Light vs Dirtness (Muckraker)

Sometimes all that a good reporter had to do was wait patiently, and a good story might just come waltzing through their front door.

As far as Muckraker was concerned that was actually a terrible strategy, and no self respecting journalist should rely on such luck. They needed to constantly be on the lookout, stalk around the most common sites of interest, and always be ready to break into a sprint. This is why he spent nearly all of his free time in costume, wandering around the most likely places a super might drop in. The readers of Behind the Screen deserved a constant update schedule after all, and no one else seemed concerned about keeping the public informed on walking weapons in their midst.

Though as much as he'd have liked to claim otherwise, it wasn't skill that lead to his current position. No, as much as he loathed to admit, sometimes even journalists had to accept what luck was given to them. Muckraker had decided to take just a little rest in the park, sitting high up in the branches of tree so as not to draw any attention to himself. It took a second to balance, and the bark was rough against his clothing, but it'd just have to make a suitable perch until it was time to head back out. Maybe he'd snap a few pictures of the birds around, if the fancy struck him.

What he didn't expect was a member of Pandemonium, last seen on the news assisting in a failed mass prison break, to waltz into Viridian Park in full costume. What... What were they even trying to do? Sheesh, he needed to get a better angle for this. Without a single moment of hesitation, he'd shifted and turned himself to hang upside down from his chosen perch. His entire weight was supported where his knees hooked around the branch, his hoodie and shirt riding up just slightly from the force of gravity. His hood might have fallen too, if not for the fact it'd been careful pinned into position. Head tilted at just the perfect angle, the glowing lights behind his mask's eye sockets gave a subtle flash.

Now that was a pretty good shot. A clear view of Sanduleak on a casual stroll, maybe a few leaves in the way that could be cropped out in post. But now what was the villain doing? Was his mask flashing too?

Muckraker barely had enough time to snap another couple pictures as he realized what was happening, no time to calculate the perfect view. He'd just have to pray one or two came out decent, because there was no way he could not include this in his article. Saduleak of Pandemonium: moving from federal offenses to petty vandalism. Why was he even- "MOTHER FU-"

As it turns out, that had not been the best time to be contemplating subtitles for articles yet to come. The attack did not happen to stop at the first tree, and it wasn't too long before his own hiding spot was suddenly grounded. He'd tried to minimize damage as soon as he realized what was happening, rolling with the impact when collision with the ground happened, but that couldn't stop him from getting a few nasty cuts from stray branches. Of course, he'd liked this hoodie too. Now he'd have to go get a new one. Grumbling under his breath, Muckraker pulled himself off the ground and stumbled slightly. "Well, that's certainly one way to say hello," he called out, as if he'd been perfectly innocent up until then.

"What, can't a guy have a little nap in a tree without being seen as a creep?" Muckraker tried to put on an innocent grin, not that it did much when hidden behind a mask. His eyes flashed again as another picture was taken, a bit unsure whether or not he should be grateful at the chance for a closeup. Might as well take what opportunities were presented, since it was always a little dicey on whether he'd make it out of these encounters alive. At least it didn't look like he'd been recognized just yet, which was a major plus in his eyes. "You know the deal, sometimes people like us get weird looks for just sitting on a bench. Trees give a nice view, with less concerned mothers."

And there was a gun. Of course this guy was packing heat, seeing as his luck could not be getting any worse today. Muckraker was not looking to get shot today, not even for a few good photos and a thrilling story. In that situation, what else was there to do?

He would not die today because some super thought a reasonable reaction to finding a man in a tree was to shoot him dead. 

"Would you look at the time! I've got somewhere to be." With one hand held out you could see the glow from underneath his thick glove, growing brighter as the ground near Sanduleak began to melt into mud. Maybe that would give him enough time to bolt from the scene.

Everything was awful, everything was awful, everything was absolutely awful with no end in sight. Muckrakers sneakers pounded against the ground as he ran, following the constant string of suggested paths of escape that popped up before his eyes. Even sprinting at full strength, he still couldn't seem to get enough distance between them to be safe. Ugh, short legs were not good for engaging in a super powered chase. That wasn't even taking into account the multitude of obstacles popping up in his way, or the ticked off voice ringing in his ear. What were they going on about now? It was hard to focus at the moment, his attention otherwise occupied with survival, but it was important to remember as clearly as possible.

Direct quotes were very important to use as a source, and the last thing that Muckraker wanted was to be misquoting Mr. Sanduleak. Not that he very much minded slandering the Pandemonium villain, but delivering only the cold hard facts to his readers was far more important. Of course, he wasn't against trying to get a rise out of someone if it suited him.

