Book 2: Chapter 25: Breaking Point (1/2)
At first, Dan assumed it was an accident. The truck had clearly been out of control, as it plowed through the stone pillars and steel doors guarding the lobby entrance. The noise was deafening, a murderous screech of metal on metal and glass breaking into powder. The roof of the building almost immediately gave way, showering the truck's cab in heavy stone and debris. If it had been a person, they would've been buried well past their shoulders.
The vehicle was unmarked so far as Dan could tell. Its cargo trailer was a simple unadorned container, but built for mass transport at over 50 feet long. It had remained mostly intact, though Dan imagined that the contents had been rattled rather badly. He hoped that nothing inside there was flammable. The truck was already hissing in a discomforting manner.
He was the first to reach the crash site, by virtue of literal teleportation, but more volunteers and federal agents arrived within seconds. A familiar receptionist stepped out from in front of the cab, her glasses cracked and hair wildly askew. Her skin was covered in a fine layer of dust, and her eyes were wide. She'd probably just had an intimate encounter with her own mortality.
Dan quickly sat her down on a nearby chunk of concrete and began to examine her for wounds. She seemed fine, more in shock than anything, and he passed her off to a nearby medic before moving towards the truck. More people poured in behind him, and from within the building itself, all working to clear away the debris. What followed was a study in organized chaos.
They began to smell gasoline almost immediately. The truck had sprung a leak, the predictable result of its enthusiastic hugging of concrete and steel. It only spurred people to move faster, digging through the layers of concrete and warped metal. The driver was still alive, several upgrades in the mass of bodies had established that, but he was fading fast.
Dan took it upon himself to deal with the gas situation. He sent his veil skittering along the concrete. His clever power tasted gasoline, and followed its trail across and up, into the fuel tanks. He sent the dangerous liquid into the Gap, rather than risk it catching. He could do little about the fumes already in the air, but he was satisfied he'd gotten the bulk of it.
Next, he decided to check the cargo. Dan wanted to know if the truck was transporting barrels of nitroglycerine or something else completely asinine. His veil pierced upwards, from the fuel tanks into the cargo trailer and... stalled. Dan blinked, as he felt his reserves plummet. Whatever material the cargo trailer was made of, it was incredibly dense, and layered like an onion.
He spun out a thread from his veil, making it as narrow as possible. It slithered through the trailer's walls feeding him incomprehensible information. There was what he recognized as steel, some plastic, iron, some metal bits he'd felt before in gravel. But for every material he identified, there was one he couldn't.
It was at this point, that a random volunteer asked a very important question.
”What the hell was an eighteen wheeler doing over here?”
There were no stores nearby, only office buildings. The nearest highway was probably three or four miles away. The roads were narrow and one-way. Dan could've sworn that the words 'no trucks' had been painted on every single street leading up to here. The truck was hauling a massive cargo trailer, the kind that looks like it should be riding on train tracks rather than concrete streets. What the hell was it doing here?
Little more than a minute had passed since the crash. It felt like like longer, to Dan, but things happened fast in a crisis. The human brain had a tendency to slow down perceptions in times of great stress. Moments stretched into minutes; minutes, into eternity.
The sound of metal creaking and giving way, the sight of a fist tearing through the walls of the cargo trailer, seemed to last for a lifetime. Dan watched as the steel peeled like taffy, sticking to the massive fist and wrapping around it. His veil, still caught in the wall, felt as the material warped and combined, twisted by something unnatural. It flowed up the man's body, molding to his muscles and face as he burst free of the trailer. He slammed down among the surprised volunteers, clad in warped steel, and swung his now armored arm at the closest federal agent, who was scrambling for his pistol.
Dan, more out of reflex than any real forethought, triggered his veil, and dragged the man's armor into t-space. The man, suddenly losing half a foot of reach and several inches of height, staggered long enough for the fed to draw his pistol and empty the clip into the villain's chest.
The gunshots set off a flurry of screams, as the gathered volunteers sprinted for cover. Hot lead splashed across the man's bare chest, the lethal rounds deforming into liquid and doing less damage than paintballs. The fluid metal quickly flowed across his broad shoulders and down his arm. They formed sharp claws on the tips of his finger, and he slashed at the fed without hesitation. The man ducked the blow and retreated backwards, shouting for backup into his radio.
More people began to pour out of the trailer, but Dan was no longer watching. He snapped his veil back to himself, and retreated back to the medical station. A large number of people had peeled off to help with the crash, but the station was still packed to the brim. There were people fleeing the sound of gunshots, but others were milling about, confused and uncertain.