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Alleys in the Middle City Slums are numerous and winding, leading into a honeycomb of winding passages through the Slums. Alleys tend to be the most dangerous part of the Slums, a place where criminals lay in wait for the naive and stupid.

Roleplay!

There wasn't really a reason Bramble was here, so close to the heart of the Slums. At least, not any good reason for it. It was more of a "his free-running had brought him here" type thing. He remembered his way back, though, which was comforting. Ryder'd taught him tricks about how to remember the best ways back home and forced him to memorize so many maps as a child. Briar'd loved the maps. Bramble sighed. He didn't need to be thinking of Briar, his twin sister. It never ended well, and Bramble figured he ought to be on alert considering the part of the city was currently in. Ultimately, he'd like to head off to the street race that was happening today. He liked street-racing about as much as he did the free-running, maybe even a bit more. Bramble liked the cars and the grease.

Still, he'd been a bit late getting the memo, and as a result, he wouldn't be driving in the race. That was a pity as he loved driving in the races. Watching wasn't horrible, but it just wasn't the same as driving. Still, it was not as though the street races were the most legal things in the world, so he recognized the need to be careful there, too. Actually, caution was just best applied to all thing except those times when caution was a clear impediment. Bramble ran a hand through his blonde hair and pulled his black hoodie's hood over his head in an effort to blend in a little bit more.

Bramble heard the footsteps approaching from behind him. He'd always had good ears, and like with keeping his internal compass calibrated, listening intently to his surroundings while being utterly distracted was just one of those things he'd been forced to learn. His hand instinctively shifted in the direction of his gun, an instinct of his that had long since become habit. He didn't free the gun from his pocket -- he just prepared to snatch it at the turn of a dime. He tensed, waiting to be able to tell at least a little of the other person's intentions -- he'd already been able to ascertain that the other person was at least genetically male and probably athletic. Still, he was not quite ready to give away that he knew the other man was approaching. He shut his eyes to allow himself to focus more fully on the sound.

Ironic as it was, the street races that took place in the slums seemed to lower the criminal behavior of the alleys it took over. Yes, there were still plenty of crimes brought on by the races, but the typical 'lonely dark alley' murders and rapes were lowered significantly during races. As such, Wesley didn't feel the need, or desire for that matter, to try and shut them down. In his eyes, they lowered the crime rate when they were going on, so they weren't a bad thing to keep around. Besides, Wes was off duty, not wearing anything to tie him to his job and he had a thing for cars considering his father was a mechanic and the boys bonded while working on vehicles. So in a way, the street races acted as a connection to his late father.

Multiple bodies crowded the normally vacant alleys, conversations varying from what some had under their hoods to things completely car irrelevant. Events like this, they brought a slew of different faces from the slum dwellers through and through to some upper city folk who had a love for supped up vehicles. In other words, these things held huge potential of gaining information on whatever Wes wanted, from possible resistance plans to council members' next power plays and everything in between. It was exactly easy to get to the juicer info--not at all, actually. But it was there was there; somewhere within the crowded allies was information on whatever Wes wanted in their city.

A lone black cloaked man caught Wesley's eye. It wasn't unusual to see someone here alone nor was it odd to see them dressed to blend into the shadows. In fact, the latter was common everywhere in the middle city slums. It wasn't any of that that really drew Wesley's attention. No, what drew Wes to notice this particular figure was the fact he was stiff, not moving an inch as if he were waiting for something to happen. The guy was standing there, still, surely thinking or engulfed in his senses. Wes had no way of knowing what was going through the guy's mind, nor if Wesley was even right in his assumptions that the motionless frame of the man suggested he was either up to something or he was waiting for something to happen. But in his line of work, when someone was not fidgeting or glancing around, there was more reason to give worry.

Those who swayed or looked around with paranoia lasing their faces, those were the newbies. The ones who went stiff, they were usually concentrating, paying close attention. Then there were those who had the perfect facade, the ones who looked like they were up to nothing at all when in fact they were seeing and hearing everything. Those, well they couldn't be found. Wesley knew the thought that this guy was in fact up to something was out there, he knew this. What did he have to go off of besides the man's tensed posture? Nothing at all. Hell, he hadn't even seen the guy's face yet. But it was always better to be safe than sorry.

"A racer or watcher?" asked Wes, as he came up beside the guy, not looking to him, instead keeping his eyes trained on the road linked to their alley not a few feet away that would soon have the second set of cars flying by.

