiel cuts him off. ]

I can get your van out of the ditch.

[yeahmagnets]

[ Jesse blinks. He turns to the stranger, this trench-coated guy who looks like he just walked out of an apocalypse-themed thrift store, calm as hell while Jesse’s practically vibrating with all the leftover adrenaline. He kind of looks like a cop, but not the kind Jesse’s used to; there’s no flex in him, no ego. Just stillness. The kind that makes Jesse want to flinch for no reason at all. Like the guy can see through him without even trying. ]

You can get it out? [ Jesse's voice is flat, skeptical, as he nods toward the van, nose-deep in roadside muck. ] Listen, yo, unless you got a tow cable stashed in that coat, I don’t see how.

[ Jesse lets out a breath, runs a hand over the back of his neck, tension still tight across his shoulders. He mutters a curse under his breath, then looks back at trench coat guy. ]

I dunno, I mean...if you’ve got some way to do it? Hell, I’m not picky. Just don’t expect me to believe you got some miracle tucked in your pocket or whatever.

[ It’s not quite sarcasm. More like guarded hope dressed up in a scowl. Jesse’s not used to anyone offering help without a catch, let alone someone who does it like it's no big deal. He steps back toward the van, gravel crunching underfoot, the driver who caused the fiasco deciding to get back in his car and drive off. Not his problem. Jesse motions towards the van with a half-hearted shrug. ]

Guy was lucky my ribs hurt too much to throw down.

[messenger]

[ any other person might look at jesse and immediately typecast, but castiel doesn't have that kind of experience with humanity. he can't read souls just by looking at a person, the way some angels do in in the stories humans write about them, but people are just people. most of the time, however they act, he finds all they're trying to do is their best. with careful stress on most.

but somehow, the situation deescalates. the angry man leaves and it's just the two of them and their cooling cars. one thing he can tell by looking at jesse, he's just as new to this place as castiel himself is. ]

You were hurt—?

[ castiel's brow furrows in concern, but first thing's first: he walks through the ditch around to the other side of the van, careless of his now mud-caked shoes, and studies it. then, he places both hands on one side and— pushes. it looks ridiculous. anyone seeing this picture would think castiel has lost his mind. but a moment later, the van groans as the metal bends under its own weight bearing down on the force of castiel's pushing. thankfully, it doesn't buckle. the tires drag deep tracks in the mud, but though it's slow going, that's proof that the van is, indeed, moving. ]

The Pavilion: Free Samples

[yeahmagnets]

[ The skyline of Panorama punches through the mist like something out of a fever dream. Massive towers glow red at the top, pulsing like veins, lighting the overcast sky in flickers of industrial heat. Rain mists down in warm sheets, slicking the road and painting everything in shades of rust and neon. Jesse leans forward in the driver’s seat of the van, knuckles tight on the wheel, teeth clenched just enough to make his jaw throb. He's been mostly quiet, just the sound of the wipers, the engine’s uneven hum, and the occasional crackle of a busted speaker that strains to crank out the music playing over the radio. ]

Big-ass city. Okay, let’s see if you’re as weird as the rest of this trip.

[ The Pavilion’s parking lot is chaos. Carts zigzag through puddles. A few kids in oversized jackets hang around the entrance like they’re plotting something. Every other vehicle looks like it was welded together from different species of junk. Jesse slides into a spot near the back, careful to kill the engine with the van angled for a quick exit, just in case. Inside, the store is loud, bright, and packed. It smells like fake citrus, sweat, and fried cabbage. Jesse makes it five feet before someone tries to cut in front of another customer who's already in line at the sample table - some tall asshole with a shaved head and an aggressive stance. He's familiar with the type and doesn't think twice before intervening. ]

Yo! [ He steps between them, voice loud enough to draw attention. ] This ain’t the Purge, man. They were here first.

