Well, that's unusual
His garage looked much as it always had, save for the grey goop insistently trying to squeeze its way under the big roll-up door. Whatever it was seemed to want in, and he wasn't so sure he wanted that. Still, viscous fluid was viscous fluid; for all the advancements they'd made, you still had to grease and oil machines to make them work. A quick glance around found his industrial bucket of Oil Eaters, and a few moments later a layer of absorbant granules had stemmed the tide of whatever it was. Now he had a few moments to think... there'd been a big crash, and then... hang on, he'd been working on a bus that had come in for service following an impact, and.. why couldn't he read the words on the bucket? Something caught his eye by the window across the room, but there was nothing there. His eye flicked back to the oil can; It was like those squiggles when someone couldn't be bothered to render fully...
He sat bolt upright, suddenly laying on the ground.
THUNK!
Ow.
Something thick and foul flowed into his mouth as he opened it to swear. Judging by the ache in his forehead it would seem he was still under the bus. Grabbing at it with his big clawed hand he slid his mechanic's creeper free, and rolled off onto the hard concrete. He went to scrape the gunk away, only for the thick slime to resist his efforts
That's probably less than ideal..
The big mole staggered to his feet, trailing a mess behind as he felt his way to the back of his shop, knocking a great many things from shelves and workbenches as he went.
Where is it, where... AHA!
His hand closed around a big valve, and he cranked it open, rewarded with a deluge of water. Whatever was on him didn't hold up against the water, and he scraped his face clear as it washed away. He opened wide for a mouthful and gargled, washing the sludge out of his mouth and spitting
"Ggrgrgbrgrgbarbgall PTEW. Bleh" He wiped his handlebar mustache and watched the black goo trickle down the drain. Probably a big glob of grease, judging by the flavor and viscosity; something did a number on that bus. "That's right, bus came back after somethin' hit it, n' then it dripped on me. Which is par for the course, but the trip to imaginary shop was a new one."
He snatched a grubby old towel and dried off his face and hand, grabbing the remote. All of the fabric science, advanced materials and lubricants, were no match for the grime of a workshop and the poor shred of cloth that had to clean it up. He had a TV out here for after hours in vaguely a breakroom, not that anyone would mind much if he had it on during. With a click, the screen flickered to life, blaring cartoons. A prerecorded weather schedule for the dome, a fluff piece on some contest to grow the largest food plants in Harbington, an overdramatic soap opera, it was the usual programming and profoundly useless in figuring out what was going on.
A frantic skittering interrupted his fruitless investigations, stopping abruptly; something insectoid was hurtling towards him, made of oddly human limbs with too many joints and too few fingers. Martial instincts guided his hand into an ungainly swat at the creature, netting not a meaty thump but a flailing of awkward limbs as they latched onto his arm and scaled him like king kong on a very active skyscraper. The skittering hands raced along his arm and onto his back as he tried to grab the thing, several hands clutching at his face, finding their grubby way into his nose, mouth, and mustache before he was able to snag one of the groping hands and wrench it free. Like the meatiest of frisbees, the insectoid aggressor was flung across the room. Rather than crash into the heavy industrial shelving, however, it deftly caught the scenery and hurled itself back at him with an eerie shriek. Fast, but not as fast as some of the best dodgevolley throws; even after all these years since high school, the critter still wasn't fast enough. A quick flick of the hand snatched it from the air, holding it at arm's length as it frantically, furiously scrabbled at his arm and gnashed its beaked mouth. Velvety soft fur over tough skin gave no purchase, however, as he sized up the creature.
"Eh? What the heck are you?"
No answer came, however, just an earsplitting screech and more attempts to claw at his face. An odd triangular mouth gnashed ineffectually, his fingers beyond its toothy grasp. Several seconds of examination passed, with no signs of the ornery thing calming down.
"Knock it off or I'm going to hafta deal with you." No response other than continued scrabbling. The hardened carapace creaked and groaned as he clenched his first around it; years of fighting power tools and assorted hand tools had given him a mighty grasp, all of which was brought to bear on the tiny attacker. Something inside the creature felt akin to a water balloon held too tightly, a little more pressure and he was certain the creature would rupture internally and possibly externally. He relented slightly, holding this scuttling horror at its limits. The scrabbling became more frantic, desperate, then finally slowed and went limp with a pitiful squeak.
"Now what am I supposed to do with you? Should just finish the job, something's wrong and I don't have time to deal with grabby guests." While weighing his options, a stout bin for scraps and cutoffs caught his eye. Hastily overturned to dump the contents and with a piece of industrial floor grating across the top, it made a handy cage for unwelcome visitors.
"Stay. Alright, now to figure out what the hell's going on." A few strides brought him to the side door, which swung open to a blast of chill wind. The thin clouds that had been outside raced overhead, driven along in front of a menacingly spreading cloudfront emanating from the center of the city; the dome had its own weather controls, and cold and storms weren't on the schedule.
