Static Pulse
Zonerunner, nomad, Drac impersonator, scavenger, part-time voice of reason.
Unless you try to take the sound away, ruin the static noise inside his head, cover it all up with suffocating white.
Then he tends to be a little less....reasonable.
[Info] [History] [Images]
[Headcanons - Zone Senses - Zone Sickness]

***
[Static is an OC residing in the Danger Days Universe, he's a Killjoy with a nearly mental obsession with the concept of sound.
Character and Mun both of age. Open to interaction from other characters. If you're interested in using my headcanons drop me an Ask; I'd love to see what people do with them.]
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Some days were easier than others.

Then some….he spent limping back to Cya’s junkyard-side home feeling as if he’d had the full sum of a city tower dropped on him. The sort of tired feeling that ate into strained muscles and torn skin with vicious little barbs; sharp as a hypodermic needle without any of the numbing effects.

The saving grace was that the yard was a good midpoint between the city and his own hideaway, and Cya was usually lurking with sympathy and bandages for those bad days.

"Not such a good look for you," his teal-haired friend remarked when Static came dragging in decorated with caked sand and a few new stray laser-burned spots in his already worn clothes. There was a mutter in reply, too parched for water and choked with sand to muster up a reasonable retort.

Shortly after, a canteen in hand and most of his thin form sprawled in a chair in the back of the little shack the resident tech-spaz called home most of the year; watching listlessly while said figure darted amid the shelves to gather supplies, Static savored the chance to catch his shaky breath.

He didn’t even try to keep up with Cya’s motions with more than a lifted brow; while his friend had energy to spare he was planning to devote his own to recovery; in a few days time he was heading back to the routes so the longer to nurse those burns and sore spots the easier the trek.

"Food," Cya chirped in passing and somehow there was suddenly in Static’s lap something in a can that he freed the spoon from and ate without awareness of taste or sense of want; just need for energy.

There were channels to check and a haul of new bits of tech odds and ends to sort out, food to count and check and plans to make; but he wasn’t going to make it that far at that point.

Cya snatched the empty can when he dropped it as the lure of sleep urged his sunburned eyelids sluggishly down, metal inches from hitting the floor before it was rescued, and tossed it to a shelf; returning back to his quiet scurrying and tinkering with the new shiny pieces of this and that while silence filled the cluttered little building.

Never lasted long, the peace and quiet after the storm, but what really ever did anymore?

Signs of life? Stumbled over your signal last time I was hanging around a friend's little homestead.. Got back around finally, hope you're still among the breathing. What's your callsign 'runner? You radio? I watch the waves more than the net but whatever, a voice is a voice if it's talking or I'm reading it. You still alive out there in the big sands? Call back to Static if you are - starting to feel like a ghost in the middle of this nowhere.

@thestaticpulse

glitchwithalaser:

thestaticpulse:

glitchwithalaser:

thestaticpulse:

glitchwithalaser:

//you can call me glitch. i’m still breathing for now, static. glad i’m not the only one. it’s getting kind of lonely out here. you haven’t seen a runner by the name of katostrophy kat, have you? she used to run with me until she went missing a few months back. i used to have a station but it’s ash and dust, now. i’m alive and fighting, though. 

//glitch

Can’t say I have, but I don’t seen much of life out where I roam. Can keep an ear out for the name but you know how fast they disappear in the sands lately. Been missing a few myself the past few months, it’s getting ugly out there in some of the outskirts. Nice to see another voice though, hang tight out there. Wouldn’t normally ask but I’m out and on the move more than usual the last few days; you holed up or wandering? Won’t ask where you’re staying but if you’re running the routes I wouldn’t mind swapping stories, maybe supplies if you’re carrying batteries; I’ve got food and info in exchange.

//oh well. it was worth asking, anyway. when did yours go missing? maybe it’s related somehow? you never know. i have been squatting lately, but i’m on the move again. i’ve got plenty of batteries if you’re interested.

//glitch

//ps: sorry for that brief signal mix up. for some reason, some of my things go through some other account sometimes.

