New York In The Time Of Monsters - Port Authority

[gone_byebye]

The door opens onto the corner of Thirty-ninth and Eighth streets on a bright and sunny afternoon. It's a cluster of what most Americans would consider alarmingly large buildings- strictly average for New York, you understand. Forty and fifty floors, tops. You get much taller ones further south, in the Financial District. You get more people here, though- lots of them, in and out of the buildings- and a lot more cars, most of which are being driven by desperate people all striving like hell to beat each other to the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel.

None of the electric signs are working. None of the street lights are functioning. The buildings' shadows are only penetrated by headlights, taillights, and reflections of sun- which is probably exactly as the creatures roaring to each other somewhere nearby like it. It's hard to tell where they are, what with the throngs of people and cars-

Well. No.

The ones who're screaming and running like hell are probably a really good directional clue.

"I got a radio for you from the Bar," says Ray. "Call me or the other Ghostbusters on it if you need anything, okay? I'm going back to the Bar to see who else can lend a hand."

Comments

[slayer_fray]

Mel doesn't much hold with radios, but she'll accept when they may be useful.It goes in her pocket and she nods Ray goodbye.

Let's see, people are running that way, roaring could possibly be coming from that other way...

Mel doesn't even btoher trying to run upstream of a mob. Her sket rug comes out of her back pocket and she shakes it out quickly, sliding up the nearest wall to gain herself about ten feet.

Then she zooms off in the direction the crowd is running from.

[gone_byebye]

There's going to be pointing and shouting, of course, but this is New York. People are going to concentrate on their own survival pretty quickly.

The roaring is coming from the collapsed fence around a construction site. Girders for a building meant to be at least fifty stories high loom up into the afternoon sun, casting slanting shadows on the people who were foolish enough to think that pulling down the fence would give them a safe shortcut across half a block of territory. It might've- but even pulling down a spot only large enough for one human made a weak spot. Cats are good at exploiting weak spots, even speckled cats the size of very large lions, with huge slashing curved teeth like daggers. Two of them've ripped the fence apart; there are several others, all driving the herd before them like so much Spam on the hoof. So to speak, anyway.

[slayer_fray]

Now that's what Mel's talking about.

As she turns to follow a direct beeline to the cats, she pulls out her gun and levels it at the beast in the lead. Enough electricity to bring down the most souped up pump for an hour crackles out sharply before the weapon is holstered again.

The important thing is to buy people time to escape, which is why she then dives down between the crowd and the predators. They're only cats, after all. Mel just have to play at being a piece of string.

[gone_byebye]

The lead cat's body spasms and a smell of scorched hair fills the air as it falls limply to the ground. Its companions stop in their tracks, the fur along their backs bristling and their tails rising as they turn to see where the lightning came from.

One of them suddenly roars. The others follow suit.

The New Yorkers fall back on all sides, nobody particularly wanting to draw the cats' attention but no one much wanting to miss the spectacle, either.

[slayer_fray]

Ah New Yorkers. Mel does love them so.

She glares at the nearest spectator - an overly tall man who seems to think white Reeboks go well with a business suit, and pulls out the scythe.

If they're not going to retreat, Mel's just going to have to lead the lions away.

She crouches on the skaterug and dives straight into the roaring pack, pulling up sharply the second one looks about to pounce and jerking the blade around to inflict pain. Their attention caught, she rockets past and away from the crowd, into the heart if the construction site.

[gone_byebye]

Across the multiverse, the people of New York are pretty much the same. You can get an audience int his city for anything from opera to live nude dog wrestling. Gladiatorial combat between extinct beasts and a hot chick on a flying rug? The NYPD would probably have to show up with flamethrowers to get the audience to disperse- and they're not gonna be getting through anything any time soon.

The second lion twists violently, trying to bring up a paw and swat the scythe blade away, but it's no use. Mel is faster. As the smell of blood starts in earnest the lions at the back of the pride charge after the flying human, tails lashing wildly. The rest follow a moment later.

