[]Ruined Garage

The Knight observed as the ginger stepped over the dog's corpses, avoiding the bodies themselves and the pools of blood around them with great care. A few long seconds passed as Sir Rusty waited for the boy to catch up, the rubber soles of Bridhe's shoes crunching some of the gravel and dust that covered every inch of the Pit's blasted surface.

The sound of a few pairs of footsteps approached from farther down the forest path. A trio of Knights came into view, running with what looked like a sense of urgency. Coming to a halt once they reached their leader, the knights kneeled and the foremost one gave his report.

"The cathedral is under attack by wolves, Sir. Multiple survivors, no count on how many beasts are there, nor on how many there will be once the pack answers the call of the hunt. The bell-tower still seems secure."

The knight in shining armor turned to his men, the day's hunt held up high on one shoulder.
"Good work. Return to the Cathedral at once, we will make haste to judge the situation upon arrival."

Rusty turned to Bridhe, his emerald green eyes twinkling from inside the helmet. "We have a destination and a place to rest for the night. The powers that be must be smiling on us!" With that, the knight began clanking off once again in the direction of the Cathedral.

Bridhe would have been horrified, he really should have been. For some reason, however, he watched the man talk to himself with a sort of disembodied interest instead of commenting on how batshit this guy was. His stomach still lurched and trembled, his head throbbed and protested and his shoulders screamed that he had really messed something up swinging around that heavy weapon still held in his numb hand. The ginger felt a little cold, only a little warmth coming from that metal imbedded in his wrist as he stepped closer to the knight.

"Oh? They're smiling on us, really?"

He sounded briefly snide before looking away, glancing over and finally at a corpse as if actually resigning himself to the fact that these beasts were dead, and that was really blood seeping around his feet... Soaking into the dry pavement. He looked back at Rusty, who had already started to walk away with that limp body over his shoulder. Bridhe somehow got the feeling that the man intended to eat the dog, and he desperately tried to ignore another lurch of his painfully empty stomach. It wasn't so much the fact that it was a dog, but rather the fact that these things obviously ate people. For some reason that didn't settle well with the freckled male, something nagging him at the back of his mind that it wasn't healthy to eat such things.

He finally started to move, a little less carefully this time as he followed the knight. The ginger felt something bubbling his own apprehension, a sort of foreign feeling he really couldn't put his finger on. It would probably unnerve him if he weren't so worried about how much the temperature had seemed to drop.

"Lead on, I'm following behind you, uhm, Rusty."

He walked through the doorway then abruptly stopped. Eamon blinked. He surveyed where he now stood, swaying a bit as as a wave of nausea briefly passed over him. He steadied himself, bracing his weight against the doorway to prevent himself from falling. Then he massaged his face to help clear his head. His thoughts, which were previously jumbled and foggy, started to clear. He checked himself over; the fact his service pistol was missing was the first thing he noticed. His spare ammo was gone, but his good old nightstick was still at his side. Memories returned to him; he could remember his friends and family, he could remember his lifetime experiences and he could remember that this was not the place he had been moments before.

He was in a stairwell. An unremarkable stairwell, something that would not be out of place in a big city. Bare cement walls on four sides with a grimy uncovered floor and steel railings. He could not see above or below onto the next landings. On his feet now, he turned and looked to where he had just come from. It was a very large enclosed parking space filled with wrecked, rusted vehicles and various debris. Along what remained of the walls were various man sized holes. The vehicles themselves he was not familiar with at all; not to mention their condition rendered them quite unusable. This was definitely not the bar he had just been enjoying his evening in previously. He was in a completely different place. He could remember that he had drank quite a bit again that night, and had bid farewell to his friends as he made his way to leave the pub... Then he was here.

The next thing he noticed, or rather felt, was a dull pain. The back of his head throbbed, it was probably bruised and... bleeding? His hand coming away sticky with congealed blood; which he could feel running down the length of his neck to his shoulders. Checking the rest of his body he could feel that there was something lodged between his right shoulder blade and the base of his neck. Probing it with his forefinger, it felt metallic and cold. His skin flexed as he pressed down on the foreign object.

Cold fear rushed down his spine as he stood there all alone in the doorway of the dark, dank stairwell.