By my count about a month, give or take, but they could show back up sooner or later; haven’t heard any bad on the channels lately so I’m holding out hope for a callback. Fingers crossed and all of that luck stigma whatever. Hope you track yours down; been hearing some of the closer zones are crawling with the ivory tower minions since the last raids so I’d keep my eyes open out there. I need the sound so a trade is in order if you’re out for one; got a few good connections but more homesteaders than runners so food I can get easier than tech. Might even be able to scare up something fresh instead of canned - I’ll look into it.

Just don’t make me regret it and turn out to be unfriendly; I’m uneasy of the bad vibes these days. If we’re going to cross paths I’d prefer it one on one for my own odds if that’s square with you.

//let’s just hope they’re all ok. i just imagine the worst. whatever you want to do is fine by me. whatever makes you feel safe. i understand the mistrust. for all we know, either one of us could be behind city walls and working for mom and dad. i’ll take a chance though. i’m sort of desperate. i’ll take anything you’re willing to offer. i haven’t eaten much these past few days. been living off my last can, and i think it’s going bad. the when and where is up to you.

//glitch

I see enough bad dreams awake, I don’t entertain them otherwise anymore if I can avoid it. Didn’t get back around as soon as I thought I would. Back under the radar now though so if you’re going to be around the outskirts near the old junkyards near the canyons? I’ll be haunting around there a few days, supply run first but I’ll be back around in plenty of time to check for new faces. I’ll find you, if you give me a signal to search for. Stay breathing until then.

Signs of life? Stumbled over your signal last time I was hanging around a friend's little homestead.. Got back around finally, hope you're still among the breathing. What's your callsign 'runner? You radio? I watch the waves more than the net but whatever, a voice is a voice if it's talking or I'm reading it. You still alive out there in the big sands? Call back to Static if you are - starting to feel like a ghost in the middle of this nowhere.

@thestaticpulse

glitchwithalaser:

thestaticpulse:

glitchwithalaser:

//you can call me glitch. i’m still breathing for now, static. glad i’m not the only one. it’s getting kind of lonely out here. you haven’t seen a runner by the name of katostrophy kat, have you? she used to run with me until she went missing a few months back. i used to have a station but it’s ash and dust, now. i’m alive and fighting, though. 

//glitch

Can’t say I have, but I don’t seen much of life out where I roam. Can keep an ear out for the name but you know how fast they disappear in the sands lately. Been missing a few myself the past few months, it’s getting ugly out there in some of the outskirts. Nice to see another voice though, hang tight out there. Wouldn’t normally ask but I’m out and on the move more than usual the last few days; you holed up or wandering? Won’t ask where you’re staying but if you’re running the routes I wouldn’t mind swapping stories, maybe supplies if you’re carrying batteries; I’ve got food and info in exchange.

//oh well. it was worth asking, anyway. when did yours go missing? maybe it’s related somehow? you never know. i have been squatting lately, but i’m on the move again. i’ve got plenty of batteries if you’re interested.

//glitch

//ps: sorry for that brief signal mix up. for some reason, some of my things go through some other account sometimes.

By my count about a month, give or take, but they could show back up sooner or later; haven’t heard any bad on the channels lately so I’m holding out hope for a callback. Fingers crossed and all of that luck stigma whatever. Hope you track yours down; been hearing some of the closer zones are crawling with the ivory tower minions since the last raids so I’d keep my eyes open out there. I need the sound so a trade is in order if you’re out for one; got a few good connections but more homesteaders than runners so food I can get easier than tech. Might even be able to scare up something fresh instead of canned - I’ll look into it.

Just don’t make me regret it and turn out to be unfriendly; I’m uneasy of the bad vibes these days. If we’re going to cross paths I’d prefer it one on one for my own odds if that’s square with you.

Tagged: #killjoys rp

Signs of life? Stumbled over your signal last time I was hanging around a friend's little homestead.. Got back around finally, hope you're still among the breathing. What's your callsign 'runner? You radio? I watch the waves more than the net but whatever, a voice is a voice if it's talking or I'm reading it. You still alive out there in the big sands? Call back to Static if you are - starting to feel like a ghost in the middle of this nowhere.