[slayer_fray]

Mel is trying to take this seriously, she really is, it's just too much fun. Slaloming between the girders, she darts up at irregular intervals and attempts to keep track of her pursuers, all the time ruing the loss of Raven's throwing knives in Egypt.

The rug gives her speed, but the dive and swing approach just isn't going to actually help her kill anything, so it's reluctantly that Mel rises up another few dozen feet, pulls her rug out from under her feet and lands on both feet on top of one of the heavy girders.

[gone_byebye]

It's sort of a pity Ray didn't tell her about one of the shops on the opposite side of 42nd Street from the Port Authority bus terminal. Kaufman's Army Navy Surplus has a wide selection of things military, and might possibly have some usable knives in stock. Oh, well.

On the ground below the cats are circling, snarling to one another and considering their chances. One, the smallest, has a powerfully speculative look in its eye. Cats can jump, after all- even the ones that aren't built quite like the 'true cats'.

And there are lower girders. Maybe even within its reach. If it can just crouch a little and wiggle its butt into position, it's going to try for a leap to one of the lower girders and see if it can't make its way towards the human from there.

[slayer_fray]

It's enough time for Mel to pocket her precious rug and assess her options, and try her damnedest not to be distracted by planning what she's going to do with those teeth once she's collected them.

When she has an idea what the small one's going to do, she forms a plan of her own, and decides to make things easier for it.

She approaches the edge of her vantage point, nearer to the lower girder, and crouches, scythe in hand, woodn stake end merely ready.

With any luck, it will leap, she can stab upwards, and voila! Saber tooth kebab.

[gone_byebye]

The other cats are still circling, watching- in modern cat terms, it's feeding time and someone's just opened the can of tuna. The smallest (which is still a damn big cat, when it comes right down to it) apparently feels that since the shiny, slicey part of the scythe is no longer immediately in evidence, it should be all right. Not like it knows about weapons other than the natural sort, after all.

The muscles of its haunches bunch and gather, and it leaps.

[slayer_fray]

And Mel leaps just a moment after, aiming herself between those massive paws as she thrusts forward with her spike. It plunges home between two ribs, but even when she turns to the side, she still catches one of those huge canines across her arm. She can't feel angry about it - it is a rocketship tooth.

She yanks her scythe out immediately to avoid being carried backwards by the cat's superior momentum, and drops down to the ground, rolling and running flat out as she hits.

[gone_byebye]

There are still spectators, you understand. It's just that a lot of them are doing it from somewhere nice and safe, like the fourth through tenth floors of nearby apartment buildings. Huzzah for binoculars and metropolitan voyeurism! Mel might be pleased to know that the betting on her performance against the huge cats is going fast and furious.

As the cat hits the ground the others scatter momentarily- but only momentarily. These aren't housecats, to run in wide-eyed terror and jump up on the nearest couch. They're not happy about their pride-brother dying, and they're hungry, and now the human is on the ground.

There's a roar and the remaining sabertooths give chase.

[slayer_fray]

She's on foot, but she's still faster than any baseline human, and running flat out, she can at least hope that she's fast enough to give a sabre tooth a run for its money.

Mel cuts a wide arc, stepping over rubble and rolling under planks, putting as many obstacles betwen her and them as possible.

There's not enough obstacles in the construction site, though. She needs ground she understands. Spinning suddenly, she races to the edge of the site, towards the bus depo.

[gone_byebye]

The cats are swift, but they're in an environment they don't understand. The noise and the smells confuse them, and confusion slows them down. They follow at a gallop, but it's a gallop that requires navigating the obstacles of twenty-first century New York City, which means that the prey about keeps an even distance between the cats and herself.

(Behind her, unseen, the dead sabertooth is starting to blow away as dust. The bones will be there when she returns, and the great scimitar teeth- but the flesh is gone in a fall of blue-grey powder.)

