Factory Safety

New York City - 6:17 AM

Silence was nearly impossible to find in New York City, even at this early hour. No, at 6 AM, the city was already awake, opening bleary eyes to the day that lay ahead. The taxis turned on their lights and began to buzz around the city like bees, the garbage trucks lifted their arms and stretched as they left their warehouse beds, the subways sighed and made their way down their tunnel hallways through their tunnel houses, and every restaurant in the area collectively brewed a million pots of coffee. Yet, down a dark, lampless street in the pre-sun light, no sound dared to tremble between the crumbling buildings that stooped with broken backs over the pavement. The birds themselves did not dare to even fly over the area, the taxis turned off their lights. A shadow, however, dared to venture down the street, stretching up the sides of the buildings in the dim light radiating off of the grey sky. The shadow moved stealthily and steadily, bending and morphing over the textures of the eerily serene street.

In the middle of the street was an unarmed man, his long, black hooded-jacket flowing in the biting wind of an autumn morning. He walked purposefully, his face covered with a black gas-mask. The cold and wind did not bother him or hinder his pursuit of another man, frantically running with his head turned back to look fearfully at the masked man. The running man’s feet beat an uneven rhythm into the pavement. His face was stained with frantic tears, his sandy hair wildly wind-whipped around his face. He was young, a college student, perhaps, a satchel bag bouncing along his hip as he ran. Death was chasing him, death itself.

“Help!” he screeched, yet no one was there to hear. Death continued his pursuit, unhurried, merciless. The young man tripped over his own feet, his face skidding across the pavement roughly. Death paused, his attention leaving the young man as he turned onto his back to face his pursuer. Death stooped to the ground, his cape dripping onto the ground around him. He pulled the black glove off his right hand, revealing a pale hand. He ran his fingers across the dusty pavement and scrutinized them as he stood as if observing some invisible substance on them. He paid little attention to the young man slowly trying to crawl backwards away. He had retreated nearly six feet when he turned to get up, to run again. The sound of crumbling and grinding stone stopped him, however, and he stared back at Death with horror.

The flesh of Death’s ghostly hand was bubbling beneath the skin, bubbling and growing, mutating. His epidermis began to thicken, swell, expand, and harden, taking on sharp angles and cracks. The skin began to perforate with deep bumps, dust and loose pavement falling off his now larger hands and raining down to the pavement below. A hole grew in the road, and the pavement itself seemed to seep into his feet as his other hand began to transform, too, a glove of roadway on each of his arms. His left hand contained the yellow lines of the road across the palm.

“I am here to help,” Death comforted absentmindedly, reaching his large hands to his belt and pushing his jacket behind him to reveal a belt of pocket watches and symphony of ticks that surrounded him. He plucked a single watch up between his oversized pointer finger and thumb. He flicked it open to reveal the pale face to himself.

“Your time is up,” he announced with finality, his voice muffled through the gas mask. He raised the pocket watch slightly for Collin to see, then crushed it between his fingers. “I am here to help you home, to hold the door open for you.”

He extended a stony hand, but Collin shook his head.

“N-no! No! Leave me alone!” And Collin began to run again, running blindly towards an abandoned building to the left of the street, a two-story factory whose painted letters were faded beyond readability on the outside. Death exhaled in amusement, shaking his head slightly before continuing his pursuit of the boy. Death would prevail; that was the nature of life.

Soren had no clue why he was always chosen for jobs like this! He wasn't strong like Ferra, or useful like Ink, and he didn't have courage like Lightyear. He was just someone who happened upon abilities and was now working as a hero. That didn't mean he was brave or good at situations like this, he was much better at scouting or recon or stealth related missions! Not for direct conflict or assault. And what made least sense of all to him! What was the biggest question for him! Why on god's green earth would they send a bird hero, who was good at flying, into a closed off factory where there was very little flight room?! It was dumb! Pointless! And worst of all, it was spooky! He wasn't even in the factory, just standing a few feet from the door and he already hated this.

He had received a call a bit earlier in the evening reporting that a homeless who was also a meta had broken into a store and stolen some money and food. They would've sent in a police squad to apprehend the person at large, but they were understaffed because a large fire that was growing a bit downtown. The few cops they had wouldn't be enough to capture a meta, the only other person who would be suited for this job was another meta. The homeless meta was last seen around this area and after speaking with a few people who were drifting the street late this hour there had been sightings of a strange man on the premises. Of all the places it could've been...he had to be seen at a creepy, old factory. This was honestly the worst job that Soren had ever worked. Or...at least close to it.

Letting out breath, shaking his head, and just generally trying to psych himself up Soren finally made his way over to the large doors of the factory. Inside was beyond creepy. This first room that he had entered seemed to be the reception area, but it had been too long since it had gotten a proper cleaning. The entire area was covered in dust, papers lay all about the room, and there were several locations with broken glass. It was a hazard waiting to happen and a big part of Soren wanted to just turn around, but he had to shake himself out of it. He was a hero...heroes did good, no matter the situation. He just had to be a hero, even if he was afraid. He took a few deep breaths and took one step forward, then another, and then another until he was standing in the center of the room. He gave it another quick once over and noticed a soda machine!

Soren smiled and let out a sigh of relief. "Perfect...I needed a drink. Should be still good if this place has power." He reached into his wallet and pulled out a few bills before walking over to the machine. He slipped it in, which it did take, and then he punched in his numbers. Nothing came out. He tried to press them again. Nothing again. "Great." He gave it a tap with his foot and produced nothing still. He then gave it a smack with an open palm, but came no closer to getting the soda out. Also his hand hurt now. He moved over to the side of machine, spread his wings out slightly and jumped, giving the machine a hard kick! This time something happened!

CRASH!

The vending machine fell over to its side, missing Soren, but slamming into the ground. The loud crashing noise echoed throughout the entire facility, bouncing off the near empty halls and walls of the factory reaching every corner of it. Any chance of this being a stealth operation was ruined by the loud sound that this vending machine made when it came falling down. Soren only stood there, half petrified with fear, both his wings fully outstretched like he was embarrassed by what he had done. He stood there for several moments before finally settling down and letting out a breath he didn't even knew he had taken in. "Oops...My bad..." He said quietly to himself, still very nervous and embarrassed by the whole situation. The biggest tragedy of all was the fact that there was still no soda that had come out from the machine.  

There was no helping it now and Soren had a job to do. He turned away from the vending machine and heading into the room to the right, taking nice and slow as he went, keeping a watchful eye out for any sudden movement.