[ The bald guy sneers, sizes Jesse up, and either decides it’s not worth it, or senses the low-simmering don’t test me energy radiating off him. He mutters something and walks off. Jesse's shoulders relax as he turns to the person he just helped, a lighter tone in his voice now. ]

Dude had ‘roid rage over free cheese. Go 'head, you're good.

[ He moves along the sample tables. Grabs a dumpling. Rubber and cabbage-flavored regret. Synthetic cherry juice. Fine, whatever. But then he tries one of the chocolate-covered alien eggs and freezes. Crunchy. Weirdly tangy. He chews twice more, squinting with suspicion, then glances at the person next to him. ]

Ay. [ He speaks, motioning at the alien egg cup. ] I thought they were gonna taste like...I dunno, space mold or whatever. But they kinda slap, right? It's like, um...like Pop Rocks had a kid with a Snickers.

[ Jesse’s not above sampling twice. Or five times. He palms a protein bar while pretending to read the label, slips a bottle of electrolyte-something into his hoodie pocket, and knocks a display just slightly off-kilter to create a ripple effect. People start arguing over who touched what. He casually tosses a pack of mystery-meat jerky under his arm and walks away like nothing happened. A few feet away, someone watches him. He meets their eyes, flicks his gaze down to their hands, and back up to their face. Then he lifts a finger to his lips, a grin flickering at the edges. Shhh. ]

[ Did Jesse call out the guy who tried to cut in front of you? Were you the one he talked to about the alien eggs? Or maybe you saw him steal, and now he knows you know. Maybe you used the distraction he created to swipe something for yourself. ]

The Blocks: Power Outage

[yeahmagnets]

[ The lights flicker once, then twice, then go out. Jesse freezes mid-bite, a sad triangle of cold pizza dangling from his fingers as the motel room goes silent. The TV clicks off. The mini fridge groans and dies. Even the neon motel sign outside his window fades into nothing. He stares into the darkness for a beat. ]

Aw, c’mon, man. Not now.

[ He flicks his lighter open. The flame dances just enough to light the warped wallpaper and stained carpet. The pizza slaps back onto the plate as he stands and paces, sneakers sticking suspiciously with each step. Gross. He pulls the door open and sticks his head out, peering down the hallway one way, then the other. It's long and dark, lit only by weak moonlight filtering in through grime-smeared windows. A vending machine flickers at one end of the hall like it's trying to come back to life. It doesn't. He's about to close the door again to come up with a game plan when a sudden sound freezes him in his tracks. Screaming. Not TV screaming (the power's out, duh). Not drunk-person-loud-in-the-parking-lot screaming. Real. Desperate. Down the hall, maybe a few rooms over (he can't tell), something crashes, further down a door slams. Then there's silence. Jesse slams the door shut, panic on his face. ]

Okay. [ He's pacing the room now, trying to swallow down the rising fear. ] Okay okay okay, this is, like. This ain't your problem, yo. You didn't sign up for this paranormal murder motel bullshit. You just wanted to nap and eat your damn pizza in peace. [ Jesse eyes his gun on the table. He tucks it into the back of his waistband, a last resort. Instead of wielding it, he grabs a folded ironing board from the closet and comically raises it like a shield. ] I swear to God, I will beat someone to death with this deluxe heat-resistant ass-flattener, man. Do not. Fuck with me.

[ He takes a breath, then another, then flicks the Zippo to life again and opens the door. This time, he's not alone. There's someone out there, silhouetted by the lighter’s glow. A shape in the dark. Another guest? Jesse holds the board in one hand, lighter in the other, trying to squint through the dark. ]

Hey, yo. [ A stage whisper that's probably not all that quieter than just talking, Jesse. ] You heard that, too, right? Like, you definitely heard that? [ He waves the lighter a little higher. ] You tryna dip? Or maybe check if any rooms still got power? I ain't stickin' around to be the next Motel Massacre victim.