"Thaaat's probably not great. Weird... I dunno, bugmonster things? And now the weather is acting up. Is the weather control broken, or did someone mess with it?" His coat was hanging near the door, a heavy work jacket modeled after ancient fashions dug up from the old times. He grabbed it, the familiar weight and heft as it settled into place a small comfort, something well known that had protected him from all manner of scrapes, bumps, and bruises throughout the years. Whatever was going on, he was better equipped for it with his coat. He fished his Personal Electronic Taskmaster, a sturdy square of rubberized polymers with a scratchproof screen. A hidden button on the side and the screen flashed to life, a few taps and swipes navigating to a group chat and online hangout.
MIGHTY_MOLE: Hey, something weird's going on. Grabby bugthing tried to jump me and weird dreams, one of the busses got busted up and I think it hitched a ride in. Gonna take a look around, stay safe, I'll be in touch.
He waited a few seconds to see if anyone would respond, then shut the screen off. He snatched his goggles off the table beside the couch where he'd been napping; he hadn't put them on when he woke up and got to work on the damaged Transport. The whole world became a little sharper as the prescription lenses locked into place, bringing with them a heads up display of information, and of course shatterproof safety plastic to protect his eyes. Another moment and a notice indicated that the neural interface had finished its calibration; sensors on his temples and forehead and eye trackers meant he had a handful of controls for the tiny screens without using his hands or voice.
Movement outside the door caught his eye, a figure in the cold rain that had begun to fall.
"This is no time to be out and about!" He swung wide the door, pressing out into the uncharacteristically awful early afternoon. Distant booms muffled by the rain reached his ears, the weather damping the sound and making it hard to judge their distance.
"Hey! HEY, something weird's going on, you should get inside!" He pressed forward through the biting fog. The shape coalesced as he approached, one of his customers who had a shop nearby, a petite mouse. She seemed lost, or confused, shuffling aimlessly in the cold. He supposed not everyone would respond well to the strange events going on. "Mrs. McCullough! Come on, let's get back to my shop, I think it's safe there" He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder to guide her back. What was wrong with her?
She turned towards him, her face contorting as a thick grey sludge flowed over her, attempting to climb onto Jonesy's arm
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The city was burning. Metaphorically, mostly. The ambulance had a holo-map of the city, covered with so many markers of emergency calls as to be unreadable. What on earth was going on? Roselyn Dubois waited for dispatch with priority instructions, but none came. There was a huge crash, followed by several more and suddenly it seemed as if everyone in the city was panicking. She swore she could see huge creatures in the distance, but the haze from the sudden chill wind that had whipped up out of nowhere made it hard to see that far. It must have blown in while she was distracted with her lunch; it wasn't there before! She jammed the radio button onto its main frequency
"Roselyn to dispatch, come in dispatch! My entire board just turned bright red, what's going on?"
The radio returned nothing but silence. She was parked near the center of the dome on the top of a building, below the normal traffic lanes for fast response to any accident in the city. Hers was a special triage ambulance, overstocked with supplies and extra space for patients, in contrast to the more typical ambulances that spent most of their time helping people to appointments. She suspected her injury-prone packmates had something to do with it, not that she wasn't one of the premier trauma specialists in the domes. Her heart pounding, she anticipated that she was about to be grateful for this ambulance and its contents.
"No, I don't have time to panic. Panic is the enemy." Eyes forced shut, with three slow, deep breaths she had herself under control and a plan of action in mind. She hit one of the other keys on the radio.
"Locksmouth PD headquarters come in, this is the trauma response unit. I am inbound to your position." Silence.
That's not a good sign
The fusion engine spooled, grav lifts thrumming to life as power coursed through them. Raw power drove the flying brick skyward, a tight loop over the park to aim the nose back towards the police station, buffeted by a wave of turbulence halfway through
Rain wasn't on the schedule, but something was wrong. She glanced at one of many readouts to confirm, the icon for clear skies cheerfully shining back at her. She punched the 'emergency request; clear weather' button hopelessly; in times of duress, emergency services could cancel the dome's controlled weather patterns if they were interfering with public safety, but it didn't seem like the weather station was having any more luck than the police station. No one responded to confirm or deny the request, the light blinking forlornly on the dash until she switched it back off. The barometer continued to drop, as if to spite her. After some incidents with the scouts beyond the dome, at least one of the ambulances was equipped to operate unsupported, and it looked like she was going to need it.
The city whizzed by beneath her, mostly hints of lights and buildings as the edge of the park gave way to the beginnings of the combined government and industrial sector. At current speeds she'd make the police station in a few minutes. Her mind rolled over everything she'd seen, what could possibly be going on with all this? Why wasn't there any warning, why weren't there even any follow-up information from the emergency services?
A shadow overhead snapped her out of her distraction, followed by something immense slamming into the top of the ambulance. She revved the fusion engine, fighting weight with antigrav.
"Did someone just hit me? Everyone should be ground.....ed...." She trailed off in disbelief as a huge, scaled head loomed into view. A sleek, slightly rounded snout with shiny black eyes gazed back at her, hanging upside down. Abruptly, it reared back, only to slam towards her in a headbutt, cracking the shatterproof plastiglass.