Consciousness returned to the young man with the titanic slowness of an iceberg. For the longest moment, Edgar was unaware of anything besides the sensation of nausea and an ache that seeped from his ribs down to the tips of his fingers. When his bleary vision finally cleared, he found himself slumped over the steering wheel of a wrecked car. His? Had he been in an accident? Panic flooded his system, and a terrified jolt forced his worn body up straight. A groan of protest worked its way from his throat as he glanced around the interior of the vehicle. Not his, and definitely not an accident. Moldy seats and a rusty frame were wrapped halfway around what looked like a steel girder, the huge beam skewering the decomposing sedan. It was unlikely the dilapidated contraption had seen the road in the last decade, let alone the past night.

Relief crept along to slowly replace the ache. Thank God, he hadn't hurt anyone. A quick assessment of his own state confirmed that he had no serious injuries, though his left wrist felt strained. Protesting twinges of pain shot along the nerves of his arm whenever he moved it, and it throbbed with a dull persistence beneath his buttoned sleeve. He'd need to find something to bind it with. If he was lucky, maybe he'd manage to locate some ice. Gingerly, he stepped out of the car—no door was left on the hinges to impede the process—and leaned against the frame as a wave of dizziness overcame him.

What in the world was going on? Where was he? How had he gotten here? What had happened to this place? Questions ran rapid-fire through his mind as he fought down the urge to vomit, breathing slowly against the side of the car. As Edgar waited for the sickening sensation to pass, he began to take stock of his environment. He was in a parking garage, or what used to be a parking garage. The place looked like it had been hit by something catastrophic, rubble and debris and decay on every surface. And, judging by the cacophony of noises he was now registering past his confusion, he wasn't alone. There were voices echoing against the concrete People. Screams. Worry settled icy in his stomach, the previous nausea forgotten. Among the screams was another layer of animalistic sound: snarls, sharp barks. Dogs? What were dogs doing here? He shook the thought from his mind. That wasn't important now. If people needed help, he needed to find them.

From where he stood he could make out the descending ramp, choked with the remains of a pile of cars. It would take too long to work through them, and most of the noise seemed to be coming from below. The elevator was a moot option, he doubted this place had any electricity running in it. Stairs then. With a final deep breath, Edgar pushed off from the car and hurried over to the central column of the parking structure, hunting for the stairwell. With a small, triumphant 'Aha,' he spotted the door and forced it open after a brief struggle. Like the rest of the building, it was anything but pristine, though the damage to the section he found himself in was minimal. As he picked his way downward past missing steps and fallen cables, he spotted another figure standing in one of the lower landings. Edgar let out a small, relieved laugh at finding another person, and called down to them.

“Hello there! Are you alright?”

“Oh, hello there. No I don't think I am alright... Erm I think I am a bit lost. Say do you happen to know where...” Eamon paused to think. Not wanting to sound like a complete idiot, he decided to phrase his question a bit differently. “Do you happen to know how to get out of here and back to downtown?” He asked, believing that he was still in Rochester.

"Not hurt at all, are you?" Edgar asked, making his way down the last few stairs to stand next to the other man. "I'm sorry to say I fear I might be less than helpful in directing you. I'm a bit lost myself," he sheepishly admitted, glancing around the stairwell. Nothing he recognized. “We might have the best luck following the stairs downwards, until they become impassible."

At these words, Eamon's heart sank. The gravity of his situation sank in and nearly overwhelmed him. But the presence and optimism of his new companion gave him clarity... and something to focus on. With a great big sigh he mastered himself, and turned to answer the other's questions. "Well not entirely unhurt if you must know... I believe... I think have suffered some sort of concussion.... someone probably knocked me over the back of the head after I left the bar," he said, rubbing his bloody scalp.

A worried frown creased the other's brow at Eamon's answer. "Someone assaulted you?" That was no good. They might be in trouble if violent people were lurking about. Maybe that's what was causing all the commotion below. A riot? But he could worry about that when they got downstairs.

"Here, let me see. I know a bit about medicine." Edgar motioned for the Irishman to turn around. It wasn't until after he'd said the words that it struck him. The fact that at some point he had studied medicine was one of the very few memories that he was absolutely certain of. But. But it had to just be the stress of this strange situation, right? He just wasn't thinking clearly. He shook his head to settle his thoughts, but couldn't dissipate the sudden apprehension that had wormed its way from his gut up to his throat. When they got downstairs and got some answers, he'd be able to calm down and think. Yes. That had to be it. Just the panic of the moment making his memory muddled.

