Post by Dusty on Jan 20, 2022 23:15:22 GMT
NYC - a place of opportunity, a place of hope; a place where someone could make their shot in life really count. But also a place where someone could hide, deep in the shadows that skyscrapers create. Creep around, and bend the will of others to their will.
And then there was the not in the slightest subtle psychic Psi, who had set his hideout in the underground tunnels of NYC; the abandoned tunnels becoming his home for the foreseeable future. And when subtly was concerned, Psi was certainly not having none of it.
For days, areas around his hideout were broken into; robbed, stolen from. Doors ripped off, windows smashed. Psi’s presence was causing it, mainly because he was the problem. First Psi broke into a furniture store, stealing storage cabinets; a bed, a wardrobe. Then he waited a couple nights, before breaking into an appliance store and stole a fridge, some lights - and then he hit another store for a generator, then a gas station to get the gas needed for it. Every time however, he’d leave money on the counter - stolen from elsewhere, but he wanted to negate some of the damage done.
Everytime in the dead of night. No trail left behind other than the way in, broken; from the inside seemingly. A trick, Psi cleverly uses his powers to force the door open as if it was forced from someone sitting in the stores. People could assume it was a thief, someone human; not some Psychic Kid with a deadly conflict with a secretive agency.
No, no. No one would assume that, at all… Afterall, the only people that knew he was even in NYC was Spider-Bite, that time traveller, Street-Rat… And that wasteful mental doctor, Alvis. Maybe they would catch on it was him, maybe they would figure out it was him and maybe even find him. Or maybe someone who had a suspicions saw him one nig-
“No, stop. Not time for doubts.”
Psi would sit up from his bed, looking around the station he’d been converting into a home for a good week and a half; wiping his face with his sleeve. It was somewhat livable… Not some hole he was hiding in. Technically it was a hole he was hiding in, instead of dealing with the issue at hand like the agency. But it was a home with a bed, a table, a work bench and a board to plan. Enough. It was enough.
He would stand up, shifting a chair to the side and just letting out a sigh. Despite him going out every night, really he’s spent four weeks in isolation. Three weeks on the road, a week in the city. Literally, he got more human contact while in the lab - instead he’s been alone with a chittering voice in his head. Telling him to rob some poor man or woman, to kill possible agents following him. Could parasites even develop paranoia?
Yes. We can, and with good reason you insolent child.
“Last time I checked, they’re shooting to kill me and recover you. I have more of a reason to be scared.”
Eitherway, he would just sit down on a chair and pull out his burner phone. Just a single number was there, but on his table was an address. It wasn’t hard to find where Alvis worked. One day he’d have to pay a visit. Wasn’t even sure if it was the real place or not, but he’d find out sooner or later.
What was he doing? Waiting to be found? If anywhere had information about where he needed to check public records. A library would be a good bet, but it could lead to a dead end. City hall, or a city records place keeping.
It would have to wait, he needed to go back out on the streets. Needed food, and a grocery store would be his best bet… Maybe he’d actually pay this time. So he would get back up, grab his phone and his jacket and head down into the tunnels leading out. That wouldn’t take too long, before he was walking out onto the street of NYC - looking around the place, before closing the hatch leading to his home and heading out to a store.
Some cans of food, some water - stuff he needed, not wanted. If he had enough, that is. If not, he’d have to rob the place. Another crime on the list of many, many wrong doings.
At this point, he’d not care too much.
Wasn’t long till he was walking into a grocery store, hood up and hands in his pockets - roaming around before slipping into the aisles with a basket. Quick twenty minutes shopping trip, in and out - no distractions.
Right?
And then there was the not in the slightest subtle psychic Psi, who had set his hideout in the underground tunnels of NYC; the abandoned tunnels becoming his home for the foreseeable future. And when subtly was concerned, Psi was certainly not having none of it.
For days, areas around his hideout were broken into; robbed, stolen from. Doors ripped off, windows smashed. Psi’s presence was causing it, mainly because he was the problem. First Psi broke into a furniture store, stealing storage cabinets; a bed, a wardrobe. Then he waited a couple nights, before breaking into an appliance store and stole a fridge, some lights - and then he hit another store for a generator, then a gas station to get the gas needed for it. Every time however, he’d leave money on the counter - stolen from elsewhere, but he wanted to negate some of the damage done.
Everytime in the dead of night. No trail left behind other than the way in, broken; from the inside seemingly. A trick, Psi cleverly uses his powers to force the door open as if it was forced from someone sitting in the stores. People could assume it was a thief, someone human; not some Psychic Kid with a deadly conflict with a secretive agency.
No, no. No one would assume that, at all… Afterall, the only people that knew he was even in NYC was Spider-Bite, that time traveller, Street-Rat… And that wasteful mental doctor, Alvis. Maybe they would catch on it was him, maybe they would figure out it was him and maybe even find him. Or maybe someone who had a suspicions saw him one nig-
“No, stop. Not time for doubts.”
Psi would sit up from his bed, looking around the station he’d been converting into a home for a good week and a half; wiping his face with his sleeve. It was somewhat livable… Not some hole he was hiding in. Technically it was a hole he was hiding in, instead of dealing with the issue at hand like the agency. But it was a home with a bed, a table, a work bench and a board to plan. Enough. It was enough.
He would stand up, shifting a chair to the side and just letting out a sigh. Despite him going out every night, really he’s spent four weeks in isolation. Three weeks on the road, a week in the city. Literally, he got more human contact while in the lab - instead he’s been alone with a chittering voice in his head. Telling him to rob some poor man or woman, to kill possible agents following him. Could parasites even develop paranoia?
Yes. We can, and with good reason you insolent child.
“Last time I checked, they’re shooting to kill me and recover you. I have more of a reason to be scared.”
Eitherway, he would just sit down on a chair and pull out his burner phone. Just a single number was there, but on his table was an address. It wasn’t hard to find where Alvis worked. One day he’d have to pay a visit. Wasn’t even sure if it was the real place or not, but he’d find out sooner or later.
What was he doing? Waiting to be found? If anywhere had information about where he needed to check public records. A library would be a good bet, but it could lead to a dead end. City hall, or a city records place keeping.
It would have to wait, he needed to go back out on the streets. Needed food, and a grocery store would be his best bet… Maybe he’d actually pay this time. So he would get back up, grab his phone and his jacket and head down into the tunnels leading out. That wouldn’t take too long, before he was walking out onto the street of NYC - looking around the place, before closing the hatch leading to his home and heading out to a store.
Some cans of food, some water - stuff he needed, not wanted. If he had enough, that is. If not, he’d have to rob the place. Another crime on the list of many, many wrong doings.
At this point, he’d not care too much.
Wasn’t long till he was walking into a grocery store, hood up and hands in his pockets - roaming around before slipping into the aisles with a basket. Quick twenty minutes shopping trip, in and out - no distractions.
Right?