(hope that was alright! I sorta rambled in my attempts to make sense of why he felt like Bramble was up to something lol. Hope it made sense!)

((Honestly, I feel a little guilty for my first post being so short now.))

Bramble listened, and when the person who'd been behind him spoke, he turned slowly around. He made sure to keep his hood down so that it covered his eyes. While there was much the lips could say about someone, eyes were always one of the things that gave the most away and were the most recognizable. The gateways to the soul. He made sure to keep his face neutral and his voice even. "Both." It was one word, so very, very simple. But it was the simplicity that gave the least away. Despite his slow turning, Bramble became no less ready to grab his gun, although he made sure to keep his hands down at his side. He didn't need the other man to learn where his weapon was, after all.

"And what are you then?" Bramble asked, making the curiosity in his voice sound natural and not something calculated. He tilted his head to the side in the same fashion. He could feel the other man's eyes focused on him intently, and he knew he would not be able to afford a misstep. It was in Bramble's nature to instantly assume everyone else was as dangerous as he was. Perhaps it was because he'd been trained to view everyone, even his allies, as enemies, or maybe it was because he'd seen everything his family could do. That would have been enough to make anyone wary of other people.

Still, Bramble used what he could see -- a scope that was generally limited to just the ground to about waist-height, in order to determine what he could about the other man. Definitely not powerfully built (which Bramble had already suspected), but Bramble also doubted that the other man would be weak. That would be unlikely, not when he seemed to hold himself the same way Bramble did -- like a man who knew what he was doing on the city streets. And so Bramble knew what little signs to watch for (many unfortunately not involving legs and feet) and what to listen for. Things he'd been trained to do. Bramble needed to see the upper body, though, so he tilted his chin up, not letting his hood slip off the upper part of his face.

A large part of Bramble hated how readily he was prepared to kill. Still, it couldn't be helped. Instinct and all that. Bramble struggled to make himself not feel that gulf in his stomach, his gut, in favor of more useful things like the current situation -- not that he was being lax in the attention he paid it by any means. Bramble sighed softly through his nose, quietly enough that the crowd's cheering would disguise that noise. And then, tilting his head to the side slightly, he smiled.

(Don't feel guilty! Opening posts are one of my favored because I can jam so much into them lol.)

The man had shifted around to face Wesley; Wes in return directed his attention from the intersecting street to the hoodied stranger. Naturally, the stranger kept his eyes hidden, knowing well those little things could be used to see not only emotions but try and intemperate thoughts and reactions. Eyes, as useful to the owners as they were to those looking into them. Wesley, however, was not hidden beneath a hood. He wasn't sure if there was anything to really read within his dark brown eyes, but since Wes was calm by nature, odds were there wasn't much emotion besides light ones that were noticeable.

The man's reply was short, saying he was there for both. If it were true, the stranger probably had quick reflexes, like most racers. Each action taken when behind the wheel of a vehicle built solely for speed was deliberate, made with purpose and done quick. Drivers, they were calculated creatures by nature, knowing each moment mattered and each motion counted. Granted, not all racers could translate their skills from driving into other arrays of actions, like combat and what not. So if this stranger was one of those who could use his calculative mindset and fast reflexes outside of the doors of a car or not wasn't something Wes could know for sure. So, he did what anyone would should do and assumed the highest of the guy. Therefore, this man, he was quick, he was perceptive, and he could be considered dangerous.

Wes, however, wasn't giving the man a reason to be defensive or proactively aggressive towards him, so odds were, unless the stranger was one to be violent for no reason or had a reason to want Wes dead, the guy wouldn't be a direct threat to Wesley at the moment. So Wes, he didn't tense, didn't show signs of fear, worry, panic or anger. He kept a calm demeanor as he usually did to not set off alert of any sort. The guy went on to ask what Wes was, still peering under the brim of his hood at Wes' lower body. Slowly the guy tilted back enough to get a better look at the random man Wes was that had approached him. A small smile rose to the guy's lips, slightly throwing Wes off. What reason did the guy have to smile, Wesley wondered.

A distant mixture of hums were now able to be heard over the chattering crowd, some people even going quiet and facing the street several feet away from the two men, knowing the cars were going to race by soon. Wes did the same, looking from the stranger to the junction. "I don't race them," he answered, listening to the hums getting louder. "More of a fan of working on and watching them." His father had avoided taking Wes to any races when Wes was younger, not wanting him to be in the darker parts of the city. Instead the two just worked on them together in the machine shop his father worked in. When he got older,they did go to a few races to watch a car or two they'd personally worked on participate.