@thestaticpulse

glitchwithalaser:

//you can call me glitch. i’m still breathing for now, static. glad i’m not the only one. it’s getting kind of lonely out here. you haven’t seen a runner by the name of katostrophy kat, have you? she used to run with me until she went missing a few months back. i used to have a station but it’s ash and dust, now. i’m alive and fighting, though. 

//glitch

Can’t say I have, but I don’t seen much of life out where I roam. Can keep an ear out for the name but you know how fast they disappear in the sands lately. Been missing a few myself the past few months, it’s getting ugly out there in some of the outskirts. Nice to see another voice though, hang tight out there. Wouldn’t normally ask but I’m out and on the move more than usual the last few days; you holed up or wandering? Won’t ask where you’re staying but if you’re running the routes I wouldn’t mind swapping stories, maybe supplies if you’re carrying batteries; I’ve got food and info in exchange.

"Hell," Static spat the word into the sands and gave the shifty stuff a kick for good measure; it was not a good day and he was feeling it more than he wanted to. The sun was cutting a hot streak across the back of his neck and he had no doubt there would be sore spots there later; the big ball of light was a bitter old girl without any sense of humor after all.

But there was little he could do about it, the exhausting effort of hauling junk out of the cargo section of the truck made it a necessity to abandon his long jacket and suffer the work in a t-shirt or risk heat-stroke; and being on his own out there meant if he dropped he was likely to end up staying down.

But Static had made up his mind; he was going to take a trip back towards the ivory towers to see what the Zones between there and his own home were like now; he was hurting too badly for supplies to stay holed up for another few weeks.

First though he intended to lock everything down as much as he could; hopefully he’d have something left when he returned that the scavengers hadn’t stolen away once he was set for a couple of months.

He sighed and shoved everything portable into his bag and leaned on the busted doorway to force it shut with a heavy, satisfying clang of metal, leaning back against it to catch his breath before the sand threatened to swirl up and choke him.

There were reasons he kept to his home most of the time; the most resounding of them being that getting everything in order before he left was an ordeal. But when the alternative was an empty stomach or dead batteries it was a necessary evil.

Something restless had worked its’ way into his bones; the way the dusty sands worked tiny furrows in his jacket and little stinging trails in the sparse bits of exposed skin; restlessness.

It could have been the long walk between zones, once more a reminder of the fact that he needed to learn to steal a car when he happened across one again, or perhaps it was the improbability of being bored in such a desperate world that left him feeling strange.

But the fact was he had grown tired of the subtle safety of his home in the sands, compared to many areas it did go weeks or even longer without a hint of life other than himself around; what had felt like a true blessing had become dragging and driven him out further and further from safety.

Maybe it was time to get out and hunt for signs of life, or rather…..send out a call for it; just to stay on the cautious side.

Once his worn out little two-way was humming with the life-spark of radio waves he made himself comfortable on the hood of the truck and toyed with the receiver before he cleared his voice and lifted the microphone to his chapped lips.

"Anybody out there tonight? Or am I just talking to hear my own voice?"

He was tired of the mailbox, of writing letters; he was sick of it being such a necessity. More than anything he was weary of the fact that the world still had desperate need of that symbol.

And anymore it was a risk since the area was such a hot spot for the ever-spreading Drac infestation.

But it wasn’t a task to be taken lightly; forgetting people was one of the few things his complicated personal code would not allow. The justification was simple; he wouldn’t have wanted to be forgotten so it was better to hang on too tightly than it was to let the memories go too soon.

He wasn’t so sure, however, that anyone would be writing letters to him when the time came, maybe whatever was left of him when the rest was dust would just have to navigate to the next phase without the guiding words scrawled in ink and stuffed into a desert shrine.

His fingers lingered, pale against the colorfully painted metal, nails hooked under the slot and holding it there, hesitating.

Was it sacrilege to write to people who may not have been ghosts?

He didn’t know, those answers didn’t come in the ‘How to Survive the Zones’ guidebook that didn’t exist.

But it didn’t matter, not really; he had plenty of people to mourn without casting his eyes towards the ivory towers of the city and wondering…..uncertain; thinking of the people that still cast shadows there.

He didn’t even have a picture other than the ones buried in his mind; brother, mother, father.

