I, Human

Fate of The Fallen | Running From Reason

Daniel Moorcock had spent most of his youth holed up in his chambers, slaving away at blueprints and other engineering paraphernalia. The loudest noise he'd heard during those days was a metal tool or cup clattering to the floor in the middle of the night. Then, he'd been drafted into the Royal Navy for a brief stint in India, the loudest noise he heard during that time was cannon fire—an order of magnitude louder than gunfire which seemed to follow him every time he took two steps these days. Still, nothing was and would ever be as loud as the sound the recondite crystal made when the police officer's foot came down on it.

A sound that thunder, cannon fire, and a stampede of elephants would only succeed in being half as loud as. Even if they all banded together. And what's worse, it happened twice. The second one would've deafened him for sure. Luckily, and it was a stretch to be calling anything about this day luckily, the first explosion knocked him halfway up the stairs. The ringing would take longer still to get out of his ears. Sounds reached him as dilated garble, aiding to the sense of slowed time the moment held.

"Shite," he groaned as he pushed himself to sit on the stairs with sore, shaky knees. He took the brunt of the impact to the chest and though his breath came in short, painful gasps, nothing appeared to be broken. He turned around and found that some good had come of the explosion. Officers lay slumped against the walls or bent around pieces of furniture that got in their way. Some of them and the furniture fed entrancing blue-purple flames that danced sporadically. None of them moved, many lay in pools of blood. The walls were scarred by debris and scorched in places by that phantom flame but damn, they held.

"Daniel!" That was Phillip's voice. That would make the hand on his shoulder the lad's as well. The touch jolted him out of his half-reverie and what attention he could muster, he gave it to the boy as he helped him to his feet. "We need to go. Now! Nikita says the explosion is only going to attract more attention." He had a gash above his eyebrow, blood streamed flowed freely down his face, stilling only in the stubble that dusted his cheeks and chin. A garish sight by any stretch of the imagination.

Phillip helped him to his feet and they ran—well, he hobbled—up the rest of the stairs, meeting a bewildered Hannah, conflicted Nikita, and an only slightly disheveled Oliver.

"What are we waiting for?" Hannah asked, it became obvious that their lack of movement was the cause of her distress. "I didn't agree to this only to get arrested before we even leave my house."

"A certain idiot was supposed to meet us here," said Oliver. Voices and stomping feet floated up from downstairs as if on cue.

Nikita nodded to herself. "Charles can handle himself. We're kicking into top gear. Everybody, jump!"

With those words, she turned around, cleared Hannah's bed in a graceful bound, and slammed her shoulder into the window, shattering it around her as she flew out. Daniel watched, mildly surprised. Could anything truly surprise him anymore? His ears still rang and the discomforting sensation added to the small cookfire that was his irritation. The rest were a lot more pragmatic. Oliver didn't hesitate to follow the former whore out of the window but Hannah and Phillip weren't so trusting. They peered down from the relative safety of the balcony even as footsteps sounded up the stairs. The dressed Phillip shoved in the door's way would buy them some time. But not much. Whatever they saw down there must've been good enough for them because a second later Hannah pushed herself over the sill and out of sight. Her muddled scream reached his ear and then she was silent.

"Come on, old man. I'd rather I didn't have to explain to Drista how I got daddy dearest arrested." Phillip's mockery was welcome. It drew Daniel to it like the metaphorical moth.

A bang on the door made him jump. Shouts of "This way" came from the other side of the door and Daniel hurried his pace. He bent over the sill to see what would break his fall when a warm hand closed around his ankle. His world turned upside down after that and the next thing he knew, a feather-soft fist knocked what little air he'd managed to save straight out of his chest. It was a mattress; he knew that much and him over rotating in the air was the only thing that kept him from snapping his neck on impact. In other words, Phillip just tried to kill him, the same Phillip that landed with an "oof" as his knees collided with his forehead. That was one more log to the fire.