Bramble's smile had been entirely to throw the police officer off-guard, and while the other man gave little away, Bramble could still tell that he had succeeded. That didn't give him any sort of pride these days. He knew he could do it easily, and Bramble didn't even like that he could manage that. Even though the man had the bearing of a cop and therefore was going to be harder to throw off guard, Bramble wasn't proud. Bramble heard a couple of the cars approaching, so he stepped to the side so he'd still be able to watch the cop as the race went by. Just before he knew the cars would be approaching, he pulled down his hood so that the other man would actually be able to see his face. He stuck out his hand, a deliberate move to test the officer and said, "My name's Ashleigh Breton." His smile widened. His smile looked normal, but in truth, it was a smirk. It suited him. "I'm a fan of mechanics myself, actually." That, surprisingly, was true.

Bramble moved his head to watch the cars fly past, but he was sure to keep the cop at least in his peripheral vision. But then there was a loud bang from the race. Bramble turned his head, his eyes narrowing. He pulled out his gun instantly, a reflex, instinct, and aimed it at the crowd. The crowd. The crowd was screaming, and had Bramble not been drowning out the sound, it might have been deafening. Bramble rushed forward, instinct pressing him forward. It might have been habit, and fucking hell, that thought should have been terrifying but it wasn't. Bramble pushed a couple people back, trying to get them away from the street. The people closer, they were burned badly, sobbing, screaming from pain and not just fear. "Get back," Bramble shouted, hoping they might listen. Only a few seemed to hear and obey despite their agony.

It took Bramble only a couple seconds to realize that one of the cars had exploded. Shit, he thought though he didn't dare voice the profanity. The car was a mess, mostly destroyed, and what wasn't destroyed was a burning, blackened mess. The stench made Bramble want to gag. If he hadn't smelled it so many times before, he probably would have. Whoever had been driving this car was certainly dead. There was no way they could have survived the explosion, especially not when the explosion had been in the engine. It was one of the dangers of street racing, sure, but it was one Bramble and all the other drivers would undertake in a heartbeat or less. Despite seeing this, Bramble was still a little disappointed at not having been able to be part of the race. Bramble stared thoughtfully at it, his brow wrinkling.

It was only then that he notice a couple of marks on the destroyed vehicle that gave away something someone else might have missed: this was no accident. Whoever had been in this car had made some batshit enemies for sure. Bramble heard the other man approach behind him (he could tell who it was based on the footfalls) and so he turned slowly. "This is no damn accident." The thought someone could do this was reviling to Bramble. The thought that he had done similar was one that Bramble found even more horrible. "You want to figure out just what the fuck happened here?" He forced the smile onto his face when he wanted to be scowling. He was almost positive it would be impossible to tell.

((Okay. I'll change it))

((Okay, I'll change it back. XP))

((XD sorry bout that! I'mma start my reply now.))

((Okay))

At the edge of his sight, Wes noticed the guy take a deliberate step just big enough to angle himself between being able to see Wes and see the street. The guy wasn't a fan of depending on peripheral vision, was he? Made sense, there were things that couldn't be caught in the corner of the eyes that looking directly at could. Or perhaps the guy had poor peripherals and didn't rely on them? Wes tilted his head to look directly at the guy when he went on to introduce himself, removing his hood for Wes to see him and even holding his hand out to be shook.

Not thinking much into the gesture, Wes gave him his hand and had a firm shake as Ashleigh went on to say he was a fan of mechanics himself. One who raced and worked on cars, huh? From the roughness of his hand, it seemed like Mr. Benton worked a lot with his hand, and the strong grip he gave suggested he was decently strong. A workin' man, perhaps? As the two dropped their hands, Wes was about to give his name. But there was a loud 'boom', causing Wes to jerk his head around in the direction he heard it from. But just as that had caught his attention, the glint off a gun pulled him to look back to Ashleigh. The guy had drawn a handheld and was pointed it in the crowd. Wes' first reaction told him to disarm the guy, thinking the guy may be in on whatever that boom was. But the look on Asleigh's face told Wes that wasn't the cause.

Wes kept his gun tucked in the back of his jeans between the small of his back and the fabric. Pulling it out with the crowd so shaken wouldn't be smart. If anything, it could panic the crowd further, some maybe even turning offensive to Wes. No, until he had a target to aim at, Wes would keep his gun concealed. It was the smart move in his mind. He did, however, start shoving his way through the crowd that was trying to get away. Rounding the corner, Wes set his sights on the cause of the sound.

