shatterverse | (no subject)

Angela Edmunds, aged seventeen, was heading out to a modeling shoot. She was sort of tired of them now and it took away from her surfing too much. And she did not want to do competitions and she didn’t feel like studying…

Ugh. It wasn’t that things were bad, they were just tiring. And dull. She shifted her carryall to the other shoulder, and began to walk towards her car…

She blinked from a white flash of light (sun must have been in my eyes), and suddenly, she was…somewhere else.

She was on a long stretch of highway, surrounded by desert and brush. “What the…fuck?” She turned around, this way and that, looking for her car, looking for anything moderately familiar.

It was hot, it was afternoon, and she was in the desert with only a liter of water in her bag.

“Oh, shit.”

First Milliways…now this? What the hell? What had she done to deserve…whatever this was?

“What the FUCK, universe?!” she shouted, pissed off beyond reason.

Well. Nothing to do for it but walk. So walk she does, grinding her teeth and refusing to drink her water until it was absolutely necessary. After a short while of walking, she comes to a sign.

“I-40 East,” she reads. She looks behind her. Los Angeles is…a million miles backward. She might have a better chance at finding help if she went forward.

“Shit, fuck, dammit, hell, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she mutters under her breath. It’s quite possible she’s never cursed this much in her whole life.

Could be because she’s scared half to death. And she doesn’t have a gun.

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

"What language for a nice young girl like yerself. I kinda like it." There doesn't seem to be anything around that could talk. Just a little Bunny on the side of the road, chewing on some grass.

It may or may not reassure her when the silence of the dead land is split by a jet roaring overhead, only to vanish into the distance without apparently noticing her.

But Oracle's scanners are always on, and people -- especially alone, especially near LA -- are always being scanned for. It's only a few minutes later that the plane returns, at a much lower altitude, and helps itself to the long bare stretch of the highway for an expert landing.