Awareness returned to Elliott suddenly in the wake of the fall. Something weighed down on his back, a pressure that rendered him barely able to breathe. It was dark, but he could hear, although most of what he heard was his own breathing. He was still alive, he figured, and as the shock slipped from his body Elliott found himself able to think clearly once again. His senses mostly blocked, he had to rely on the canvas of scents he could smell. There was a degree to which he could enhance his smell like a dog, and although such a trait was usually useless, now it would give him critical insight.

The scent of musty debris and melted steel filled his nostrils. There was sawdust and burnt rubber. He still smelled fire—and maybe that was where the heat came from that embraced him so uncomfortably. And there was so much blood. Not his own, but of others—myriad others—like a spattered canvas of death. No doubt, most if not everyone in the Committee HQ were dead—particularly the civilians. The smell of blood and death painted a picture in his mind of splendid destruction; but this was no Bob Ross piece. There was nothing happy about this occasion. Elliott growled, mustering his strength.

“Fucking shit!” He howled, the last of the debris that buried him flying off. His skin, striped with blood from the various things that cut and dug, slowly patched itself together as he took a knee and caught his breath. A small aura of spiritual pressure covered him—he tried his best to focus on repairing his injuries as thoroughly as he could. Broken bones snapped back into place, and the hole in his lung that he just now noticed sewed itself shut. Eventually, all the critical injuries were healed up. As the last of the injuries healed, the blood that covered his body slowly returned inside like a falling tide. He blinked as vision cleared and his mind finally started to once again race at its normal pace.

“Fuck.” He said, hoping to sum up the situation in one word. When that failed, he growled some more. “Fuck fuck fuck!” He stood in what could only be described as the perfect demolition. It was as though the towering Committee HQ had simply been deleted. No frame or structure of it remained. Only a mound of debris on whose summit he stood that spilled well into the streets beyond the property line. He jumped down the slope, making it to the street level with his newly restored grace, and he surveyed the situation.

“Holy shit…” he muttered. His vocabulary still wasn’t all there, but he was starting to build a picture of what happened in his mind. There were no police or emergency vehicles at the scene. Nothing was taped off. In fact, it was silent save for the cracking flames from the pyre he’d just escaped. No one was left.

A thought crossed his mind, and the question wormed its way into his head, begging for attention. He could go back into the mound and see what he could dig up. Property and items were no doubt lost, but there were people in there that could be saved, perhaps. The selfish streak of him hissed in anger at the thought and demanded that he save his own skin and leave. He’d escaped from the prison that the Committee had stuck him in so why go back? With their symbol gone, so too was their organization, and rather than rebuild with them, he’d prefer to save himself first.

He was the rookie after all. The one who hadn’t completed his training. When disaster struck in the first place he’d been told to stay inside and guard the place but look how effective that was? The fuckers who thought it prudent he stay inside to save what couldn’t be saved were probably all dead or scattered to the wind, so what chain was keeping him here now? Joining this organization was a wash, and Elliott decided then that he’d no longer be a part of it.

He still wanted to make a mark on the world. He wanted to be the one to protect humanity when the hollows invaded—in this very scenario! And yet he’d been imprisoned—not literally but constructively—in this place due to bureaucracy and a culture of mistrust. Hah, he thought. So much for that plan. Anyone in that dirtpile could sleep happy knowing it would be their coffin.

And then like a pendulum swinging, so too did the hammer of guilt hit him back. To think such thoughts about the people he’d been charged to protect. What kind of savior would he be to humanity if he would so easily forsake these people? The rational part of his mind reminded him that everyone in that dirtpile was dead but in no way happy. This was his first true assignment, and his first true failure.

The sound of sirens filled the air, reminding him that this was no place to be. He blurred away, appearing on top of an alleyway staircase before using his enhanced muscles to leap to the top of the building, bounding back and forth off the walls he scaled. He surveyed the scene from above, as was his job now. The civilian police could deal with digging up the ashes. He’d have to accept his failure from now on. He could only watch as the flames of his failure seared themselves into his mind. From this he’d make sure the lesson was learned—no longer would he tolerate being relegated to the sidelines. In the face of disaster like this, he’d carve out his own responsibility and with it do what he thought was right.

But for now, he could only think these thoughts, like the idle dreams of a boy who with his life would achieve nothing. He stood on top of the building, a solemn look etched in his face. The only true mark of his escape from death were his tattered clothes—and he could only hope that he found a way to not take that escape for granted.

Elliott sensed another appear next to him, as if from nowhere. He didn't let his expression change too much, other than his contemplative frown deepening. He followed Ika's gaze to see the Sinners congregating down below. Almost aimlessly, they did their best to gather and slaughter whatever poor people they could find. It was a tragedy and truly a solemn event, but the only thing Elliott could feel right now was rage bubbling up within him. Despite that, using his strength of will, he forced himself to remain apathetic. He followed the stranger as he started to move. Amid gutted buildings and wrecked infrastructure there wasn't much of a city left here. It seemed they'd found a place where there were no Sinners--for now at least--and so they hung around.

"Picked a good fuckin' time to show up, Soul Reaper." He said, eying the newcomer as they stopped. There was an obscene serenity to this place, but Elliott couldn't allow himself to lower his guard. He stood in front of this stranger now, the only rational person left in this apparently hellhole, and he knew that he had nothing to bargain here, should it come to that.
   
Elliott never considered himself a good sensor of reiryoku but even he could recognize the monster standing before him.

Elliott didn't appreciate the hand over his mouth, but he didn't make any fuss as he was essentially dragged into a building. The man who he assumed had decided to assume guardianship over him shut cased the room and closed the door, making sure that at least for now the room was free of any unwanted guests. They shuffled into a back room, where there was gore and flesh strewn everywhere, but nothing alive besides the two of them. Even if the stench made Elliott's nostrils curl, he appreciated the small peace for now.

"I was with the Committee training as a new recruit." Elliott said. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Those assholes left me inside the building while the others went out to fight. Anyone who can fight is probably okay, but there's no chance any of the office staff made it."

He saw Ika's grimace as he looked out the window. Elliott didn't want to know what was over there, but agreed with Ika when he determined that they should move again. For now, Elliott would follow Ika's lead. Being under his umbrella would be the safest course of action for now, even if Elliott didn't trust him completely.

A drop of blood fell in front of Elliott's face. New blood. Grey matter. Other gore. New gore. He looked up and saw someone who definitely wasn't there before. The woman from downstairs. He thought it must have been her. He heard her screams and now here she was. Before he could even process this sight and come to any kind of rational solution, Ika manhandled him and sped away. It was incomprehensible speed, and Elliott had to take a moment to recover as Ika stopped.

Take inventory, Ika told him. Well, he could do that. If this were a different time or place Elliott would express his annoyance at being called "kid"--he was twenty-one dammit! His eyes scanned over the remains of what once was Queens and he found a strip mall. It appeared open and also had many exits, so it was ideal if they needed to make a run for it. It was also relatively intact still, and there didn't seem to be any Sinners in the area. He pointed at it. "Let's go there."

Elliott gasped as they arrived, the air finally returning from his lungs. His brain was swimming, his thoughts rattled. The smell of smoke and gore, once so present in his nose, was gone, replaced by the familiar scent of urban life. Elliott allowed his breathing to slow as things slowly began to make sense again.

"I thought they got all of New York." He said, looking around. He knew the Big Apple by heart, but he didn't recognize the names of the street signs around him or the buildings or anything. "Where are we?"