There had been no sounds prior to the explosion. Something had to have either gone wrong with the car or something deliberate caused it to go up in flames. If it were the prior, Wes there was no threat at all to worry about besides the flames. If it were the latter, he would need to look into it, yeah, but odds were there was nothing to worry about nearby as far as threats went. It was probably remotely done, if it were bomb based. In either case, the most immediate thing in Wes' mind to focus on were the victims and saving the ones he could. He ignored the stench of burnt flesh and ran nearer the car, grabbing a hold of a guy who wasn't able to crawl away on his own and pulling him a safer distance away.

He looked up to Ashleigh, who oddly enough seemed to be reacting like, well like a cop. Draw the weapon, control the crowd and get them away, and approach the scene without fear or concern for his own life. Ashleigh believed this wasn't an accident, and he was probably right. It wasn't often cars blew up on there own. The mechanics in this city were far too good to make a mistake generally. But it wasn't unheard of. But Ashleigh went on to ask Wes if he wanted to figure out what actually happened. "No fuck," Wes yelled back, as if that were obvious. "But I have to get these people safe first," he went on to say as he went to grab help a person limping away from the accident away.

Bramble didn't have any thoughts about whether or not his behavior resembled that of a police officer. As far as he was concerned, he was meant to be for the resistance, and that had always colored his view of the police to make them look like enemies. But right now, the police officer was helping him because it was his job. That was unlikely to manipulate Bramble's views. It was hard to escape from years and years of brainwashing even if one did recognize that what one was brainwashed to believe was not the be all end all. He was good at killing, told killing certain people was the right thing. That didn't mean he actually believed it. That was why he felt empty all the time, like he had no true purpose. Bramble would have loved to scowl at the thought, but he forced himself to keep that neutral expression. Even if he and the police officer were currently working the same side, it was a good idea. Times changed, and in the city, that could happen in mere seconds. Don't trust anyone. Not even one's own family -- especially when they're as terrifying as oneself.

Bramble barely spared the police officer a nod as the other man said he was going to go get the people out. As far as Bramble was concerned, they were out of the actual danger zone now/the disaster had already occurred. Bramble glanced around. He was sure he was right. There was no way this could have been anything but on purpose. It was just too perfect. Especially when there was a business run by a couple of city council informants right nearby. It was the type of thing he'd learned to look for. Knowing where one could hide or get attention was key in his line of work. They'd only learned the owners of the business were informants for the city council by losing a couple of agents when they'd turned them in.

Bramble knelt down next to the car and squinted so that he could see the details of the situation better. He technically could see better with reading glasses, but glasses were a weakness he could not afford to show. And it's not like he had all the time to have like contact lenses for reading either. That would probably be worse than glasses in all honesty. The stench was even worse down here, and Bramble got onto his back so he could see up at the edge of the car. Of course, he couldn't get very close at all. Parts of the car were still on fire, and all of it was rather hot. And Bramble didn't want to deal with accidentally setting his clothing on fire.

Options. That was what he needed to figure out. He needed the car not on fire so that he could see which side had planned this (even though he was positive it was the resistance). Having been part of the resistance his entire life, Bramble was well aware that randomly exploding cars was a thing the resistance was more wont to do than the city council was. The city council liked to make it clear who they were executing and why. The city council made examples of people or blamed the resistance when the didn't. The resistance worked with rumors. Fed the rumors why an attack happened and made sure it was obvious. Made sure people knew they'd attacked something actually for the city council. It was the way it was done. If it wasn't broadcast, then it was covert. Not something they wanted the world to know they'd done. That had always been his job.

Bramble glanced around to find something wet. This wasn't a kitchen fire, and a hose might cool down the car as well. There were only the buildings. Bramble recited in his head the list of nearby businesses. Most of them he'd have to pay a significant amount of money to get any sort of aid from, and Bramble never carried much cash with him. He thought for a second. There were water pipes below the streets. It took a second, but Bramble located where the closest manhole where he could access it was. It wasn't too far, but he'd need to get a hose. There was a hardware store not far away, but he didn't want to leave the car unattended.

