(no subject)
Characters: Ken, OPEN.
Location: L5, near the scene of the museum collapse.
Time: Day 1, morning.
Summary: Trying to make things better.
Notes: Beware of angst and gore? Hundreds of people were just crushed to death by falling debris, countless more injured. :| It's not going to be a happy time.
It had been a chaotic few days. Ken had just gotten out of the hospital, his head still ached horribly, his body was still sore. But he'd recieved medical care as good as any could hope--more than what could be said for the people down on L5, who were struggling to survive after the museum had crashed down on their heads.
Something Ken had played a direct part in. Something that he wanted to atone for...or at least acknowledge.
He had no illusions that it would take more than what he was able to do. More than what he could do. The flowers in his hand seemed to be a paltry offering, something that so many people down here had never seen. But there wasn't much more that he could do, besides come here, apologize, and try to help. There were people buzzing around, but so many more hurt, dying. He knew that it would be bad, but he couldn't know how much so until he was down here, hearing the screams and cries, smelling the blood and the dust. The images he was 'seeing' were of destruction, worse than he could have imagined.
And he was one of the people who'd caused it. However indirectly.
Location: L5, near the scene of the museum collapse.
Time: Day 1, morning.
Summary: Trying to make things better.
Notes: Beware of angst and gore? Hundreds of people were just crushed to death by falling debris, countless more injured. :| It's not going to be a happy time.
It had been a chaotic few days. Ken had just gotten out of the hospital, his head still ached horribly, his body was still sore. But he'd recieved medical care as good as any could hope--more than what could be said for the people down on L5, who were struggling to survive after the museum had crashed down on their heads.
Something Ken had played a direct part in. Something that he wanted to atone for...or at least acknowledge.
He had no illusions that it would take more than what he was able to do. More than what he could do. The flowers in his hand seemed to be a paltry offering, something that so many people down here had never seen. But there wasn't much more that he could do, besides come here, apologize, and try to help. There were people buzzing around, but so many more hurt, dying. He knew that it would be bad, but he couldn't know how much so until he was down here, hearing the screams and cries, smelling the blood and the dust. The images he was 'seeing' were of destruction, worse than he could have imagined.
And he was one of the people who'd caused it. However indirectly.