[ Want to go with him to investigate the noise? Try to find out what the deal is with the power? Ditch the place altogether - road trip? Or maybe you're staying on the west side, where they still have power and Jesse shows up knocking and asking if you can help him out with a place to chill that's not haunted. ]

[carcajous]

[ Outside, there's already somebody in the halls, and unlike most people around these parts—especially when it goes dark—Logan's striding through with absolutely nothing except an old t-shirt tucked into his jeans. No gun, no knife, no flashlight. He also looks over a half-second before the door fully opens. As though he somehow heard the knob turn first.

His gaze roams over the young man, up and down. What the hell's in his hand? Is that a—?

Logan squints. Right. Yeah, he heard it. Hard not to. And he could tell himself it's not his business, but. Look, whatever. There's a couple people he knows nearby. He figures he'll at least check on them, see what's going on. Not like he can sleep, anyhow. He caught two hours earlier. That's about all his head seems to be letting him have tonight.

As for this guy? Logan's not playing babysitter, let's just say that. ]

Go back inside, kid.

[yeahmagnets]

[ Jesse stares at the guy like he just got told to sit down during a fire drill. Go back inside? Seriously? He could’ve taken a knife to the face, and this guy would probably just shrug it off and keep walking. For a second, Jesse thinks maybe he’s hallucinating again, because who the hell just walks around weaponless in the dark during a blackout while people are screaming bloody murder? But nah, this dude’s real. Looks solid, older, and kind of weathered. Something about the way he moves tells Jesse he’s seen this kind of darkness before, and probably worse.

But still. Jesse’s pride flares just enough to hold his ground. He adjusts his grip on the ironing board before he sets it aside tentatively, leaning it up against the wall beside the door, still within reach. Maybe it'll make him look braver. Probably not. The lighter flickers in his hand, casting light and shadows on both their faces. Logan's expression doesn’t change. Jesse’s heart feels like it's beating louder than the silence when the lighter in his hand starts to sear heat into his fingers. ]

Ah, fuck!

[ He winces, flipping the Zippo shut with a sharp click, juggling the thing back and forth until it cools off enough to shove into his pocket. He shakes his hands out like that’ll quell the burn, giving Logan a stink eye like he's the one who burned him. ]

Go back inside? Nah, man. You seen horror movies? That’s how people die. First one to split off always gets the machete to the dome, and I ain’t about to be that guy tonight.

[carcajous]

[ Definitely not.

A few more wrinkles form on Logan's forehead. The lighter flickers, then snaps shut. In the darkened quiet, he can hear a pounding heartbeat, and it's not his. Maybe that's what gets him to relent in the end.

He sighs. Jesus. Alright. Something tells him if he leaves the kid now, he really will end up with a machete to the dome. Not because they split up but because he won't go back inside and lock the damn door. Does he even have a flashlight?

Logan points at the ironing board. ] You're not bringing that thing.

[ And he's not bringing this guy to investigate a damn thing. He's gonna take him someplace where the power's on and put him there instead. From a glance outside his window earlier, looks as though the other side of the block's got it.

That's the plan, at least. He's learned things don't usually go to plan. ]

C'mon, hurry up.

[yeahmagnets]

[ Jesse doesn't move right away. The silence stretches, the hum that used to live in the walls now gone like breath held too long. Logan stands there in the dark like it doesn't touch him. Like it couldn’t, even if it tried. And maybe it doesn’t. Jesse's seen people like that before: war-scarred, gravel-voiced types who walk through chaos like it’s just weather. The kind of men who bleed and don’t flinch, who talk in half-sentences and don’t repeat themselves. When Logan points at the ironing board, Jesse glances over at it like it personally offended him. ]

Yeah, well. It had potential. As like...a shield or somethin'.

