Grant is stabbed by a junkie. It's a tough town. Jason, Bobby, Adam
and Justin are witnesses.

=============================


Manhattan -- Central Park: South

The Sheep Meadow, located across from Tavern on the Green, is
one of the favorite places for New Yorkers to relax in a quiet area
for picnics, reading, and even suntanning. When the park was first
built, Sheep Meadow was actually used for sheep grazing until the
1930's. The sheep and the park's resident shepherd were housed in a
barn which was later converted to the famous restaurant, Tavern on
the Green. Today, Park rules forbid games and exercise on the meadow.
Walking towards the Reservoir, there is a section of coloured
tiles embedded in the walkway with the single word 'Imagine' in the
center. John Lennon was murdered in December of 1980 in front of his
home near Central Park. Thousands of mourners hung flowers and
messages outside his home and in this section of Central Park where
Lennon would often play with his son. The Strawberry fields were
created in Lennon's honor.
Farther north is the Ramble, the closest one can come to true
wilderness in the Big Apple. During the day, the Ramble is a favoured
locale for bird watchers and nature lovers. At night, the dense trees
and dark shadows attract a different, more sinister flavor of
wildlife.

Obvious exits:
Reservoir <N> Upper East Side <E> Midtown North <S>

Grant is with a few of his friends, loitering around side of the
Tavern on the Green as the sun is slinking down into the long smoggy
sunset of the New York day. The restaurant is bustling with wealthy
tourists, and Grant and his friends stand out significantly, but
nobody seems to bother them. They're just smoking like chimneys and
yacking about Mets spring training games.


Grant(#929PXcef)

This is a man in his late twenties in a rumpled, ill-fitting,
obviously off-the-rack grey suit. It would be easy to peg him as a
government employee, or an insurance agent, except that his shirt is
a sort of very dark navy blue, and his tie is a bow tie, unknotted
and perfectly black, hanging down loosely out of his collar. His hair
is black and combed straight back from his forehead, shaved on the
sides, and his blue eyes are only visible if he takes off those
little octagonal mirrored sunglasses.
His skin is vaguely tan, like he spends a lot of time
outdoors but manages not to get much sun in the process (smoggy
skies, I guess), and he has the sort of wiry, athletic build that
comes from exertion, not exercise. His voice has a Brooklyn accent -
his body language is vigorous, brash and confident.

Justin smiles a mischievous smile. A blue backpack slung over his
left shoulder he heads into Central park. He thinks to himself, "What
we going to do tonight my friend? What mischievous havoc will be
wrought?" He spots the men, and thinks nothing of them for now.

Justin

Justin is a young man in his late teens. Being of average
height and slimmer build give the impression that this "kid" still
has some growing to do. His brown hair is just long enough to feather
over to one side. His face is charismatic, narrow and long. It is
accentuated with his charming smile and playful hazel eyes. A prep-
ish style thick white cotton shirt is tucked into his black clean
pressed pants. The black leather belt with the small silver buckle
give the undeniable impression of an Ivy Leaguer or a total prep.

Jason

Jason is a tall young man, with a gymnast's lean muscles and grace.
He moves with a kind of conservation, as if hoarding his active
energy. He has straight brown hair, almost black, reaching down to
his collar. His hair is parted in the middle of his head and sweeps
to either side of his lean face. A high forehead curves down to
smooth dark brows over wide-set brown eyes. Thin, clean cheeks angle
down to a square jaw under a sensual mouth with a wide smile showing
white teeth. His nose is long and straight, slightly wider at the
bridge. His general complexion is tanned, with a smooth cast to his
features.