[slayer_fray]

Mel, on the other hand, understands the environment perfectly. It's her home, her city, her... well, maybe not her one true love, but it's a close second behind Turtle Boy.

She checks behind her to make sure they're following, and skids around the corner of the bus terminal, ducking in the first door she comes to.

One inside, she stops, leaps up and grabs the wall, hanging precariously above the door.

[gone_byebye]

Under other circumstances this scene would be immensely entertaining as the sabertooths learned about automatic doors the hard way. Unfortunately, the city-wide blackout means that the doors have jammed in the open position, so there will be no repeated thudding of doors into big cats.

At least their gallop will turn into skidding as the remaining sabertooths try to bring themselves to a halt and get a bead on their prey?

[slayer_fray]

That's the idea, at least. Mel holds on for only a second before dropping down- she didn't have timeto choose her target, because it's more important to get the kill first. So it's just the nearest cat she throws herself at, blade swinging heavily as she drops.

[gone_byebye]

It's a big one. This is Smilodon populator, whose name means 'bringer of devastation', and even accounting for the dramatic tendencies of paleontologists it's still damned impressive. Five hundred pounds of angry lion rear up to try and fend off the blade with one forepaw.

'Try' is the operative word here. The cat's not fast enough to beat the Slayer's strike.

[slayer_fray]

Maybe so, but still, Mel's about a hundred pounds soaking wet, so even though she gets a swing in, when that paw hits her, it send her flying, knocking the swing out of whack.

She had hoped for a clean decapitation. Instead the blade sheers through a portion of the skull as it trails behind her. Still, Mel reflects, it's probably still a kill.

She rolls the second she hits floor, and bolts towards the static escalators ahead of her.

[gone_byebye]

Yep! Paff goes the beast's flesh, and the bones clatter to the floor. The other cats scramble backwards over each other trying to get out of the weird phenomenon's way. It's only the smallest that has the wit to jump forward instead of back, and so the smallest of the bunch finds itself in the lead as they resume pursuit of the Prey That Fights Back.

[slayer_fray]

Now, that's just rocketship. Kind of like a lu...

Oh, right. Mel's running, really. Though if he knew of the title, Harth would probably be proud.

She takes the escalator two steps at a time and turns around to spear sharply at the runt of the pack as it gains.

She also wantsto see how the others are handling the escalator.

[gone_byebye]

The runt has this in its favor: it's more nimble than the bigger members of the pride. The pointed end of the scythe digs into its shoulder and some of its flank instead of its chest as it twists aside. For a moment, it manages to balance on the escalator handrail. Then it loses its footing and tumbles back to the steps.

The others are not doing nearly so well. This isn't an escalator designed for more than two people at a time to go side by side, and their forms are too broad to manage navigating it properly. They've done what every New Yorker who's ever found the escalator too crowded does instead: looked around, found the nearby staircase, and headed for that. They're planning to sprint up and corner the prey from above instead.

[slayer_fray]

That's fine, it gives Mel a chance to rotate scythe around and finish off kitten #3 while she's waiting.

Now she's standing about halfway down the escalator, and at a disadvantage - they might have found it hard to get up, but they'll find it easy as hell to get down.

So she runs back up again, determined to face them head on.

[gone_byebye]

Paff. Again the flesh dissolves and the bones are all that's left.

The sabertooths are roaring now, racing around to the escalator and readying themselves to pounce. In a wolf-pack there would be a moment when all the pack decided, as individuals, to leap at once- but these aren't wolves, and for all that they're social cats, they're still cats. Two of them spring forward. One is bound to miss, but the other's got some nasty claws on him.

[slayer_fray]

Oh crap he really does, doesn't he? Maybe taking them head on was a really really bad idea?

Too late to regret that now, because Mel's busy diving under the cat's pounce, taking a massive pawful of claws in her thigh. Which rips further when she twists in the air and stabs up.

Four.