[ He defends his choice, but still leaves it behind. He doesn't leave his duffel bag, though. There's not much in it, but it's all he's got in the world. In this world, anyway. He slings it onto his shoulder and follows. Not because he’s told to, but because the hallway behind him feels colder than the wind outside, and this guy moves like someone who’s made it through worse than blackout motel horror shows. Jesse jogs a few steps to catch up, shoes thudding against warped carpet, the motel’s cheap floor creaking under the weight of someone who suddenly remembers how small they are. Jesse hugs his hoodie tighter around his ribs, bruised from another life, another world, and squints at the back of the man in front of him, or at least does the best he can with one eye half-swelled shut. ]

What’s the deal with you anyway, man? [ His voice is half-winded, half-curious. ] You just...carry ‘fuck around and find out’ energy everywhere you go, or is this, like, a special occasion?

[ Jesse tries to climb into humor, his usual armor, but there’s something honest beneath it. The adrenaline hasn’t completely worn off yet, and Jesse’s walking the knife-edge of something primal and bright. He doesn’t say thank you. He doesn’t ask why Logan didn’t just leave him behind. But the silence between them isn’t empty, either. Or won't be for long, if Logan doesn't start talking. Jesse's rarely at a loss for words. ]

[carcajous]

[ Uh-huh.

Despite himself, Logan waits for Jesse to catch up. The closer he draws, the younger he looks. And yeah, fine, everybody's young compared to Logan, but that's not what he means. It's something else. Something that burrows deeper than age. Maybe a something that gives the kid the aura of a stray cat pulled out of a river. Twitchy, but somehow determined to live. When he found Rogue off the side of the road, she was a little bit the same.

Guess he'd wound up taking her along, too.

His gaze lingers for a second on that black eye. He could answer that question. Could say exactly what his deal is because sometimes, Logan just can't give enough of a fuck to hide it. Sooner or later, the claws come out. That's what he's learned. That's what he's accepted about himself. But he's pretty sure a sudden noise might send this kid skittering off, never mind blades outta somebody's hands, so he just shrugs.

It's different when you can't die.

He holds out his hand. ] Gimme your lighter. [ He might be able to make his way through the dark fine, but he's not gonna be responsible for Jesse breaking his neck on the stairs. ] How'd that happen, anyway?

[ The shiner, he means. Did he get that here or someplace else? ]

Quad 3: Lockdown (Sealed-in)

[yeahmagnets]

[ The storm punches down on the roof of the van like it's trying to wake the dead. Rain thrashes the windshield, wipers working overtime and still doing jack. Jesse leans forward, squinting through the blur of flickering emergency lights up ahead: red, amber, red again, casting shaky halos across flooded asphalt. He pulls over, tires hissing through two inches of water. The engine ticks when he kills it, and for a second, all he hears is the storm breathing around him. The sky grumbles low. Thunder’s getting closer. Jesse checks his phone. No bars. ]

Figures.

[ He slides out into the rain and gets soaked in seconds, hoodie plastering to his arms, jeans sticking. He slogs toward the two-story building ahead, water sloshing up around his ankles. The place looks abandoned, some kind of office complex, but the lights inside flicker on like they’ve been waiting for him. One of the windows glows blue. Inside, a computer boots up with a cheerful smiley face. ]

Yeah, that’s not creepy or anything.

[ But then he sees them: crates. Floating, labels peeling, but still legible. They're antibiotics. Could be useful, right? Maybe valuable. Or might save somebody’s ass later. It's worth further investigation, he decides, as he pushes the door open. The buzz of the lock behind him is way too final. Water sloshes around his feet as he steps inside, shoes soaked through and heavy. The air smells like mildew, burnt plastic, and something faintly metallic. The computer screen flashes: QUARANTINE IN PROGRESS. RELEASE CODE REQUIRED FOR EXIT. He’s about to yell something when the lights flicker again. The water churns. He trudges further in, the water sloshing as he moves. Drawers are half-flooded, cabinets rusting at the corners. He tries to pry one open and digs through clumped papers and smeared ink.

