Reality Crisis

The jump changed - from whirling lights and exhaust fumes and the sound of airborn cabs, to violently cold silence. Instead of highway lanes below her, winter tree branches stretched out their hungry bare arms, caught her in bits and scrapes, left their mark through the white strips of cloth covering her frame. She got her feet under her just in time to crash into the unyielding frozen ground.

Time passed. At length, she woke from shivering -- and from an unearthly shriek in the distance. Disoriented, aching, the young woman stood. As she curled her arms around her, the shrieking came again, closer. Instinct told her to run. She ran.

It was blind at first, the headlong plunge into the dying afternoon sun. But between skeletal tree trunks, she caught glimpses of what looked to be a great wall in the distance. Diverting instead toward the left, she crashed through low-slung brush and whipping branches toward the place she hoped she could enter.

"Akta!" she cried, when she broke through a clearing between the terrible forest and the great wall. "Akta Banalëto givoi Manao!" But no one was in sight to hear her. She didn't stop running until she could put her back against that wall, scan the forest beyond... Nothing. She listened keenly, body crouched with her shoulder against stone.

Nothing.

And then.

Leeloo took off running again, at the shriek, this time hugging the perimeter of the wall, looking for a gate.

Peter felt it before he saw it. He knew, intimately, what that particular ability felt like. Harry's giant of a dog was still keeping pace with him, but Peter had promised that the dog wouldn't come to harm... kind of. When he was close enough to see the glow coming through Sylar's skin, Peter didn't hesitate. He kicked off his heels and flew at the villain, driving his shoulder into Sylar's gut and dragging him along at something only slightly below the speed of sound.

He didn't fly long, not at that speed, but he'd taken them high enough to skirt over some trees, and then slammed them both to the ground, keeping Sylar underneath him.

Not another explosion. That was not going to happen. Not so long as Peter lived. "Never. Ever. Again." he growled, accentuating each word with a blow to Sylar's head, his hand wrapped around a heavy stone and delivered with all the strength he could must.

There seemed to have been some sort of crisis, something that Mag didn't entirely understand. Walking dead? She knew what the concept entailed, the dead rising from where they had been laying to once more walk the Earth. It sounded like something out of a story, but then she recalled that when she first arrived at this strange place, the guards here had explained to her that she herself was fictional. So, she figured that anything could be possible. The fact that she was fiction had been a hard thing to swallow, and Mag still wasn't sure if she believed that entirely, but why would someone lie about that? Who would want to make a movie of her life? Much less watch something so dark and tragic? She certainly wouldn't want to watch something like that, especially not about the world she came from. Who could ever find that interesting? She pushed the thought from her mind instantly, and decided that the time was right to finally leave her apartment, the place she had been staying as the mayhem from the 'zombie' attack settled. That is what the citizens had been calling the monsters, zombies. What a strange name.

It had kept Mag from her daily rounds of the city, and she hoped that during the event nobody had gotten hurt. She tried desperately to stay out of situations like that, considering she wasn't going to be any good to anyone in the event of a catastrophe, and so staying where she was safe seemed like the most practical of things to do. She stayed in. It gave her a chance, as well, to do some cleaning, which proved to be both challenging and relaxing.

Finally, Mag had left her apartment, descending the stairs slowly in her heels, listening to the sound echo against the walls as she moved, finally reaching the bottom level. She pushed open the door, and stepped into the foyer, pulling her jacket tighter around her frame before heading out into the snowy evening. She hadn't forgotten her friends, and hoped that they all were well, and that they all were outside too so she might see them. She didn't have many friends, really, but she considered the few she had as such and she cherished them. She wondered what they had been up to, if they had seen the zombie creatures, and what had become of the creatures all together. That sure was a curious subject.

Slowly, Mag made her way through the city, arriving at the small cafe she had met Maurice at, not seeing the old man there in his usual spot in the bean bag near the fire, but she opted to wait for him, hoping he would show. She wanted to tell him that she had been to see Rosie again, and she knew that he would appreciate hearing the story. Much as she had appreciated him telling her about himself and his late wife in the first place.

She crept over to the small coffee table which had the vacant bean bag settled lop-sidedly next to it, before sitting in a small wooden chair on the opposite side, where she had sat many times before, grateful for the warmth of the fire, despite the open mouth of the cafe itself. It was comforting, the warmth, and she was glad that she had decided to venture back out into the city, and had been unaffected by the recent outbreak of walking dead. She hoped that others had been as fortunate as she, trying to stay positive.

