The Desert Run
Date: Winter 2010
Characters: Billy Kaplan, Bea Gifford
Summary: In a possible future, Bea and Billy have become fugitives. The resistance faction they belong to sends them on a mission to transport a family seeking refuge outside of the country.
Status: In progress
Private, unless you want to get in on the action. Notify myself or Bea if you do.
Bill Kaplan smiled as he saw the world begin to change it's myriad of warm colors in the western horizon, marking the end of another day. They could finally move, much to Bill's relief. They'd been on the run for the past few days, traveling by night because of the family that he and his partner on this mission, Bea, had to transport. The boy was photosensitive, breaking out in rashes whenever he was in contact of direct sunlight. The boy was an umbrakinetic, and as such, light came out as a physical weakness against him, pissing Bill off to no end. It meant sneaking around at night, running from shadows of people he had no idea were friend or foe, and generally just hindering them, especially when they had reached the endless expanse of Texan desert.
They had stopped in Fort Stockton, a stone's throw away from the sprawl of towns that claimed refuge in the El Paso Branch National Security Agency, the government organization that merged with Primatech a few years back to handle the threat that his kind were to those without powers.
A couple passed the fornt of the motel, took a look at Bill, and then walked on, as if nothing was wrong with him. Five years ago, Billy would have probably gotten a dirty look for his choice of attire; a ponytail of crayon red hair with black roots tied into a tight ponytail instead of it's customary gravity defying mohawk, a leather biker jacket with the arms cut off, black jean pants with belts attached to the legs, and a pair of combat boots with steel toes. But this was 2010, where freedom of expression was as important as it was 30 or 40 years ago. To see someone dressed like him was like seeing a school girl playing in her front yard in a sub-urb. No one would even think twice about it.
Bill turned around and started toward the motel that he and Bea had set up for the kid to rest in while they waited for the sun to go down. This should be the last night, if they could make it to El Paso without getting discovered, arrested, killed, or tagged.
He rapped on the door in three quick knocks and then two more spaced far apart. He then took out the key card and clicked it into the door, unlocking it. He saw the others and nodded to them. "It's almost time," he said in a deep voice. "Get ready."
Characters: Billy Kaplan, Bea Gifford
Summary: In a possible future, Bea and Billy have become fugitives. The resistance faction they belong to sends them on a mission to transport a family seeking refuge outside of the country.
Status: In progress
Private, unless you want to get in on the action. Notify myself or Bea if you do.
Bill Kaplan smiled as he saw the world begin to change it's myriad of warm colors in the western horizon, marking the end of another day. They could finally move, much to Bill's relief. They'd been on the run for the past few days, traveling by night because of the family that he and his partner on this mission, Bea, had to transport. The boy was photosensitive, breaking out in rashes whenever he was in contact of direct sunlight. The boy was an umbrakinetic, and as such, light came out as a physical weakness against him, pissing Bill off to no end. It meant sneaking around at night, running from shadows of people he had no idea were friend or foe, and generally just hindering them, especially when they had reached the endless expanse of Texan desert.
They had stopped in Fort Stockton, a stone's throw away from the sprawl of towns that claimed refuge in the El Paso Branch National Security Agency, the government organization that merged with Primatech a few years back to handle the threat that his kind were to those without powers.
A couple passed the fornt of the motel, took a look at Bill, and then walked on, as if nothing was wrong with him. Five years ago, Billy would have probably gotten a dirty look for his choice of attire; a ponytail of crayon red hair with black roots tied into a tight ponytail instead of it's customary gravity defying mohawk, a leather biker jacket with the arms cut off, black jean pants with belts attached to the legs, and a pair of combat boots with steel toes. But this was 2010, where freedom of expression was as important as it was 30 or 40 years ago. To see someone dressed like him was like seeing a school girl playing in her front yard in a sub-urb. No one would even think twice about it.
Bill turned around and started toward the motel that he and Bea had set up for the kid to rest in while they waited for the sun to go down. This should be the last night, if they could make it to El Paso without getting discovered, arrested, killed, or tagged.
He rapped on the door in three quick knocks and then two more spaced far apart. He then took out the key card and clicked it into the door, unlocking it. He saw the others and nodded to them. "It's almost time," he said in a deep voice. "Get ready."