Who: Marco & Open When: Week 1, Wednesday Afternoon Where: Marco isn't really sure... What: Searching for survivors
The lights clicked on only moments before the museum's audio track, though Marco cut it off in favor of his usual oldies. He was up early- another nightmare -and at this point decided to remain awake. Marco walked down the halls, checking each of the many antique planes out of habit as he tried to walk off he nightmare to The Rolling Stones.
Marco had been hiding in the Kalamazoo Air Zoo for what felt like years, but he knew it was only a few months. The building, home to so many antique airplanes, had been evacuated when there were just rumors of a war. Marco had been hiding there since it's closing, hoping to avoid being dragged into some crappy metahuman army. He didn't expect to be hiding in there for the end of existence.
The building was familiar anyway. When Marco realized he could control the air, he thought it only made sense to pick up the job that would teach him how to handle it. He'd been there so long, he'd been made manager, and had tried remotely every job they had. He knew how to make the building work, and would continue to until he generators died out. He even knew how to work a majority of the planes.
After the end of Mother's Little Helper, Marco was calm enough to start his usual morning routine. He grabbed a small snack from the vending machine, which was nearly empty at this point as it was, before going over his checklist of things to bring with him.
Again, he was taking his plane out. "Not my plane," he reminded himself, "but may as well be." At this point, Marco's inner monologue had become a constant outer one. It was nice to hear a voice, even if it was his own. Again, he'd be searching for survivors.
"Assuming there are any survivors. But there's got to be more than just me... I mean, there are better places to hide than a museum, for god's sake." He told himself as he threw a bag full of small supplies over his shoulder and headed outside. A flashlight, some other vending machine snacks, a radio, a knife, a flare gun... amongst other random items.
Once he was outside, Marco approached the closest plane, an old, yellow plane. He'd moved his Piper L-4H closer to the building last time he'd gone out. He tossed the bag into the passenger seat before he made his way into the pilot's seat.
Then, with a deep breath, Marco changed the wind speed.
"Just give me good weather." He muttered to no one. "I can make the wind work for me, but rain sucks."
Within a few minutes, the little plane was in the perfectly controlled air. Marco flew for nearly an hour, looking for any sign of movement, before finding an empty stretch of land to bring the plane down. He needed to stretch his legs. Plus, it probably made more sense to look around for people on foot. Not that the little plane didn't make a lot of noise...
Marco hopped out of the Grasshopper, taking a moment to remove his flying goggles. The goggles, as well as his bomber hat which he continued to wear, he had taken from what was actually a costume that a greeter at the door of the museum used to wear.
Marco remembered having lunch with the various greeters on many occasions. He couldn't help but look at a pile of dust nearby wondering if that had been the same fate they had shared.
"Don't go there. Thinking that way is what gives you nightmares." He muttered to himself as he tried to convince himself to go walking. Instead, he sat on the wing of his plane and surveyed his surroundings. "...Okay. Where the crap am I?"