Looks like Jason's into dark today. Tight black denim jeans ride his
athletic legs disappearing into black combat-style leather boots. The
jeans have a celtic moire pattern in crimson and cobalt embroidered
onto the outer seam, almost blending into a single solid indigo
stripe unless one looks close enough to see the detail. The boots are
matte-black and seem to absorb light rather than reflect it; the
raised heel gives Jason another inch of height, and they don't seem
to weigh his feet down as much as 'real' combat footwear would. A
belt of dark brown woven cord leather is cinched shut by a silvery
round belt buckle, in the shape of an eastern dragon coiled in upon
itself. On his torso, Jason wears a simple, loose, white cotton t-
shirt, and a black leather jacket over that. The jacket is open, and
hangs down to Jason's waistline, the bottom of the jacket belted, but
the belt hanging limp. The collar of the jacket is creamy-white
sheep's wool, extending from the lapels around the back of Jason's
neck. On Jason's neck, a simple pendant, a cross imposed on a DNA
chain, can be seen hanging loosely.

Over his shoulder Jason carries a small black nylon bookbag,
obviously full of something lumpy, whether it's books or something
else is unclear unless he were to open the bag. Multiple pockets
cover the bookbag, zippered shut. Hanging off of the bookbag is a
street skateboard, wide-bodied and small-wheeled. The 'board is
covered with competition stickers and trophy markings. The topside of
the board is striped with black rubber for grip.

Bobby

His hunched shoulders, poor posture, and carefully crafted
non-comformity can only mean one thing: he is five feet, six inches
and 130 pounds of pure slack-dom. Furthering his relaxed image are
the short spikes of blond that casually frame his forehead, only to
end around his artic blue eyes. Despite having the body of a lanky
sixteen-year-old, his face is rather boyish, with a button nose and a
mischevious smile.
A forest green, button-down shirt only makes his chest and
shoulders seem scrawnier than they really are, and since the shirt is
about two sizes too big, the ends of the sleeves go down past his
hands. Like any slack-master worth his salt, hes wearing a pair of
wrinkled blue jeans. They're pretty loose around his legs, and are
held up by a belt cinched around his narrow waist. The cuffs of his
jeans are lazily pushed above his white, well-worn Adidas tennis
shoes.

Jason glides across the sidewalks, standing upright on his plank,
holding his backpack on his shoulder. Looks like just another
skateboarder out for a quick ride in the New York evening. He passes
a mounted police officer, who looks at the young man with a
disapproving stare, but there's really nothing to be done. After all,
it's not like Jason's bothering anyone. Not like he's some sort of
obvious mutant with wings or something growing out of his back.

Passing the Tavern, Jason spots the men quite easily. The chaotic
welter of Central Park never fails to boost his perceptual abilities
to an above-average level, even though Jason doesn't realize it. But
that's why he never gets mugged, or assaulted, or even tripped by the
malevolent miscreants who love to spil someone else's day.

Grant's friends consist of a Pakistani man wearing the clerk's
uniform of a well-known convenience store chain, a woman with buzzcut
brown hair and large hands, and a short black man with a slender body
and a very soft voice. "Forget the Mets. Why didn't you /share/ those
Krispy Kremes, that's what I wanna know." brays the woman with the
loud laugh of the native Bronxian. Grant replies, rolling his eyes
exaggeratedly. "You guys are so sterotypical." The black man says
something too soft to be heard at any distance from him, and they all
laugh. Just out having fun in the evening sun.

Adam watches Central Park from the roof of a nearby building,
meditating. And hoping Marie-Ange will heed him this time and -won't-
return here alone tonight.

Ice cream, check. Shoes on the right feet, check. Head on straight,
check. As Bobby strolls along one of the sidewalk, he goes through
his mental checklist, eyes wandering the sights and generally minding
his own business. Yup. He's just here to relax while taking a stroll
away from the Den.

Justin spots Bobby, Grins from ear to ear, and trots on over to
him. "Hey, Its Billy right? Good to see you again. Did you get away
all right the other night?" Justin seems to have the same little kid
look in his face that he had last time.

Jason sees the two young men and stops, putting one foot down easily
and halting his forward motion. If the first one hadn't called
attention, Jason would never have spotted the second... 'I've seen
him before,' he thinks. 'The Den.' For a while, Jason's been watching
the Den, unable to make himself go there. The way Amara flared up...
but then again, there was just something about Amara that caught
Jason's attention. Even now, he still carries the gift he got to make
up for upsetting her, in his backpack. It was heck getting it made,
but he thinks she'll appreciate it.