A sticky note slips free, curling at the edges. The words make him freeze: SHE CHOKED BECAUSE OF YOU. Jesse stares at it like it might catch fire. His breath shortens. His chest tightens. Water climbs another inch. He tosses the note aside, but the words cling to him like oil. A computer monitor in the corner flickers to life. Words flash across the screen: YOU LET HER DIE. He grabs a chair and hurls it at the monitor. It jostles the monitor, making it skid to the edge of the desk, but it's otherwise unharmed. The words remain. The water ripples and deepens further. Jesse stumbles back, shaking, sucking in air through clenched teeth, eyes burning. He knocks into a filing cabinet, and a sheaf of papers falls from the top. He catches sight of smudged words printed across the sheets, one after another speaking to him: YOU ARE A PATHETIC JUNKIE. YOU HAVE NOTHING, NO ONE. YOU RUIN EVERYTHING YOU TOUCH. The notes make him stagger backward, the water rising above his waist as he freezes, consumed by the taunts. He wants to scream or break something or curl up and disappear. But he doesn't.

Instead, he forces himself forward. Cabinet drawers. Desk folders. Everything ruined. But then, he spots something underwater. He ducks under, groping through the dark water for the white binder that caught his eye. It's wedged behind a submerged terminal. Triple-laminated. Heavy. He yanks it out, lungs burning, and bursts up to the surface, coughing and sputtering. The binder shakes in his hands as he flips through it. Six symbols. Weird, alien-looking. Instructions printed in bold letters: MUST BE ENTERED FROM OUTSIDE PANEL. He drags himself to the door and slams a fist against it. His voice breaks as he yells. ]

HEY! SOMEBODY OUT THERE?!

[ No answer. The monitor in the corner flickers again, messages flashing across the screen: YOU ALWAYS SCREW IT UP. NOBODY'S COMING. YOU DESERVE THIS. He slumps against the wall, soaked, shivering, binder clutched to his chest, face creasing and eyes welling up. But then, motion out of the corner of his eye. At the front window, the rain’s thick as static, but a figure moves in the storm. Jesse splashes through the water to cross the room and presses his palm to the glass. He slams the binder up against the window, motioning wildly towards the binder and then the back of the building. He shouts, but there's no sound on the other side of the glass. His eyes say it all, regardless: Help me. Please. ]

[ Are you the one he just asked for help, or are you another unlucky soul who gets trapped inside with him? Will you help? Might be a good person to have owing you a favor. ]

[churnback]

[ Amos is in the area largely out of a compulsion to get a better feel for where the fuck they are, exactly, and what's around them. He sees the message pop up on the forum, and it's not something that immediately affects him or has anything to do with him, so he's not paying it much attention.

Given the jeep he's been saddled with, Amos was already soaked through from the rain the moment the storms kicked up. The little canopy above him doesn't do much in this kind of weather, and he's about to start heading back to the city when he notices a van pull up, notices someone go into the building. With the rain, he can't say he can make out the shape or face of the person walking inside very well, but it's clear someone is going in; following that message, and whatever's in the building. Amos hasn't bothered to get close enough to look right now. There's not much reason to linger, when he's seen what he needed to see for now.

Except from this vantage point, he sees some kind of lights flickering behind him — those emergency road lights on the message — and considers how easy it will even be driving back at this point until the storms let up. He's here, might as well be here, already soaked. It's a restlessness that pulls him out of the jeep initially, that feeling of not just wanting to sit and get rained on, and wait for something, anything at all, to happen to him. Figures whoever went into the building must still be in there, so — that's a thing to check on. Not for the sake of their welfare, exactly, just — a thing. To check on. As he gets closer, he can make out the way the building's been flooded, and since he doesn't remember that person leaving — well, that might be some real shit.

It's not his business, has nothing to do with him, but all of a sudden, there's someone — a kid — smacking the glass. Well, yeah, okay — can't miss that, and can't really ignore that now.

— he could, and maybe in other circumstances, he would. But he's here, he's standing right here, and there's something about seeing that panicked look in this kid's eyes — that obvious fear that's been so absent most of his own life — that means he can't just walk away. It wouldn't sit right. The minute he thinks of it, of stepping away, something pulls at him, pulls him back to the kid, like he can't go that way of thinking.