Why not? He was already in for a bad time, and you know how that metaphor goes about pennies and pounds. Besides, how much worse could it get? (He knew it could probably get so much worse, and was likely to regret this immediately) "Funny, I don't think I've heard much about you," he called over one shoulder, just barely swerving around one of the walls of light that had appeared in his way. "I mean, besides how a couple Keepers and a Bulwark handed your ass to you back at the prison."

Now there were arrows. Lots of bright and deadly arrows. Oh god, this is why you weren't supposed to go around antagonizing supers. Muckraker tried his best to keep dodging, but he was fumbling and unfit to actually protect himself against most any kind of assault. An arrow pierced right through one of his shoulders and out the other side, pulling a shout of pain from his throat as it tore through his body. Stay calm, keep breathing, and focus on surviving. He allowed his body to move with the force of the hit, rolling on the ground and landing in a crouched position. The blood was only somewhat visible against the dark black material of his hoodie, but the hole in the fabric was clearly visible. Mother of hell, that hurt more than he was willing to use words to describe.

His right arm, the one currently uninjured, raised up again with the palm shown outwards. He held it towards Sanduleak for just a moment like he'd done earlier, before sharply whipping it around instead to pointing it towards the base of a large oak tree. It only took a moment for the ground beneath it to turn into a mess of muddy goop, a loud groan heard as the tree was uprooted and fell to the ground between them. Timber.

"THAT'S KIND OF THE POINT, JACKASS." Okay yes, this was good. This was an opening. He could get away, though the park entrance was was honestly a good distance away at this point. Muckraker doubted that he could make it that far without having a certain other person on his tail again, and it probably wasn't best to let this chase get out into the city.

Oh man, his shoulder felt like it was on fire. Wasn't there supposed to be something about adrenaline helping to numb pain? There was a hole clean through his shoulder, and he got the feeling that adrenaline wasn't doing a thing to help. He knew he should count himself lucky that nothing vital had been hit, but that was definitely going to be a nasty scar. One hand pressed over the wound in hopes of maybe slowing down any bleeding, he pushed himself back up off the ground with as much speed as an injured and only vaguely fit young man could manage. There had to be a way to go, somewhere he could lose this guy or at least get an advantage. A series of quiet beeps coming from his mask, he broke out into a run again as he searched.

Up the trees? No, he'd already shown that he had no qualms about deforestation. Into the lake? That was an even worse idea, given his possession of a few key electronics. Wait, the lake. He could use the lake, if he played his cards right. Though depending on how observant Sanduleak turned out to be, it was one hell of a gamble.

Ducking and turning at every chance, while the other worked on whatever light powers he had Muckraker focused on losing his eyes if only for a few moments. The lake was nearby, and his eyes scanned the closest trees and prayed his luck would turn out.

There! One old looking tree, right on the edge of the lake, with a birdhouse nestled carefully among the branches. Rolling into a bush, he held out his hand and targeted the base of that tree as he had with the other. He didn't muddy the ground enough to uproot the whole thing, just enough to cause it to tilt towards the lake's surface. The birdhouse was knocked off balance, tumbling gracelessly into the water.

Best case scenario: He'd managed to get out of Sanduleak's line of sight, swerving towards the lake. While he couldn't be seen, a loud splash had been heard. Now this wasn't the perfect con by any means, but he hoped with every fiber of his being that the other wouldn't take the time to think of how none of this added up. There honestly probably could have been a better way to fake jumping into a lake, but his brain was in a panic and his shoulder dripping blood.

The scraggly branches of the brush he'd rolled into tore and pulled at Muckraker's clothes, but he couldn't really force himself to care any less at the moment. Not when he was holding his breath, watching as a ridiculous amount bullets began to shoot into the water relentlessly. Where had his life turned to end up here? What multitude of wrong choices did he make to deserve that many guns eager for his blood? With just one arrow he'd ended up with a wound he'd likely carry as a scar for his entire life, yet this guy was so eager to riddle him with bullets.

All that he could focus on was that if he'd jumped into that lake, right now he'd be dead. It didn't matter if Sanduleak was being serious, or if he was just showboating. None of that mattered if with just a bit of wrong timing, he'd be dead on the ground. Did that super even care? Did he think that Muckraker was in the lake, or was it really just a display of power? And if the later, did he give a single care in the world there was a chance he could have been in there? That he could have been killed right there.

Sometimes the things supers could do, and the thought processes it lead to, were absolutely chilling.