"WHY AM I GETTING ATTACKED BY A DRAGON?!" Frustration and annoyance drive furious maneuvers, trying to shake the beast to no avail. In desperation she mashes the control stick inwards, forcing the beleagured ambulance down onto a rooftop below with a screech. A second headbutt smashes through the glass, and crawling insectoid things pour through the peeling panel with a terrifying screech. Strapped into the driver's seat, she can't maneuver and can't escape, even the steering wheel torn from her hands as they grasp with their multitude of clawed hands.
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The lunch rush was always Pete's favorite; it was a freerunning deliveryman's dream. Dozens of meals to deliver to a score of different buildings as quickly as possible. Even in as typical a city as Locksmouth, working as a delivery runner was almost second nature for a flying squirrel. As such, it was unsurprising that Peter and his twin sister Anna found their calling racing delivery transports to get small packages about town, and having a swell time doing it. Both of them delivered whatever people needed, from special valentines to a cold medicine to a fancy dinner in. Pete usually got the first wave of lunch over to the government-industrial sector, Anna was across town in the commercial district waiting for the second batch of orders, then the process would repeat for the late diners. It was like clockwork.
Pete glided onto a rooftop, specialized backpack full of meals safely held to the skintight aerodynamic bodysuit he was wearing by advanced fabric technology. The backpack itself had heated and cooled pockets, as the contents demanded. Running rooftops were the fastest way to travel; a delivery trans could get around town faster, but lost so much time parking and delivering that he'd still beat them every time. Still, he wasn't above grabbing hold of one that was going his way to hitch a little ride if he was in a rush or feeling lazy.
A dozen steps and he was across the building, launching himself into a particularly long glide and taking the opportunity to fly through a small gap in the bridge that spanned the street. The bridge wasn't quite straight to his next destination, and therefore would be slower to take than a glide path, and he couldn't pass up a chance to show off! Arms and legs tucked in tight, he shot through the familiar span as he had so many times before, but a sudden chill wind nearly threw him into a spin as he went to resume his glide. "What..." He tucked again, resetting his glide attempt with the new gale, steering towards a bus stop with what momentum he could manage. Movement below caught his eye, something orange and hulking turned a cyclopian eye upwards towards him from the ground below. "What is THAT?!"
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The Open Palm was hopping, as befitting the lunch rush. About now, Pete was probably just passed halfway through his deliveries, and her set of orders should be up any minute now. For as hard as it was to get people to fill jobs sometimes, there were still enough in the workforce for asymmetrical shifts and varied work schedules. For the time being, Anna lounged near the window out of the way, sipping on her complimentary cocktail for doing their delivery running. The sweet and sour teal citrus drink was hydrating and refreshing, and the crunchy sweetcracker crumbs were a nice boost of energy for all the running, climbing, and gliding she was about to do when they delivered her the filled backpack of meals. It was one of the specialty drinks here, and one of her favorites, complete with tiny umbrella and a spoon-straw you got to keep! Anna put on her sport shades and activated the internal mapping software, projecting a 3D hologram into her vision with glowing red delivery markers and beginning to plan her delivery route. It was almost just a formality, it was always the same patrons on the same route.
A commotion near the window towards town interrupted her planning, just as the backpack of goodies-to-go was delivered. Why was it so dark out, where'd those clouds come from, and that... wind?
"What are those?!" A crowd had formed at the window looking inwards towards town. Screams erupted as they turned and fled as a mob, two great shaggy orange beasts, reminiscent of gorillas with a single huge cyclopean eye each were heading around the building towards the door.
What the hell are these?!
Her pulse quickened, heart shooting into her throat as she steeled herself. She hurled herself off buildings all the time with little more than a thrill, but the prospect of fighting monsters had her terrified like she never had been before. Admittedly, it was a lot less nerve wracking to do high flying extreme sports when you could glide naturally, but...
I'm a runner, not a fighter. I'm a runner not a fighter
The rest of the restaurant was in a panic, cowering as far from the doors as they could, wimpering softly.
I can't just leave them. Dammit Jonesy, this bravery is YOUR fault, setting a bad example with your heroics. I can't believe I'm doing this...
The first orange thing was at the door. Where'd the second go? No time to look. Two steps, four, LAUNCH! The glass door was forced open by a giant meaty paw, clearing the way for the squirrel. Both feet connected in a flying dropkick with all the impact her tiny frame could muster, rewarded with a pained honk as the cyclops staggered back. The rush of success was cut short by a club fist crashing down onto her midsection, driving her into the ground and knocking the wind from her body. A massive hand clenched viciously around her upper arm, beginning to drag her away from the restaurant as she gasped to regain her breath. The peaceful decor of the Palm contrasted to the scene of absolute chaos inside as the missing cyclops appeared through the back entrance, skittering horrors hurling themselves onto the desperate patrons. The palm slipped from her sight as they rounded a corner, breaking the spell of horror, and she strained against her captor. Her heart dropped anew as her struggle turned her towards their destination, a horde of aliens and... goo zombies?
No. NononoNO!