From around the opposite corner of the Tavern, crossing in front of
the laughing tourists goggle-eyed at the size of the city, and the
wealthy stockbrokers in their three thousand dollar suits, a lone
figure approaches the lazy group that includes Grant. He's got
stringy hair and arms, and doesn't look like he's eaten too well. A
threadbare coat is bound up tightly around him like he's freezing
cold, although the wind is really nothing more than a bit brisk. He
stumbles blank-eyed towards the group. All eyes from the restaurant
turn away from him, or tune him out as they do to all homeless
people, the studied uncomfortable empty-eyed look of those that don't
want to see.

"Close, but no cigar. It's Bobby." The blond haired kid takes loud
bite from his apparently rock-hard ice cream cone, happily chewing on
it for a few seconds before swallowing it. A mischevious smile
spreads across his face at mention of the other night's
escapades. "I /just/ escaped by the skin of my teeth. But since I'm
here, that must mean I did alright anyway." He pauses in his stroll
and his babbling, noticing the supposed-homeless fellow out of the
corner of his eye. He's still not used to the sight of homeless
people, despite being in NYC a few days now. "So...uhh, what have
you...been up to?"

Adam is able to identify Grant and Jason shapes from his perch, even
though they are nearly a mile away, his eyesight is that good. He has
also recognized several other parkgoers, but none of them are of any
interest to him.

Justin can't help but grin from ear to ear, teeth glistening in the
sunset. "Teaching a lesson or two in humor. I was thinking of
something more corporate this evening. Know that Chick Fillet
billboard on the north part of the park??" He motions to the huge
roll of paper half sticking out of his backpack. "What are /you/
doing tonight?"

A long-time Manhattanite, Jason is able to see the homeless man...
and his nature doesn't make him automatically zone out. The poor
wretches of humanity, lost to the sight of their fellow man... the
trouble is, most of them don't want to be helped, they'd just rather
take a handout and then disappear for a while, drowning out past
memories and deeper sorrows with alcohol and cheap drugs. Poor
bastards. But they're such a common sight, Jason doesn't really pay
that much attention.

Instead, he glides over towards the other two young men, keeping the
homeless person in his peripheral view until he's assured that he's
far enough away that Jason'll get some advance warning if the man
approaches him. 'Probably better handouts at the Tavern, but the
cops're only a few seconds away,' Jason muses. The city doesn't like
the homeless bothering its financial elite and the tourists, and they
slap beggars in the Park with hefty fines and jail time, not just a
night in the Tombs and some delousing.

Grant has his back to the approaching man, and the other people with
him are absorbed in a story he's telling: "So then Ordonez comes up
again...Johnson has the ball...Ordonez crowds in hard. First pitch is
bam...in the dirt, ball one. Ordonez doesn't even /move/. You could
have knocked the stadium down and he wouldn't move. Second pitch high
and inside, brush-back pitch. But Ordonez just stands there. Ball
two. Now the pitcher is starting to sweat. Ordonez is swinging that
bat, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, swear ta god you could feel it in the
bleachers..." "Hey," interrupts the woman. "I thought you said you
were just listening on the radio." She's shushed roundly by the other
people in the group. "Lemme tell my story here, you can tell yours
your way, I'll tell mine my way." Grant laughs.

Bobby stops staring at the homeless fellow, realizing that it isn't
at all nice, and looks towards Justin, a smile still on Bobby's
lips. "Paint works better, you know. Some nice Tempra or something
that washes off in the rain, nothing too permanent." Beat. "Because
that just isn't cool." He takes another bite of his ice cream treat,
his strolling resuming towards whichever direction he was headed
earlier. And with him, well, he won't know where he's going until
he's already passed it.