He was half tempted to take another picture, the scene almost weirdly beautiful with the lighting just so. A shot looking up from below, Sanduleak's body nearly a silhouette against the brightness of his own guns and the reflective surface of the lake. It was certainly an effective image, but not enough so that it was worth giving away his position for. Probably.

With only a moment's hesitation, Muchracker started to blindly feel along the edge of his mask. There had to be a way to turn the flash off, didn't there? It's not like there wasn't plenty of light around here already. Such a small little flicker probably wouldn't even draw attention amidst all the gun fire, but it would really be just his luck to be caught that way all the same. His thumb dipped down into a tiny rivet in the surface, on the underside of the mask's chin. Was that it? He hoped so. Careful with his movements not to rustle anything, he took the risk to snap another photo.

The flash did not go off. However, it did make the loud and obnoxious sound of an artificial camera shutter.

Sometimes Muckraker wondered if he was ever going to catch a break. Could that even be heard? There was a lot of gunfire, but his luck suggested that he shouldn't take chances. But if it hadn't been heard, he didn't want to give away his position. Might as well see what could be done from here.

Holding out one hand with the palm out, he focused solely on his target. Not Sanduleak himself, but the nonliving matter of his shoes. holding himself steady, he began to turn the material into mud.

If there was a way to be anymore done with the situation, he was having a hard time seeing it from here. Staying as low as possible in the brush, it took every ounce of willpower to not pop out with a snappy comment. This guy was something alright. A great big bag of something, especially if he thought that offering an interview would work out just peachy as bait. Either he'd just begun rambling anything off the top of his head, or he had serious misconceptions about Muckraker's set of priorities. Not to mention the wrong idea in general about what kind of journalism he chose to pursue.

He couldn't trust that he wouldn't be killed the moment he came into view, and that kept his smart mouth buckled closed for once. If Sanduleak was being honest about wanting to stop destroying the park? Then he'd stop, whether a certain Keeper revealed himself or not.

His weight shifted to prop up on both arms again, unable to hold in a pained hiss when a few twigs scraped against his shoulder. As it turns out, maybe before the adrenaline had been helping to hold off the pain. You wouldn't believe it, but having a hole clean through your shoulder is actually excruciatingly painful. This was the sort of thing that needed to be checked out my a hospital, before it got crazy infected or he ended up making things worse. What if there was nerve damage? How do you even tell that sort of thing? Well at least that got rid of the dilemma of whether or not to reveal himself.

Clutching at his wound once again, Muckraker's body was slumped as if to look as nonthreatening as he could manage. Clothes were torn and dirty, the dripping blood much more noticeable now despite the black fabric, and even his cheap looking mask was slightly askew on his face.

"Look, I know this might be a stab to the pride but I honestly don't really care much about you right now." The admission was surprisingly easy to make, but maybe that was because of how lightheaded he'd begun to feel. "I just wanted to take nap in a tree, and next thing I know you've got a death wish for me. All things considered, I've been having a pretty awful day over here. Can I just catch a break?"

"Seriously though, it's a miracle you have enough time on your hands to actively antagonize journalist on the job. Instead of, you know, doing absolutely anything productive with your life." Practically cornered, in pain, and loosing more blood by the second, it was naturally Muckraker's instinct that set him on the verbal offensive. That probably was not the best survival instinct all things considered, since it led to less of a chance of living at the end of this. He'd have to try and work on that later.

"Besides, maybe you'd get more flattering pictures if you didn't go around destroying public property during the day. Small chance that might be the reason why innocent members of the media paint you in a less than complimenting light." Was that last one a pun? He didn't even really know at this point, with the constant piercing pain of his shoulder and the spotlight only seeming magnified by the lenses in his mask. One hand hovering over his eyes to shield them, the reporter reluctantly rolled from his safe bush and landed into a crouch.

What were the chances that Sanduleak wasn't going to immediately attack him? They seemed pretty low, but he was in position to start running again at the first sign of danger. Hopefully that would be enough to put some distance between them, if that came down to it. 

"Maybe we got off on the wrong foot," he admitted, as if that was enough to simply take back every hopelessly rude comment that he'd been making. "I'd be happy to send you any pictures before publishing, if you want to make sure I got your good side. Don't want to be publishing anything less than perfect, or else the public won't see what an important and intimidating figure you are. Got an email? You should set up one if you haven't, for your Sanduleak persona." Each sentence was heavily laced with sarcasm, but hopefully just enough genuine wish to make a truce was shining through.