Jump to content

Mutants & Masterminds: Future Imperfect - Hangover (Travis)


Recommended Posts

The phone rang hammering with it’s annoying sound into his consciousness. There was a short moment of disorientation, then the world slowly aligned itself. First colors, then sense of gravity shortly followed by sound. Just when he thought he got his bearings a terrible pain stabbed through his head, then he remembered.

Too much tequila. He had trouble piecing the bits together that made up last night. He knew he went to the Luxor and met someone... but after that?

This was a first time total black out ever since he got back from the dead. The pain was barely tolerable and he really hoped for the caller that this was important. He picked up the phone and barked his foul mood into it, „This better be important or I tear you apart!“

There was silence at first then he heard a female voice, „Sorry, wrong number.“, followed by hanging up. Angrily he threw the phone away only to catch it midflight with his telekinetic power and thus preventing it’s certain destruction.

„Ouch“, another searing pain stabbed his head and his concentration broke dropping the phone. He opened his eyes to find his shirt stained with blood. He stood up, the world still shakey and partially unfocused and went to the bathroom mirror. Blood was smeared over his mouth and he could taste it’s coppery aroma.

„What the...?“, it was the Virus. He woke up with the V and had no idea how he had acquired it. He surely didn’t use his powers last night, did he? Travis pulled off his shirt and dried off the blood from his face, then he decided that a nice shower was due.

The hot water did wonders and he felt mostly refreshed after emerging from the bathroom. Still trying to figure out what happened his eyes fell on the dropped phone. He didn’t know why but he picked it up and checked the number – Not transmitted. That voice... he heard that voice before. He’d be damned if he was wrong.

Another noise assaulted his sensitive hearing and he almost dropped the phone again. Several police cars where chasing each other at high speed. Not an unsual thing per se but it was just around noon and they were heading south, to the MIC...

Link to comment
Share on other sites

"Uunnggg," Travis groaned and shuffled to the window still trying to shake the last bits of headache. Normally he didn't get hangovers, but tequila was just not his drink. That meant he'd bee pretty drunk to start with and then ... "Oh, god, why do I do this to myself?" The question was one he asked a lot. Ronnie had said that this is the life he had lived. He found it amusing, distracting, and even enjoyable, but it was also ridiculous, immature, and just plain painful.

He sniffled, Fucking V. What the hell did I do?, and peered out the blinded windows of his condo that looked toward the strip. The daylight outside burned his retinas like plasma forcing him to squint. After a moment he saw a string of police and emergency vehicles headed south along the strip. Balls.

Closing the blinds again, and relishing the dark of the condo, Travis moved to the couch and flopped down on the Italian suede. He flipped the TV on and started scanning the channels looking to see if there was coverage. If something was going on at the local MIC it would be on the news. Travis stopped at images of rioting people, some with visible mutations, being "controlled" by the police. He shook his head, this would only get worse before it got better.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Travis surfed the news channels and quickly realized that the situation in Vegas has just entered a new level. It wasn’t that he cared much about the MIC as such but being a Mutant and watching others… some more, some less, like him being treated like cattle sparked an anger in him he wasn’t aware of. There wasn’t much he felt connected with, especially since the ‘accident’ but the suffering he witnessed did affect him. This could be him some day…

And Ronnie is more obviously Mutant than I am… I can try to blend in easier than her. It was just a matter of time before the Government would pass the next anti Mutant law in their desperate attempt to get control of a situation that had gotten out of control years ago. What would be next? Who would be next?

Travis sat down and stared at the TV. What has the world become and more importantly, did he care? His eyes found his cell phone again. He could read the display which still stated the last caller was unknown. But that voice…

He heard that voice before…

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Travis went back to the TV, trying to figure out what had sparked the riot at the MIC. Twenty minutes later all he knew was that things had been bad for weeks. Police had entered the MIC earlier in the week for undisclosed reasons and that had made things worse. Angry police working on the holidays brought the situation closer to a head. Now something had set it all off. A match thrown into the puddle of gas. Travis watched as things broke down. As the fireball streaked toward the camera.

The standby signal was a surprise. He'd expected the network to go back to the talking heads, or to an alternate feed. Instead the standby signal say there with a generic message, "We're sorry but due to technical difficulties ..." Travis flipped to the next station, and the next. All the stations that had been showing the news, showing the riot, were now off air, and the rest were chattering on, blissfully unaware.

"Huh," Travis muttered and flipped the TV off. He realized he was still wearing only a towel and went to get dressed. The process didn't take long. His closet was practically idiot proof. Choose a suit, choose a shirt. Done. In five minutes he was wearing a white suit of cotton seersucker with a white shirt. Not surprisingly he had multiple white pairs of shoes to choose from. He opted for the Chuck Taylor's since he wasn't planning on wearing a tie anyway. Nearly all of his skills had come back to him quickly, most without any thought required, but he found he couldn't tie a necktie for crap. For all he knew he never could.

He stepped out onto the balcony and locked the door behind him. His condo was twenty three floors up and yet his balcony slider locked from both sides. Travis shook his head at the strange little things about the life he'd misplaced. Travis rolled his neck and his shoulders, feeling the crack of his joints and letting the day's heat warm him up from the cool interior of his apartment. Slipping his sunglasses on he lifted off from the balcony and arced over the city toward the MIC for a closer look.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

The closer he got to the MIC area the more he realized how bad things were going. The Police was starting to shoot at the Mutants with Teargas and water cannons from Riot control vehicles. It didn't take long and those Mutants able to defend themselves started using their powers in self defense.

He could see the area where the helicopter from the news network crashed into a building. Smoke was billowing up in heavy dark clouds and he could hear the sirens in the distance approaching.

As he carefully slowed down he searched for a spot to stay out of range of the police while getting a good impression of the general situation. The whole mess looked like a worst case scenario and Vegas could quickly turn into the major feature in world wide news.

"Not good", he murmured to himself when he felt his cell phone vibrate. He glanced at it and saw text message from Felicienne.

Originally Posted By: Felicienne
Scratchpost - Not Meow Call. Blk Ops atk Home. Need Help. Can't wait for answer. -F
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Travis quirked an eyebrow. "Huh?" He reread the text, floating upward to gain elevation and avoid the annoying smoke coming from below. Shit, he checked the time stamp, less than a minute ago. The phone wasn't in his pocket before a continuous blast of pure kinetic energy had him speeding toward the Wynn at over a hundred miles per hour.

The five miles few under him in barely half a minute. He circled the tower once as he slowed and immediately he located her condo. The broken glass windows looking out to the balcony were belching forth the yellow-green vapor indicative of teargas. The fact that Felicienne was literally clinging to the underside of her balcony an waving at him to get his attention didn't make it any more difficult.

Travis drew up to a stop below her, “You rang?”

Link to comment
Share on other sites


This topic is now archived and is closed to further replies.

This topic is now closed to further replies.
  • Create New...