Grant takes a looong puff on his cigarette. "And so," he begins, and
the man behind him takes out a knife - a really big one, a battered
and ugly and sharp hunting knife with a cerrated blade - and he
shrieks loudly and raises it up over his head with it in both hands
and brings it down right at Grant, awkward but powerful, Grant and
his friends jerk with surprise and move fast, but the blade's already
coming down and it cuts through the back of Grant's jacket and Grant
whirls and falls, kicking, scrabbling for a gun inside his coat - the
woman and the black man are charging at the homeless man but its too
late, the homeless man has jammed the knife down hard, sickeningly
hard into the middle of Grant's thigh. Grant screams in pain, screams
like a wounded animal. The man /twists/ the blade hard, jerking it
out a little to shove it back in deeper, before Grant's friends are
pulling him off. Grant's cheap trousers are already crimson with
blood.

Justin starts trailing behind Bobby, "Well, paper is easier to take
down... That, and have you ever heard of a guy called Cyberma-ohh my
gawd!" he stops dead in his tracks, face wiped blank of all
expression as he witnesses the ultra violence of blood and muscle.

Adam watches the scene with his usual detached interest, immediately
calculating the angle of the cut and the damage caused given the
kinetic energy of the blade. He is too far to be able to act, even if
he had wanted to risk his freedom for a man that wants him jailed.
But at least he can do something that is not risky and won't cost him
anything. Call the nearest hospital with his cellphone so an
ambulance is sent for Grant.

Unfortunately this guy picked the wrong day to stab someone. Reflexes
and agility already kicked to professional levels by an hour's worth
of skateboarding tricks with his friends, Jason is halfway across the
circle by the time the homeless man twists the knife further. Seeing
that the homeless guy is being taken care of, Jason is at Grant's
side almost instantly. "You! You!" he barks at two passersby. "Call
911. Tell them to get an ambulance here, stat." With his free hand,
he whips off his belt, already near-maximum strength enhanced by
adrenaline ripping the leather off the buckle, but it can't be
helped. He starts applying a tourniquet as best he can around Grant's
thigh.

The 911 operator assures Adam that an ambulance is on the way and
asks him to stay on the phone and describe what's happening. The two
friends of Grant wrestle the homeless man to the ground, the exertion
keeping them from making any sound but grunts and groans at first,
but suddenly he kicks hard and rolls, and one of the friends
yells "Knife!" The struggle takes on a new form with a jagged
switchblade, but Grant's friends are, naturally, armed themselves,
and a shot rings out. The man screeches, drops the second knife,
clutching at the wound in his shoulder. Grant is delirious and near
passing out when Jason starts to put a tourniquet on. "No..." he
mumbles. "Don' wanna lose the leg. Jus' put pressure on th..." But
whatever first aid advice he was going to give is gone, then, as he
subsides into delirium. Grant's eyes are far away. Some of the people
in the restaurant have indeed called 911 - many more have screamed
and fled the area. They don't want to get involved.

"Oh shit." Bobby freezes (metaphoricly speaking) where he stands for
a few short seconds, jaw slack and eyes wide from the sudden maiming
that they just witnessed. This isn't anything like the
movies...nothing at all like them. The movies have nice CGI blood
spewing out of unknowns, but this...this is real life. It's all Bobby
can do, for the time being, not to spew everywhere.

Justin fails to notice his companion freezing (Metaphorically) in
place, but since Bobby is behind him, He doesn't see the "Ice Man".
And to Justin this /is/ the movies. He watches in horrid fascination,
like some kid watching some Friday the 13th movie in the dark. It all
seems too much like a dream and happening to fast to be real. "Woa!"
he quietly whispers.

Adam calmly describes what he is seeing, although the distance is too
great for him to be able to give much detail, there goes also the
suggestion to send a second ambulance, since the aggressor was just
shoot.

With his brain working on adrenaline boost, Jason can remember his
first-aid training well enough not to make the tourniquet super-
tight... instead, he ties it just enough to limit any more blood loss
from the artery, trying an extra knot in the belt and positioning it
over the vessel to block the flow as much as possible. Finishing
this, Jason takes one hand and rips his white t-shirt off of his
chest, as though somehow realizing the extra strength he has. The rag
that results is easily enough to act as a makeshift bandage.