He keeps his eyes on his, clocks how strange the water looks in that room, but since he sees the kid's mouth move and he can't actually hear him (nor could he hear the smack), the only thing that matters now is whatever's in that binder. Or at least — he assumes so. If there's a door to get to, to let him out, why would a scared kid waste time holding up a binder? So Amos slams his palm against the glass in return, points to the binder with his other hand, makes a motion of flipping a page. What does he need to know? ]

[yeahmagnets]

[ Jesse presses the binder to the glass again just as another wave of water surges through the lower level. He doesn’t register it at first, the focus and desperation consuming him, but then it creeps past his waist and up his ribs like cold hands dragging him down. A sharp intake of breath rattles through his chest. The water's rising faster now, and the more he panics, the quicker it floods. It’s not just seeping in anymore. The water is rising steadily like the building’s bleeding from the inside out, like something below just gave way. Another vent submerged. Another pipe split. The flood climbs Jesse’s body with the indifference of a tide that doesn’t give a damn who’s drowning.

His arms shake as he flips the triple-laminated binder open, the pages slick but intact under his grip. Water splashes against his chest now, tugging at the binder like it wants that, too. He jams his forearm higher against the glass, lifting the binder with both hands to keep it visible. The plastic catches the stormlight like a beacon, and he holds it steady as best he can, pointing hard at the glyphs: six strange symbols that feel more like prophecy than instructions. The text above the symbols tells the man what Jesse can't: ENTER THE SYMBOLS IN ORDER. THE PANEL IS LOCATED AT THE REAR OF THE BUILDING.

Jesse can barely feel his legs. He can’t feel anything but the panic clawing up his throat and the bite of cold pressing into his spine. His teeth clack together when he yells again, silent and useless on the man's side of the glass, but his mouth moves with force, and he tries to over-anunciate in the hopes that the guy outside can read the shape of the word on his lips. ]

Please.

[ Jesse hits the window again with his fist, then motions towards the back of the building, or at least the direction he thinks it's in. The water surges again and Jesse needs to start kicking to stay afloat, his oversized clothes and waterlogged shoes weighing him down and threatening to drown him. Do it now. Do it now before the water hits my mouth.

Jesse’s soaked to the throat, hoodie dragging him down like dead weight, but his arms stay high, paddling, flailing, clawing to keep his head above water. There’s no space left for fear anymore. Only survival. Only trust, and the hope that he didn't survive whatever inter-dimensional leap this was, just to end up drowned in some fucking office building. ]

[churnback]

[ What separates Amos from feeling what so many others might in this situation is the years of growing up the way he did, learning to lock everything down. Lock it away enough that it's just...gone, a lot of it. So while he watches this stranger gradually panicking at the very real risk of drowning, Amos outwardly remains mostly calm; focused, yes, on getting him out of there because that's a thing he's decided is happening. But — he doesn't feel a reciprocal level of panic, which is maybe easy for anyone standing on the outside looking in. He can't feel much at all, except the determination that he's gonna get him out of this.

For him, it's less about genuinely caring for his life and more about this not being right. It's just not. He shouldn't go out like this.

Please. Yeah, he can make that out, and he's not just gonna stand there any longer than he has to. As the rain soaks him, he sees the water level rise ominously, wonders how it got so high so fast, but it all just looks weird, like it's rising and falling with something. With the panic maybe? Is that even possible? There's no time to stand here and think about that, to try and calm him down, he just needs to get that code punched in. He makes it out through the glass, just barely, stands there squinting an extra second or two, just to fully lock it in. If he needs to come back and look at the symbols, there's no guarantee the drowning kid will still be there. When he motions around, Amos nods, bangs the glass one more time, gives him a decisive nod, a way to tell him he's going for it now. Next time they see each other, it'll be when that damn door opens.

