You see things; and you say, 'Why?'

But I dream things that never were; and I say 'Why not?'

Bridge Carson bridge_carson
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Bridge's Quarters, SPD HQ, Newtech City, 2026
Sleep was something Bridge hadn't been getting a lot lately, not with the way SPD had been stretched thin by the mysterious disappearances. Of course, no one but those who'd spent a significant amount of time in Fandom had any inkling that things hadn't always been that way. So when they'd finally managed to stave off Gruumm's latest attack on Newtech City, Bridge's eyes had closed the second his head had hit the pillow. Even if the whole imminent-crisis thing meant the plans he'd made for Xander's birthday weren't gonna happen, he still had hopes they'd be able to get some time together.

Of course, that kind of went all to hell when morning came along. Something about his quarters just felt wrong, a fact which woke him up in a hurry. The sense of utter wrongness only intensified as Bridge looked around the room, taking in minor details- or rather, the absence of minor details. The room contained absolutely nothing that even hinted of the life he and Xander had built together.

And his ring-

his ring was gone, too.

Bridge would never admit it to anyone, but right now there was a small, selfish part of him that really wished they'd been able to just run away to Fandom. But he was a Ranger, a part of Earth's last line of defense, and whatever was coming? He'd be there to meet it.

[ooc: establishy, but can be open for thems who might be in THE FUTURE or trying to contact THE FUTURE.]

Jen wasn't in Newtech City at the moment -- because she was also a Ranger and part of Earth's last line of defense, she was in the year 3004, in Millennium City, trying to hold down the fort there. With people and places disappearing but the fabric of time remaining weirdly intact despite the wholesale changes, Time Force was stretched pretty thin itself . . . and on guard in case the timeline really did start to disintegrate.

She sent a message to Bridge as soon as she got out of the meeting at Time Force HQ (a meeting where half the usual people who should have been there simply weren't, and nobody but her noticed).

Ransik never existed, the message read. Neither did Silver Hills.

She stared out the full-length panoramic window at the cityscape as she waited for a reply, noting that three more buildings had disappeared from the skyline since this morning.

Jen was getting the same two-word reply that Isabel had gotten, although at least this time around he was paying enough attention to bother capitalizing the first word.

Xanders gone


Jen should be used to it by now, this being too far away to offer any real comfort, but that never made it easier.

So is Wes, she replied; it was easier than trying to sound sympathetic and coming off trite, and he knew what that would mean.

Isabel was still obsessively texting people outside of Fandom and living in dread of the time when the texts would stop going through.

Checking in. What's going on?

Two words:

xanders gone

Roughly twenty minutes after that text, Bridge's phone was ringing. Because sometimes you just need to hear a voice.

"Pick up. Pick up. Pick up."

"Hey, Isabel," Bridge said, picking up the phone. He supposed he ought to try and say something, well, something more, but he just didn't have the energy.

[apologies for the massive SP, this week has been a gong show.]

No energy was entirely understandable. Isabel herself was alternating between bouts of depressed inactivity and manic bouts of cleaning and cooking just to feel like something was getting done.

Having lost her own family, Isabel didn't have to ask how Bridge was. Instead she skipped to the important part of the call. "We're going to fix this."

"We always do," Bridge said, a glimmer of his usual optimisim showing through. "As soon as we figure out what it is."

"There's a huge library here in Fandom that might answers," she offered. "You could come join Team Research."

At some point (probably not when Bridge was on the phone, but who knows, for even a real pigeon's sense of social etiquette is highly suspect at the best of times, and this was not that, nor, though she might be among the best of pigeons, was this the realest) there was a flicker, and a pigeon.

For the instant of that flicker, the space that should have been filled with a closed door was filled with something else: light and darkness and what might have been the distant bricks of a decaying subway tunnel. Then there was nothing.

Aside from the not very real pigeon skidding to an untidy halt on Bridge's desk. Its unlatched breast-cover flapped back and forth as it tumbled, the secret message compartment empty except for the wrapped Tootsie Roll that fell out when the bird finally righted itself.

The dirty scrap of a hundred year old tube ticket clutched tight in its beak was probably intended to be locked safe inside, but this wasn't the best of times.

Down Street to Russell Square: If anyone remembers me, please...

Edited at 2011-11-30 02:55 am (UTC)

Z knocked on Bridge's door. "Hey, Bridge? You in there? Please be in there..."

"I'm here," Bridge replied, his tone noticeably flat as the door swished open.

"I brought coffee?" Z tried, proffering it with forced hopefulness.

Coffee had become her very best friend recently, and if it disappeared things were going to get bad, since only about half of her had gotten any sleep in the last twenty-four hours at any given time.

Coffee was... sadly not going to help. Still, Bridge could appreciate the sentiment, at least.

"Thanks," he said, still without any sort of enthusiasm.


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