Justin continues to stare in fascination, soaking up the scene.
Detestation thanks to over media exposure and his abnormal style of
thinking put him outside the "required and deemed necessary" style of
reactions. "Bobby, you see that! This is totally whacked! Shit this
is brutal"

The Pakistani man, although moving painfully slowly from Jason's
point of view, kneels to help him, holding cloth out of the way for
Jason to apply the bandage. Grant's lost a lot of blood but he looks
like he's going to be okay if the ambulance gets here soon, and the
sirens are already audible, the ambulance rushing down one of the
paved roads. The attacker is also unconcscious but Grant's other
friends, both police officers too, by the look of it, are taking no
chances, cuffing him swiftly, the woman saying forcefully into her
phone, "Clear for emergency traffic, officer down, officer down..."
and so forth. That will get the emergency crews moving. The black man
puts pressure on the attacker's wound with a clean handkerchief (who
carries handkerchiefs these days?) - in comparison with Grant's leg,
it doesn't look bad at all, but Grant is far closer to consciousness
than the attacker. The 911 operator Adam is speaking to agrees, says
another ambulance is on the way, and now starts asking about where
Adam is, who he is, and so forth. From what he can see, there are
others down there who are on their phones too, and two ambulances
speeding through the park, followed by a police car and a fire truck.
Even some horseback police officers are galloping towards the scene
from their evening patrol.

Bobby just...watches, caught in that horrible state between wanting
to run for your life and being stuck in place. He's not even blinking
that much as he watches, and speech is entirely out of the question.
And to compound this entire experience is the fact that he watched
something this violent only a few days ago. Except he was directly
involved, that time.

Justin turns around an nudges Bobby for lack of response, "Dude, you
ok?" as he notices the look of total horror, "Boo!" then spins back
around to watch himself.

When the questions begin to be directed at him and the ambulances
entering the park Adam decides that his help is no longer needed and
turns off the phone, stands up and vanishes from sight, not that
anybody was looking at him, but just in case. He is not particularly
curious about what will happen next.

The ambulance comes around a bend and the siren shuts off as it
rushes to a stop. Another is close behind.There is also the sound of
more vehicles approaching - from Adam's vantage point it looks like a
stream of light and people sent from the sun to congeal around the
Tavern on the Green. The woman puts away her gun and re-approaches
Grant - the black man puts away his gun and starts to approach
witnesses, including Justin and Bobby. He beckons them closer with
his hand. She blinks at what Jason's done. How did he do that so
fast? The question is in her eyes but she doesn't ask. "Thanks." she
says. She leans down and puts her hand on Grant's forehead. "Okay,
chief, you hang in there." she says in a voice that really, most
people would have a hard time refusing. Grant stirs a little into
consciousness. "...but he had three /errors/, Em.....Say Hey Rey
bobbled one pretty bad in the seventh, it put a guy on second..." he
mumbles. The woman says "Yeah...okay...This is Suze, Grant...can you
hear me?...we can talk about it later...Grant, can you open your
eyes?" His eyelids flutter a little. "Suze?" he says, dry-mouthed.
Clearly in shock. The EMTs approach rapidly and the woman and the
Pakistani man start to move back.
"I'm, uh...fine. I'm just that blood and guts doesn't go well with
ice cream." Bobby finally looks away from scene, rubbing his eyes.
Quietly, almost withdrawn, "People need to nicer to each other, and
not kill each other, I think..." And then he notices the black man,
but doesn't move. It's not real defiance, it's just that he does't
want to go any closer to the scene of the crime than he has to.

Justin has the look of adreneline jocky written all over his face as
he starts walking up to the cop that beconed him, "Yes sir?
<OOC> Justin says "kicks his enter key, reposing."
Justin has the look of adreneline jocky written all over his face as
he starts walking up to the cop that beconed him, "Yes sir?" he quips
off, forgetting the pre-fabricated rolled up banner in his backpack.
Justin has the look of adrenaline jockey written all over his face as
he starts walking up to the cop that beckoned him, "Yes sir?" he
quips off, forgetting the pre-fabricated rolled up banner in his
backpack. He stands there, half amused half stunned.