She scaled the rooftop of Falcone's large manor, where an elegant party seemed to be taking place, which was the perfect distraction. That meant that "The Roman"'s thugs would be busy checking in the guests and keeping the party in order. Slowly, she climbed over the shingled plateau of roof, before lifting her hands up, curling her leather-clad fingers around the lip of the balcony above her, pushing herself upwards using the toes of her boots for leverage, sliding over the railing with ease. She had done this same act so many times it was second-nature to her, and she blended in so well with the shadows that she was sure nobody would see her. That was, save for the Bat whom watched her from afar, using his own design of binoculars. Batman was attending this party as well, though not as an invited guest, but to infiltrate the gang of thugs before they could do anymore damage to the inner workings of Gotham. Bruce had had enough of Falcone getting off in court, or having his thugs take the fall for his actions. It was about time he caught The Roman in the act and finally brought him down.

The corners of her red lips ascended upwards into a smirk as she set her feet down on the ledge, pushing from the rail itself to move silently up to the set of doors that seperated her from the inside of the house, making sure to walk on her toes so that her heels wouldn't give away her position. She waited outside of the large doors, listening for a moment, before hearing nothing on the other side. Purrfect. With her hand, she settled her fingers on the long golden knob of the door, pushing down gently against the lever, the door sliding open without hesitation. She breathed out softly, sliding in through the slit that had appeared between the doors, drowning herself in the darkness.

Once she was inside, she crept across the room after closing the door silently behind herself, avoiding the obstacles that had been tossed about the room in a fashion that meant the current resident was more than just a bit of a slob. They were an outright pig. She made a face to herself upon seeing the condition of the room, but didn't let that slow her down as she made her way across the room safely, to the door opposite the ones that lead to the balcony, opening the door that lead to the hallway slowly. She peered through the crack, eyes alert for movement, seeing none. With that, she swung the door open and moved out into the hallway, able to hear the festivities taking place in the ballroom connected to the manor. If there was one thing The Roman was not, it was frugal. She liked a man that went all out with things, especially when they were as much of a moron as Falcone was.

She made her way down the hallway, alert and listening, before finding herself surrounded by thugs, which only made her smile. "Be gentle boys." She breathed, before there was a loud crash from one of the windows in the long hallway, which earned the attention of all of the thugs, and the leather clad kitty, it being none other than the bat. Selina sighed, and began to fight the thugs, with Batman's help, before the Bat pulled a gas bomb from his utility belt, setting it off in the room. Grateful for the quick escape, even though Batman had blown her cover, Selina manuvered through the hallway, through the window that Batman had come through, allowing him to assist her, until they were on the roof of the building once again. "You always spoil the good part." She said with a pout, earning a hard look from the Bat which amused her.

Together, she and Bruce leapt from the roof, each parting to their seperate vehicles, fleeing the scene for now. Selina had the information Bruce wanted, and why she had been there in the first place, he wasn't sure, but he was going to find out. They raced back to Gotham, entering the city limits, Selina pulling her motorcycle into the alley, leaving it to scale the side of a building with her claws. Falcone was sure to come after them both once his thugs relayed the message that both of the masked nightcrawlers had tried to crash his party.

She scaled the building with ease, and ran across the roof, leaping onto the next building below the one she had been on previous, anxious to be rid of the man she knew was chasing her. He would want answers, one she wasn't quite willing to give just then.

It was at that point Selina leapt from another building, intending on landing on the dark street of Gotham, finding herself diving instead into a large drift of snow. She made a face, landing hard in the drift, a soft sound of pain and surprise escaping her lips as she rolled through the white blanket, coming to an abrupt halt as she crashed shoulder first into the base of a very green tree, one that seemed untouched by the blanket of white. She made a face, closing her eyes for a moment as she rested there, trying to figure out where all of this snow had come from. Gotham had earned a warm climate and was peaking at a record for the most intolerable days and nights, this was someplace else entirely. It had to be. She could feel the snow against her face, but not anywhere else, considering her suit was designed to prevent extreme temperatures from harming her, fire included. "What is this?" She breathed, finally opening up her eyes, which were hazy for a moment before they cleared. She stared up at the sky, and the leaves, trying to let all of this set in. This wasn't Gotham. Where was this? How did she get here?

She would find out in time, but for now, it was time to find someone that could give her the answers she needed, which meant getting up.