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xp_logsIn Chicago, a group of mutants who have turned away from human society rob a store. Among their ranks, teen runaway Ben Hammil.
A mostly forgotten door in the basement of the Marriot Inn on S La Salle St led to an old flight of stairs down to a second sub basement and, from there, the old tunnel system. At this time of night, the basement was deserted, allowing a group of mutants to move it to the door to the parking garage, and finally, an alley that led through to W Madison.
A man who shivered in the cold, wearing basically no clothes stepped to the front of the group. Eyes slid off his skin. "It's just around the corner," Trader said, his powers rendering any visible skin nearly invisible and utterly forgettable.
"Great," snapped the woman in the group. "I'm going to die. It's so cold."
"You're not going to die, Electric Eve," Trader replied quietly.
Traffic was minimal and there were few witnesses on the street to see them when they stepped out. The door to the 7-Eleven was locked with a keycard that blinked sullenly. Eve smiled and reached out with one gloved hand, sparks dancing around her fingers, to short it out.
A huff of breath muffled by scarves still produced a cloud of fog from a figure covered almost entirely from head to toe to cut down on such displays, and while he'd attempted to focus like had been instructed, he was finding that harder said than done. The chatter of Eve and Trader made no sense, so while the lock was opened, Match turned quizzically to Postman. "Is it that cold out?"
"Cold enough, and Eve's dressed less for warmth than you are," Postman replied, tweaking the end of the boy's scarf. "She'll warm up a bit once we're inside and getting supplies, hopefully it'll keep her bitching to a minimum until we're back at our place." He gave Eve a stern look over Match's head, raising a single eyebrow in admonishment. "Hurry it up, Trader looks like he's about to fuckin keel over in this damn cold, Eve."
"I didn't tell him to not wear a coat. That's him being an adult all by himself," Eve replied, but she listened to Postman and got to work, carefully placing day old donuts one at a time into paper bags while Trader reviewed the rest of the pre-made food, looking for things that hadn't yet reached their expiry date.
“'s not like I can feel it any," the boy grumbled, finally tugging down the scarf that had been above his mouth. He began to fill his pockets with jerky and trail mix on autopilot, his jaw tightened and almost instantly the area around him warmed, despite his best efforts. Straightening his posture, his eyes darted around the building, trying to locate what to grab.
"Hey, Eve, did you short the whole security system?"
She nodded. "Of course I did. There was an alarm on ... the... door". Eve trailed off and looked at the area behind the counter in horror. "And there's silent arm back there, too. Oh shit. There's another alarm."
There were sirens in the distance. It was Chicago. There was no reason to assume that they were related to the robbery. There was no reason to assume they weren't. Trader shoved half a dozen gatorades into a shopping bag and began to move to the door. "Come on! We have to go."
A mostly forgotten door in the basement of the Marriot Inn on S La Salle St led to an old flight of stairs down to a second sub basement and, from there, the old tunnel system. At this time of night, the basement was deserted, allowing a group of mutants to move it to the door to the parking garage, and finally, an alley that led through to W Madison.
A man who shivered in the cold, wearing basically no clothes stepped to the front of the group. Eyes slid off his skin. "It's just around the corner," Trader said, his powers rendering any visible skin nearly invisible and utterly forgettable.
"Great," snapped the woman in the group. "I'm going to die. It's so cold."
"You're not going to die, Electric Eve," Trader replied quietly.
Traffic was minimal and there were few witnesses on the street to see them when they stepped out. The door to the 7-Eleven was locked with a keycard that blinked sullenly. Eve smiled and reached out with one gloved hand, sparks dancing around her fingers, to short it out.
A huff of breath muffled by scarves still produced a cloud of fog from a figure covered almost entirely from head to toe to cut down on such displays, and while he'd attempted to focus like had been instructed, he was finding that harder said than done. The chatter of Eve and Trader made no sense, so while the lock was opened, Match turned quizzically to Postman. "Is it that cold out?"
"Cold enough, and Eve's dressed less for warmth than you are," Postman replied, tweaking the end of the boy's scarf. "She'll warm up a bit once we're inside and getting supplies, hopefully it'll keep her bitching to a minimum until we're back at our place." He gave Eve a stern look over Match's head, raising a single eyebrow in admonishment. "Hurry it up, Trader looks like he's about to fuckin keel over in this damn cold, Eve."
"I didn't tell him to not wear a coat. That's him being an adult all by himself," Eve replied, but she listened to Postman and got to work, carefully placing day old donuts one at a time into paper bags while Trader reviewed the rest of the pre-made food, looking for things that hadn't yet reached their expiry date.
“'s not like I can feel it any," the boy grumbled, finally tugging down the scarf that had been above his mouth. He began to fill his pockets with jerky and trail mix on autopilot, his jaw tightened and almost instantly the area around him warmed, despite his best efforts. Straightening his posture, his eyes darted around the building, trying to locate what to grab.
"Hey, Eve, did you short the whole security system?"
She nodded. "Of course I did. There was an alarm on ... the... door". Eve trailed off and looked at the area behind the counter in horror. "And there's silent arm back there, too. Oh shit. There's another alarm."
There were sirens in the distance. It was Chicago. There was no reason to assume that they were related to the robbery. There was no reason to assume they weren't. Trader shoved half a dozen gatorades into a shopping bag and began to move to the door. "Come on! We have to go."