The black man seems to sense Bobby's fear and he gracefully drifts
across the grass to meet Justin halfway. His voice carries just far
enough for Bobby to hear. "We'll need statements from you gentlemen."
He points out an officer who is dismounting a horse and starting to
arrange the crowd at and just outside the Tavern. "If you could step
over there, please?" If the black man notices the banner, he makes no
comment about it. The EMTs quickly assess the situation, replace
Jason's bloody shirt with a clean bandage, but leaves his belt in
place. Four of them gather to lift Grant onto a stretcher as gently
as they can - others move to attend to the wounded assailant. The
whirling red and blue lights of the police cars and ambulances splay
out across the green grass of the park and reflect in the glass
windows of the Tavern.

Jason, in the meantime, has managed to recover his backpack and has
taken a clean shirt out of it. His supercharge seems to be calming
down as he takes the jacket off, revealing a torso most men would
kill for, under the shredded remains of cloth... he strips the shreds
off, snapping them with his hands, and puts the new shirt on. A bit
tight, but under the jacket, it becomes less noticeable.

Bobby takes another bite of his still completely un-melted ice cream,
finally managing to get his thoughts and emotions under grips long
enough to walk over to the black man, settling in a spot beside yet
behind Justin. Every few seconds or so, his blue-eyed gaze flits from
man towards the tavern, his adam's apple bobbing again when he gulps.
He could really use a soda right now.

Meanwhile, Adam has left, he will be back in a few hours, once the
police is gone and the park returns to what passes for normal at
night.

Nobody seems to notice Jason's change. The woman says, "Thanks,
kid...I'm Susan Pentasaglia." She doesn't take her eyes off the
stretchers as they're loaded into the ambulances. "Hasi, can you..."
She indicates where the officer has started taking statements - he is
quickly being joined by several others. The Pakistani man nods and
ambles over. Susan looks back at Jason. "Let me get your name and
address for myself. I can get your belt back to youaaaaYYYY, where
you GOING?" she yells at an EMT. He yells back, "All Saints, All
Saints" like a very loud prayer, and slams the doors of the
ambulance. She turns back to Jason. "Sorry." she breathes.
Justin is more than happy to give an embellished tale of what
happened. "Blood gore, a cop fight and the good guys winning the day.
What more could a movie maker want eh? Bobby you ok? He asks with
true blue concern.

The black man bows - yes, he actually bows - to Bobby and Justin as
they move to give their statements, and he moves on to other
bystanders.

Jason shakes his head. "De nada. Not a problem, I can get another one
easy enough." He stands up with a fluid, graceful motion. "Where'd a
homeless guy like that get that kind of knife? Or for that matter,
where'd he get the money for it? Oh--" He swings his backpack around
and unzips a pocket on it, taking out a business card. "In case you
need a statement from me," he says, handing the card to Susan.

Bobby blinks at the entirely unexpected bow, taking a few steps back
as well. "I'm fine. I'm just not a big fan of non-animated violence.
Or animated violence anymore, probably..." Bobby looks a
little...green, even as he takes another mouthful of his pleasantly
cold treat.

Jason pages: The card's typical, has 'Coltrane Consulting' as the
name of the business, 'Jason Coltrane' and Jason's cell number, and a
post office box and fax number. As well as Jason's business email
address and web site.

Susan takes the business card and offers her one of her own. Plain-
Jane 'Susan Pentasaglia - Detective - Parahuman Investigation
Division". She speaks again. "He likely got it at a pawnshop...that
guy wasn't homeless, just really poor. He didn't have homeless-guy
shoes." she says. "Well, thanks for your help, just...just step over
there to give a statement. I gotta go." Indeed, there are a couple of
police officers that are waiting specifically for her. She approaches
them with an air of resignation and they take her further aside.
After taking the statement of the young men, including names and
addresses, the polce officers gently but firmly guide them out of the
immediate area.


Justin says to Bobby, "Well my good friend, That was an adventure.
Ready for something not as gory?" he smiles and presents his banner
oh so dramatically, with one big grin on his face. "Dont dwell on it,
it will only make it worse, You need something to take your mind off
it, and like I was saying, I heard there was this ultimate cyber
prankster called Cybermancer........