When he makes his way to the back of the building, he's hit with the kind of darkness that suddenly blocks out literally everything, like he can barely see his own hands. It's the first time in a long time he's felt any kind of creeping dread, and there's a growing knot in his throat that he has to really swallow around. That kid mouthing please flashes in his mind, and he keeps moving forward until his hands hit a panel. Yeah; of course it wouldn't be easy. He can't just plug the code in, he has to really work at this panel to get it open, and his fingers keep slipping, over and over. Another feeling he doesn't understand, doesn't remember feeling in a long time, is that sense of wanting to get the fuck away, far away, right now. Like something or someone is there, but it's just the shadows almost devouring him, like they have a life of their own. He has the sensation of something slick on his hands as he tries to punch the code into the panel, tries to remember it as it starts to slip away, like something's pulling it from him, but then he feels himself drifting away, too, and he's trying not to. He's caught in something, he sees something, something that would almost be terrifying except —

— something sharp, and something sticky on his hands again, but it's his own blood this time. ]

The fuck —

[ Whatever happened, though, the code worked. (Did he actually punch it in? Why can't he remember?) He takes a breath, clearing his thoughts for now, and makes a run back to the entrance to look for the panicked face that was behind the glass, that should be free now. Did the kid make it long enough?

Shit. ]

[yeahmagnets]

[ The moment the door clicks, the glowing bulb switches from red to green, but Jesse doesn't notice. He’s already under. There’s no splashing, no cry for help. Just the quiet, swallowing silence of a body finally slipping beneath the surface. The last of his air bubbles up in a slow stream as he sinks, limp, the binder still clutched in his hand like a final prayer. His eyes are shut. His limbs float weightless, hoodie billowing like seaweed around him. For a heartbeat...two...ten...he looks like he’s gone.

Then it starts. Not with a crash or rumble, but with a tremor in the air, a reversal. The water shifts. Stirs. Then begins to rise up. It's not draining through pipes or cracks. It's not falling through the floor. It's being pulled skyward, into nothing. Like the building is a wound, a rift, swallowing back what had spewed forth. The water leaves in great, rushing waves, peeling off the floor, the walls, Jesse’s body. Up it goes, like gravity has forgotten its job, like some unseen hand just pressed rewind on a storm that never made sense in the first place.

When it’s over, the room is left slick and gleaming, floor shimmering with a thin sheen of leftover moisture, the only sounds the creaking groan of furniture settling and the steady plink of dripping water. Jesse lies still on the linoleum tile in the center of the room, water trailing in rivers from his limbs, his face pale, mouth slack, hair plastered to his forehead, his beanie circling slowly in water pooled in a divot in the floor. He doesn’t move. Not at first.

Then, a twitch of his fingers, the jerk of a shoulder. Jesse's eyes clench shut tighter, a grimace screwing up his face. There's a violent, hacking cough as he bolts upright. Water spews from his lungs, splashing onto the floor. His whole body convulses with the effort as he takes in a violent, shuddering breath, gasping and choking, a tattooed hand clawing at the linoleum like he's desperately trying to hold onto the world that nearly let him go.

Jesse rolls onto his side, body heavy and limp, still coughing, chest heaving. Each breath is a fight, but he’s winning it. Little by little. His fingers scrabble weakly toward the binder, like it matters more than anything else, like proof that he didn’t hallucinate the whole damn thing. And then he hears movement. Approaching footfall. Jesse forces his head up, blinking water from his lashes, bloodshot eyes finding the figure standing in the doorway. Recognition flickers on his face. The man from the storm. The one who saw him. Jesse grabs his beanie, wrings it out before shoving it into his pocket, like that did anything. He's soaked through. He hauls himself into a sitting position, arms shaking as he tries to speak, but it comes out as a hoarse croak. He coughs again, then manages a rasp of a voice, raw as gravel. ]

Thought I was toast, yo.

Wildcard!

[yeahmagnets]

[ Bring Your Own Starter! I'm up for anything with any character. Feel free to scroll up for my EMP post and plurk info or PM this journal if you want to plot anything out first. If not, feel free to dive right in! ]