He looked around to see the other man getting the last of the people away. Bramble walked over to him. Just as he was about to say something about his own going to get the hose, he realized that was stupid. He could not trust that the police officer wouldn't tamper with the car. Bramble wanted to check everything and definitely couldn't let the police officer figure everything out. Not when it was the resistance in question. Some operatives had recognizable signatures with their work. Bramble couldn't risk the officer recognizing one of them. "There's a hardware store down the street. Get a hose and connect it to the pipes below the street so we can stop the fire and cool the car down." Usually, water was unsafe and a bad idea, but they didn't have the time to figure out something else or wait for it to cool down. And Bramble needed to know whose work this was. He didn't want that to get hidden by a fire extinguisher or anything of the like until he'd seen it. The police officer would hopefully just not recognize it. Bramble just needed to make sure he was there the entire time the police officer was.

While pressing his fingers to an unmoving body he'd dragged away from the flames that'd been licking at the person's flesh, Wes tried to find a pulse. Wes was thinking the immediate threat was done. If it was a bombing, the purpose behind it had been filled or the point had been made, so he doubted there'd be any more trouble for a bit of time in the night. Then again, he could be wrong. There was no real way of predicting the crazy shit people of this city would do and how they'd do it. But for now, Wesley let himself believe the only immediate threat were the flames of the car, and everyone had been evacuated from it. So there was no real threat. The fire, it wasn't really a big concern anymore. Now what was a concern were the crispy skinned victims of the explosion. It was his job to help people in whatever way he could, and at this moment the best way to help was to help save them.

So when that guy, Ashleigh, started barking orders about fetching a water hose and dipping into the sewer to fix it, Wes cut his gaze to the man. In the time that it took for the bossy fuck to direct Wes through all the hoops that he wanted Wes to jump through to put out a fire that wasn't bothering anything at the moment, the guy could have started running for the store himself, putting into motion the plan he seemed intent on getting carried out. So...why wasn't Ashleigh just doing it instead of ordering it done? It was a bit suspecious to say the least. "Do it yourself," he replied, eyes going back to the body when he finally found a faint pulse. This person was alive, but he wouldn't be for long unless Wes did something. But honestly, what could he do? He'd actually had a similar night as this one before.

He'd had a burn victim he was determined to help a year back, even going as far as to call his little sister for medical advice on how to save the person. But she told him the cold hard truth. There was no way to help without proper equipment and medicine. Let the person go and move on to someone who can still be saved. It was harsh, needless to say, but it was the cold hardness that life only seemed to offer half the time. He stood to his feet, pulling his cell phone from his pocket, getting another quick scan of his surroundings in before he called in for an ambulance.

(still a bit spaced out, so it wasn't amazing. But, I figured something was better than nothing :).)

((Yeah, and it's shorter, so it's easier to reply to. It was a struggle to write that one with six paragraphs))

"Yeah, sorry, but that would be a no go. Let's just sit here and watch the metaphorical paint dry since you're so uncooperative," Bramble said, shrugging. Again, Bramble refused to leave the car alone with the police officer, so he would be here as long as the officer was. Probably longer even to ensure a lack of trap. Ultimately, he figured that since the resistance was probably involved he ought to be destroying the car when he was through with it. That action being as much a no go as actually going to put out the fire, Bramble knew he needed to learn everything that happened and what the cops knew so he knew what to tell the resistance in that matter. That was the primary objective at this point (that would definitely not be his personal curiosity at all). Of course, the personal curiosity was what made the idea more attractive. If he were quite so loyal to the resistance, he'd probably just destroy the car so no one had the evidence at all.

Bramble didn't exactly notice the person that the police officer had dragged to the side. He'd taken note of all the bodies, checked the states in terms of how likely they were to be a threat, but not cared in terms of likelihood to heal, likelihood to live. It was something he'd always been taught to assess in himself, but not something he'd been taught to look for in other people. Ever. All his training was about his own abilities to do things. He should have been glad that his dad never hurt him to teach hi,. No, he'd just done shit like lock him in a trunk of a car to let him figure out how to get out of it. His training was selfish, and it wasn't something he'd ever thought to change.

Bramble shook thoughts of his family from his head. Thoughts of his family never led him anywhere good. Usually, they led him to doing some stupid shit or drinking. Really, Rowan was the only person in his family he could stand thinking about and incidentally the only one he could talk to about any of his various issues. Which was pretty fucking brilliant because they only met up every year or so. Dammit, Bramble needed to clear his head. He grimaced and sighed heavily before noticing the flames were basically gone. Good. He didn't see anything that could keep his hands of clothes from burning if he touched the car, though. His outfit just didn't come with a pair of oven mitts.