"Yeah, but it doesn't feel like a major wound," Eamon said as he continued rubbing his head. "You said there are others downstairs? I wonder if they will know about where we are and how we can get out of here," He replied with optimism entering his voice.

"That's where the most noise seems to be coming from." Edgar nodded at the set of stairs leading downwards, the commotion from outside slightly muffled by the stairwell walls. His frown solidified when Eamon waved aside the offer for assistance. "Are you sure? If it is a concussion like you thought previously, the blow would have had to have been fairly significant..."

"It very well might be, but can you actually do anything for me? I don't know how I feel about voodoo magic 'n' stuff but whatever works," Eamon answered, clearly unfamiliar with any sort of medical terminology.

Edgar laughed a bit at the mention of "voodoo magic," walking around the shorter man to get a better look at the back of his head. "That depends on the severity of the concussion, but it does look like you broke skin." He motioned to Eamon's hands, which had picked up traces of blood from the injury.

"A severe concussion would have to be treated by someone with more expertise than me, but you aren't exhibiting any extensive symptoms," he explained as he squinted into the low light, trying to get a better look at the wound. Talking medical jargon was making him feel a bit better, at least in that field he was positive about what he knew.

"Disorientation, yes. But no signs of nausea, or convulsions." Edgar leaned around Eamon and studied his face, apparently lost in concentration now. "Pupils appear normal. No muscle weakness or trouble walking?"

"Erm, um no... No trouble walking at all, I mean... I do not know where I came from but I can walk."Eamon was a little surprised at the sudden outpouring of knowledge, of which he had no clue as to what any of it meant. What impacted him the most was the fact that this man actually cared about his state, despite the shitty situation they were both in.

"Well, it looks like you're in luck, then. From what I can tell the knock you received didn't do too much. Just gave you a bit of a gash." The taller man nodded, fairly certain in the assessment. The other didn't seem to be severely confused, only about as disoriented as he himself felt given their circumstances. "We should look for some medical supplies when we get downstairs. A few butterfly bandages and aspirin should do you well."

"Aye, that sounds like a sound plan," the Irishman responded. "Oh, how rude of me, my name is Eamon, Eamon Flanigan," he said, offering his hand out in friendship.

"Edgar Leeward, good to meet you." Edgar smiled and clasped Eamon's hand with his own, giving it a shake, completely forgetting he had considered his wrist sprained earlier. At the contact a strange, electric jolt sped down his arm to his fingertips. But it was unlike the ache he had experienced before, and assumed was an injured ligament. This was hot and quick and, bizarrely, not painful. Just strange. Edgar dropped the other's hand in surprise, clutching his wrist with his opposite hand.

"I, ah sorry about that, I think I might have hurt myself earlier..." He trailed off when he realized he could feel a raised bump beneath the fabric of his sleeve. Tugging the cuff down, his eyes widened at the sight of the smooth, metallic implant gleaming back at him in the dull light. "What in the world..?"

Eamon, upon seeing the cut, was suddenly reminded of the stories his older brother had once told him about some strange events that had befallen him. Feeling the uneasiness of the situation that had just befallen Edgar, Eamon started to wonder if he too had such an implant on his person. Not wanting to think about what might be on his back, he quickly changed the focus back onto Edgar. "Oh bless my soul, what in the name of Saint Patrick is that!??" he blurted, hoping is alarm at the other's situation would cover up his own unease. (Aren't Eamon's psychic powers activated through touch? Think he would pick up on some of Edgar's history/personality through the handshake? Could add a paragraph on that if you want)

"I don't know! I didn't have this before!" There it was, that panic again. Edgar stared in disbelief at his arm, holding his wrist away from him as if it were volatile, something that would erupt at any second. His mind may have been a bit frazzled at the moment, but he definitely did not remember ever having the oddly shaped little device on his person before. And the faint, fresh scars only confirmed that this had been an invasive modification. Someone... someone had operated on him without his knowledge. He felt sick again. Terrified and sick and wronged.

Illogical, unthinkable, unimaginable. Eamon stood rooted to the spot in shock as thoughts raced through his head. He had thought he had seen it all in the force, his experiences mentally preparing him for anything. But standing here in this foreign place, with all of his comforts striped from him... He did not know what to think. His mind raced ever onwards. What was going on? What was this implant? Edgar's predicament was so like his own... and his mind drifted back to the thing latched to base of his neck and shoulder blade. His racing thoughts were wiped clean from his mind, as one emotion began to take root. Panic. His elder brother's horror stories creeping into his mind.

