Obfuscation
Author: jamjar (jamjar.livejournal.com)
Recipient: derryderrydown
Prompt: Linda Park
Notes: Gen, no recent spoilers.
Obfuscation
Author: jamjar (jamjar.livejournal.com)
Recipient: derryderrydown
Prompt: Linda Park
Notes: Gen, no recent spoilers.
She wakes up and opens her eyes. There's a flickering light
overhead and it's too bright. For a moment, the world tilts, the angles
wrong and unsteady and Linda has a moment of pure déjà vu, Oh, please,
not another dimension, before it stabilizes. The angles are wrong
because she's lying on her side, and the room is moving because she has
concussion, probably.
And-- there was a crash, she remembers that much, and the
building shook and she'd rolled off the desk she was lying on and hit
the floor, hard--
There's something wrong, and she needs to get her mind
together enough to think. She was on the fifth floor, trying to find
out where the office of Byron and Byron Accounting was, so why is it
pitch black outside the window? She doesn't recognise the room at all.
Deep breath, no panicking. This isn't the first, second or
third time she's woke up like this, and the absence of cackling
villains means this probably isn't personal.
That's not actually comforting, because if it isn't personal,
they won't try and gloat about this to Wally, and he doesn't even know
she's here and--
"Shock." It's comforting to hear her voice out loud, so she
puts on her reporter voice; clear, Linda, keep it clear enough so they
can hear you over an earthquake. "While suffering from shock, this
brave –no, this courageous reporter was instantly aware of how dangerous her situation was."
That's better. She can picture herself, microphone in hand,
leaning forward. The image gives her enough strength to push herself up
on to her feet and ow. Sprained ankle. Dammit. No, she's not
going to cry, and she knows, with absolute certainty, that Wally will
rescue her if she needs it, but he's not going to have to. She's not
some damsel in distress, this is not some alien world. It's downtown
Keystone and she can rescue herself.
She's still wearing her jacket and her cellphone is in her
pocket, right where she left it. No reception, but at least she knows
she hasn't lost a day.
She's not going to win any races, but she can manage a fast
limp over to the window. If it's just dark outside, there would still
be street lights, lights from other buildings -- it's Keystone. Even in
a blackout, there are still some signs of life, but now, there's
nothing. Pitch black.
The flickering light fails to show a catch. It's a new
building, must be one of those where it's 100% climate controlled and
impossible to open a window. The thought makes her realise that she
can't hear the air-conditioning and the room is stuffy. No air coming
in, none going out. "Join us tomorrow, when KFMB's very own reporter
Linda Park reveals a shocking expose on the dangers of modern
architecture," she says, leaning her head against the cool glass. It
feels good and it helps clear her mind. No way to find out what's
happening outside except by getting there, and that leaves the door.
Wait. There's a bump on the back of her head and bump on the
front, and the front probably came when she rolled off the desk, and--
Why was she on a desk? She reaches up to feel the back of her
head and yeah, it's nigh up and angled just so, just where they always
seem to aim when knocking you out, but when she tries to remember,
there's a blank space.
She limps over to the desk and opens the draws. Nothing
useful, no company paper, nothing at all. There's nothing on the walls
but pseudo art deco light fittings, most of which seem to be broken.
There's a plant on its side, and that's it.
The building was new and a lot of the offices were still
empty. She's probably in the same building, and that's something.
"Intrepid reporter, Linda Park-West, stumbled across a nefarious--"
Linda shakes her head. Maybe the concussion's giving her a bad
case of cliche. Focus, Linda, get yourself over to the door and--
locked. Now would be a really good time to develop superpowers.
No. If they didn't come for Grog or Kadabra or Zoom, they're
not going to come now, and she doesn't need them, because it's just a
door.
Think, Linda, think. It doesn't move when she tries to
throw her weight against it, and her bad ankle means she can't kick it
properly so…
The desk's pretty heavy, but she manages to drag it over to
the door, lies back on it, grips the edges and kicks out with her good
foot--
There! She sits up too quickly and her head spins for a
second, but the door is open and she can get out. She stumbles into the
hallway and it's even darker than it was in the room, but at least she
can breathe, finally.
The floor is vibrating. For a moment, she thinks "Wally?" but
it doesn't feel like him. She knows what it feels like when it's him
and this feels wrong. It increases and then she can feel the building
shake then--
And then it's like an explosion, but not exactly the same, and
Linda can identify that as the effect of someone or something with
superhuman strength slamming someone or something into a building that
really wasn't designed to take that kind of punishment. She has to get
out, now. One hand on the wall, Linda feels her way along the corridor.
The floor is covered with bits of paper. Her feet rustle against them
as she walks. It shouldn't be this messy. It's a new building, people
are still setting up. There hasn't been enough time to get this many
bits of paper everywhere.
The building shakes again and she almost slips and has to put
a hand out to steady herself. She can feel the wall move and that's
never a good sign. "Linda Park, live from Keystone, delivering this
special report on the top ten signs a building is going to collapse on
you." No, wrong voice, that should have a lighter tone. She tries it
again, "Linda Park, live from Keystone, delivering this..."
Much better, and there's the reassuring green glow of an exit
sign. She gets to the stairs, feels the building shake and hangs on to
the railing until it calms down. There are at least five flights of
stairs between her and the ground floor, and she's having trouble
standing up. She leans over the railing and half-slides, half skips
down the stairs. The building shakes more as she gets closer to the
ground and she slips on something and lands hard on her back. There's
paper on the ground and she can feel the odd bit flapping out above
her, like when Bart does his homework. Maybe she can just stay here for
a while--
Or not, because the wall next to her buckles and she rolls
away. It holds, bulging inwards, but even in Keystone, that's a bad
sign. Most buildings can't take that kind of strain for long. On her
hands and knees and then she pulls herself upright, using the railing,
and thanks whatever god or saint or mystic force that looks after
wayward reporters, because there's the firedoor.
Linda opens the door and it's pitch black outside. She reaches
out a careful hand and pushes at the darkness. It gives way like
nothing, a little cooler than air, and she takes a deep breath, holds
it, and walks through.
And out, into the light.
The substance, whatever it is, clings to her like soot or
printer ink. At first it looks like the buildings around her have been
replaced by black silhouettes, but one of them moves, hit by something
she can't see, and she realizes they're covered by the same thing
that's on her. A building folds in on itself, the black broken up by
fragments of brick and furniture and--
There, just in the corner of her eye, the familiar almost-seen
edge of something, someone, moving faster than she can see. It slows
down enough that she can a red blur that she knows like she knows her
own heart. She ducks, pressing against the black wall, trying to track
whatever he's after and, there, just a brief moment when she can see
something move before it blends into a wall, black on black, coming
closer and--
It's too perfect. All she has to do is stand up, now, smile and punch.
Perfect. He goes down in a crumpled heap, a barely visible outline of
something humanoid in a business suit. Wally zips over and clamps
something on his neck -neural inhibitor, it looks like-, then stands
back.
"Linda?" He says, like he's not sure or can't believe it. She
nods and he reaches out to touch the side of her face, checking.
Comforting. She matches the gesture.
"Yeah," she says. Not her best line ever, but she's entitled
to a little monosyllabic, after taking down the bad guy. "You were in
there?" Wally's face is white. She can count every freckle not covered
by the mask and the one smear of black from her hand. "I-- I didn't
know. You could have been--"
"What kind of a wife would I be if I let you do all the
rescuing?" She says and leans on his shoulder. His arm goes around her
waist and she lets him take her weight, holding him up. "Wally? Can you
prop me up against a wall and get me a camera?"
End.