Declaration of War
Ben Urich had a long day ahead of him, after a long night in the office. Some days it felt like he was coming back to work after only just leaving.
It'd been a nice morning though. He'd gotten a cup of coffee--black, no sugar--and was making his way through Times Square to the 42nd Street subway. The young lady behind the counter had smiled and thanked him after he'd put a tip in the cup, someone had shoved into him and actually apologized, a stranger had picked up his loose change for him when he'd dropped it, and altogether, in a city like New York, it was the little things like that which gave you a little boost in your faith in humanity.
Then again, it could've just been really good coffee.
As he walked, though, he saw the near-dawn traffic was slowed nearly to a stop, as people rubbernecked at someone around the corner, and there was a crowd gathering, very quiet, looking up at something.
It was the little things that restored your faith in humanity.
That faith in humanity could just as easily be taken away.
"--The sheet fell and he was just there--do you think he's still alive?"
"--has someone called an ambulance?"
"Is there anyway to get up there? To get him down? Has someone tried to climb up?"
"--Mutie. Look at the bottom, it says 'die, mutie, die'--who the hell cares? Good fucking riddance to bad trash."
"--about time somebody started to clean up this city--"
"That's one less of them, at least--hey, do you have anything I can throw?"
Urich stood, looking up, mouth gaping. The first thing he did was pull out his cell phone and dial 911. The operator already knew what he was talking about. There had been than one call in the last few minutes. There was the sound of an ambulance far off.
Ben just looked, and then the second thing he did, that was instinct, was dial the offices at the Bugle to makes sure they'd send one of the photographers. In case they couldn't get there in time, he pulled out the digital camera he kept with him at all times and snapped a few pictures himself, and got out his dictaphone.
It might have seemed callous to some, but it needed to be noted. It needed to not have happened for nothing. It needed to be seen as the horror it was.
It was news.
It was also, Ben knew, in light of recent events, the start of something. The start of something horrible.
It was so easy to lose your faith in humanity, when humanity was capable of this.
"I'm standing here at Times Square, the time is 6:15 am and there's a young man with red hair, strung up on one of the billboards; a crowd has gathered..."
It'd be on every news station within the hour.
It'd been a nice morning though. He'd gotten a cup of coffee--black, no sugar--and was making his way through Times Square to the 42nd Street subway. The young lady behind the counter had smiled and thanked him after he'd put a tip in the cup, someone had shoved into him and actually apologized, a stranger had picked up his loose change for him when he'd dropped it, and altogether, in a city like New York, it was the little things like that which gave you a little boost in your faith in humanity.
Then again, it could've just been really good coffee.
As he walked, though, he saw the near-dawn traffic was slowed nearly to a stop, as people rubbernecked at someone around the corner, and there was a crowd gathering, very quiet, looking up at something.
It was the little things that restored your faith in humanity.
That faith in humanity could just as easily be taken away.
"--The sheet fell and he was just there--do you think he's still alive?"
"--has someone called an ambulance?"
"Is there anyway to get up there? To get him down? Has someone tried to climb up?"
"--Mutie. Look at the bottom, it says 'die, mutie, die'--who the hell cares? Good fucking riddance to bad trash."
"--about time somebody started to clean up this city--"
"That's one less of them, at least--hey, do you have anything I can throw?"
Urich stood, looking up, mouth gaping. The first thing he did was pull out his cell phone and dial 911. The operator already knew what he was talking about. There had been than one call in the last few minutes. There was the sound of an ambulance far off.
Ben just looked, and then the second thing he did, that was instinct, was dial the offices at the Bugle to makes sure they'd send one of the photographers. In case they couldn't get there in time, he pulled out the digital camera he kept with him at all times and snapped a few pictures himself, and got out his dictaphone.
It might have seemed callous to some, but it needed to be noted. It needed to not have happened for nothing. It needed to be seen as the horror it was.
It was news.
It was also, Ben knew, in light of recent events, the start of something. The start of something horrible.
It was so easy to lose your faith in humanity, when humanity was capable of this.
"I'm standing here at Times Square, the time is 6:15 am and there's a young man with red hair, strung up on one of the billboards; a crowd has gathered..."
It'd be on every news station within the hour.