[Blake follows Steve down to a drain, where she's pointing and barking. He leans down, squinting into the darkness through the grate.
There's a blinking light.
Oh. Shit.]
Rick. Steve.
[Blake's voice is real steady, without much inflection.]
Get whoever you can and get away from here.
[After a second, he turns and shouts at the top of his lungs.] NOW!
[Without waiting for a response, he grabs at the grate to see if he can wrench it off. His hands and face are instantly covered in cold sweat. He knows exactly what to do when you find a bomb.
What you do is you call in the PSBT with the bomb squad and you get the fuck out of there.
He doesn't even know what he's going to do if he can get to the thing. Doesn't even know if he can recognize what kind of bomb it is. God, for the first time in his life he really fucking wishes Jayden was here with his fancy glasses, at least those could tell him something.
Blake's job is to deal with people, who you can intimidate or threaten or hit, not a mindless thing blinking in the darkness that might burst into a roar of fire and shards of metal right in your face any fucking second. There's other guys who deal with these things, the ones who have training and protective suits and remote-controlled robots and those things that shoot water into the guts of it and scramble it all without setting it off, Blake--
Blake has something that shoots water.
He rises up out of his crouch, damn old knees aching, and grabs for one of his Pokeballs. What comes out is an octopus - the Octillery that showed up on his doorstep a long, long time ago.
He explains to Rachel what he wants her to do. She listens, the ends of her tentacles sweeping slowly over the pavement. He tells her she'll have to get close. He tells her he doesn't know how much time they have, and...yeah. He doesn't know that it'll work.
These things get hurt all the time. You just take them to the Center and they're fixed up fine. It'd be the same here, right?
Right?
Fuck. Even if it's an animal, you can't order somebody to do something that could get them killed. They didn't sign up for the job. All he can do is ask.
Some of these things have eerily human expressions. An octopus doesn't. The face is just lazy eyes and a kind of snout. It's not something you can read when it turns toward you and tilts to the side, almost thoughtfully.
Then, just like she's going for a stroll, Rachel turns and slinks toward the storm drain.
Blake fucking books it to a safe distance, if there's any such thing. His pulse pounds in his neck. It all depends on whether she can get close enough, and whether spitting water into the workings of the thing will break it in the right way.
Now all he can do is watch the little orange thing disappear into the shadows, and wait.]
tl;dr inc EVERYBODY DOWN
There's a blinking light.
Oh. Shit.]
Rick. Steve.
[Blake's voice is real steady, without much inflection.]
Get whoever you can and get away from here.
[After a second, he turns and shouts at the top of his lungs.] NOW!
[Without waiting for a response, he grabs at the grate to see if he can wrench it off. His hands and face are instantly covered in cold sweat. He knows exactly what to do when you find a bomb.
What you do is you call in the PSBT with the bomb squad and you get the fuck out of there.
He doesn't even know what he's going to do if he can get to the thing. Doesn't even know if he can recognize what kind of bomb it is. God, for the first time in his life he really fucking wishes Jayden was here with his fancy glasses, at least those could tell him something.
Blake's job is to deal with people, who you can intimidate or threaten or hit, not a mindless thing blinking in the darkness that might burst into a roar of fire and shards of metal right in your face any fucking second. There's other guys who deal with these things, the ones who have training and protective suits and remote-controlled robots and those things that shoot water into the guts of it and scramble it all without setting it off, Blake--
Blake has something that shoots water.
He rises up out of his crouch, damn old knees aching, and grabs for one of his Pokeballs. What comes out is an octopus - the Octillery that showed up on his doorstep a long, long time ago.
He explains to Rachel what he wants her to do. She listens, the ends of her tentacles sweeping slowly over the pavement. He tells her she'll have to get close. He tells her he doesn't know how much time they have, and...yeah. He doesn't know that it'll work.
These things get hurt all the time. You just take them to the Center and they're fixed up fine. It'd be the same here, right?
Right?
Fuck. Even if it's an animal, you can't order somebody to do something that could get them killed. They didn't sign up for the job. All he can do is ask.
Some of these things have eerily human expressions. An octopus doesn't. The face is just lazy eyes and a kind of snout. It's not something you can read when it turns toward you and tilts to the side, almost thoughtfully.
Then, just like she's going for a stroll, Rachel turns and slinks toward the storm drain.
Blake fucking books it to a safe distance, if there's any such thing. His pulse pounds in his neck. It all depends on whether she can get close enough, and whether spitting water into the workings of the thing will break it in the right way.
Now all he can do is watch the little orange thing disappear into the shadows, and wait.]