"No, this isn't possible, it's not that..." he barely even mouthed the words to himself. No this wasn't the make believe horror stories that were meant to frighten children, but something else dark and ghastly and all too real. He felt naked without knowledge to shield him from what lurked beyond. He griped his new companion by the shoulders to steady him; the poor man looked ready to fall over. The pair stood there, shaking and terrified in the cold desolate staircase.

Edgar jumped at the sudden contact, startled out of his blind panic by the weight on his shoulders. Right, that's right. He wasn't alone in his confusion, at least. After a few deep breaths he dropped his hands to his sides, tugging the fabric of his sleeve back over the metal device. It... it was probably better if he didn't think about it for the time being. Eamon seemed equally as shocked as he was by the sight of it. Maybe when they found others, someone could tell him what was going on... He pressed his arm into his side, trying to mask the tremors he felt running through his limbs, and gave Eamon a watery smile.

"We should... we should find others. P-people sounded like they needed help out there, and maybe someone can explain..." He trailed off, eyes drifting downwards to stare at his modified wrist. "We should. Um. We should move. W-won't find any answers standing around in the d-dark..."

"Yeah... I agree." With Edgar regaining his composure, there came a little thought in the back of Eamon's mind. The little voice inside his head; one of the many that dictated his motives in life. This particular one was curious, so very curious. Again he found himself wondering where he was, how he had gotten there, why there were potentially others like him and most importantly, what the heck these implants were. For he knew now for sure that he must have one of his own spliced onto his neck.

Before panic had griped him over these thoughts, but now his curiosity was starting to nudge the questions out to the forefront of his brain to be examined. The mystery of it was intoxicating, enticing and overwhelming. He wanted to start hunting for information. Still scared shitless, but now filled with a sense of purpose, he snapped back to reality. Already they were some floors down through the garage, and quickly approaching the sounds of others. His paranoia capped his curiosity for a moment as he cautiously stepped out of the stairwell and into the room beyond...

"..." she'd freeze at the cracking of the lens, knowing that sound all too well. She couldn't blame him, but boy, there weren't too many things worse that could have happened. Taking the ruined frame from the man like one might a wounded bird, she sighed and pulled the remaining lens from the ruined frame, pocketing it. "Well, off to a good start." The women would mutter sarcastically, looking up and around the parking garage as voices carried off in the distance.

"Yanni.... was it? Look, unless you got somewhere you need to be I think it's about time we make like a tree, if you know the saying." Spoke the blond, pulling some ragged locks from her face. "I'm thinking we find somewhere high, with a view, gather supplies and get the hell out of dodge."

Yanni could hear barking in the distance... dogs... he hated dogs, they always seem to want to be trying to take chunks out of his coat. He was uneasy not liking his current situation, it had too many unkowns. Then there was this woman he was with... Reggie... this situation was so strange, how did they get here, where were his weapons.

He was confused and very concerned, and he felt that some sort of action needed to be taken.

She turned to him and asked him a question...

"umm... no place I to be, but I not to understand what you mean by to tree"
He didn't have a place to be, he really had never ever felt that he had ever had a place to be. There was also the issue of trusting this Reggie woman, in his experience, it was bad to trust someone he had just met but even then he was at least armed. So far it did not appear that she had had any desire to slit his throat while he was asleep. She seemed friendly however, and he was a sucker for genuine kindness especially from women, and considering his current situation her plan made good sense.

He liked people who could come up with good plans. He put his faith in her.

"To run is good plan, not want to stay to find people who to leave-ed us here" Thinks about his weapons that are missing, and would rather not have to fight anyone who is armed with military grade equipment.

Taking a look at his surroundings, they appeared to be in a parking garage, and in the basement level to boot. The room was dark and lit with a very ire yellow glow, with strong shadows hugging the crooks and crannies of the place. Perfect place for an ambush, except if there was going to be any ambushing it would have been done while he slept, or even when he was captured and brought here. The cement was crumbling, falling in chunks onto the floor in some places, and rusted and exposed re-bar struck out in many places. Getting out and up to the high ground seemed to be the most logical choice given their current predicament in the basement. The only exit he could logically see would to be going up the car ramp out of the garage.

"To escape-ed we should to go der" he gestured towards the ramp. Dogs could be heard in the far distance...