His ghosts, the walking dead; the memories breathing the recycled air and living in false homes he couldn’t free them from. They didn’t want to be free, they only wanted to exist in the fog of his mind and the sterility of white walls.

The only solace was that they likely thought him dead, if they thought of him at all, and they were free of the questions that kept him company in the deepest hours of the night.

His mother would never need to catch her breath and hold it, whisper-thin and frail, at the thought of her eldest ducking out of the cutting path from a laser. His father would not cast his eyes downward with a shake of his head in equal parts shame of him and knowing that he had also failed his son. And his brother, young and filled with vivid hope, would not be waiting with eyes turned to the outskirts of the city under the expectation of his return some day when the world was less cruel.

He was lost to them because the pills made him a ghost in their eyes as much as the tense freedom of the zones transformed them into the haunting memories burned into his scattered soul.

And now a metal box with rusty hinges was the keeper of tortures spirits and bleeding memories; it was a guide to everyone with no other faith left under the burning sun.

The mailbox stood as a filthy, wrecked sacred place for lost souls to weep and the living to only linger long enough to spare a moment to memory before they fled.

He was no different.

Only staying long enough to pay respects, he melted back into the sandy paths towards what was home now, with ivory towers at his back and ghosts still on his mind.

The hum under his breath was a song, half forgotten so he made up the words in his head along the way while he ducked and dodged his way through the streetlight shadows and emptiness surrounded by white towering buildings.

Something about innocence and life being easier in firefly days - the sort of days only a shred of memories in a place where fireflies had long since faded out with simple things like grass and fresh air.

But the melody kept him company while he navigated the city; sometimes it was a better friend than other people could be.

It was too late for the city to be busy, curfews saw to it that only the scurry of BL/ind’s loyal little minions marked the night as they went about doing the work their hive mind demanded. He slipped in and out of their radar like a shadow; keeping an ear out for the lumbering moan of their trucks or the scrape of boots on the sidewalk.

He’s stayed too late and knew it; the afternoon adventure into the city had drug on into night and left him slinking his way back to the limits.

Static would have killed right then to have not been alone as he walked; the problem with taking on any endeavor in the city alone was that if it went bad there was nobody to there to mourn you or to celebrate a narrow escape.

But blending was what he did best, thankfully, that and fitting his collection of sharp-angled joints into odd hiding spots; still….the anxiety was always in the back of his mind.

He wished he had the boldness for the bright colors his brothers in arms sported but Static was too afraid that the sort of jobs he did, the ones that kept him in the midst of the city, would mark him as an easy target more than the black and white he wrapped himself up in like a cocoon.

There was a startling moment, a flash of motion that forced him to scramble into a break between buildings, to smash his back against a wall and draw a sharp breath as people passed his safe-haven.

Stock-still, his eyes swung to the side when he heard an intake of breath that wasn’t his own, brow furrowed and he only chanced a sideways glance after the shadows had grown long and moved on past.

Concern turned to humor that he hid away, wide eyes the color of dirty coffee stared back at him at a lower height than his own; the kid looked several years younger than himself and decades more startled.

He had no way of knowing why the stiff, tense version of a teenager was out past curfew; maybe nothing more than a bold thought followed. And he never would he supposed; the danger had for the moment passed and the stranger was already glancing upward towards the apartment windows of the building towering above them; one frame hanging open like a yawning mouth.

Lifting a single finger to his lips in a silent gesture he bit back an amused sound and pushed away from the wall; no doubt in his mind the kid would be back through that window before he had made it ten steps down the street himself.

He picked the song back up once he darted back out into the street and continued on his way, the tune a bit more cheerful than it had been moments before and the street lamps flickering like those long-forgotten fireflies.

Tagged: #Static Pulse

The radio was misbehaving again; spewing random moments of broken, garbled sound now and then amid the otherwise pleasant lull of humming channels. But it was an old friend, wired together from spare parts from the CBC he’d scavenged from the truck and powered by batteries and vague hope that it wouldn’t give up the ghost and go silent yet.

He mashed buttons with thin fingers and prodded at the microphone; the channels had been nearly silent all evening and it felt as though the world had faded away somewhere out there beyond the horizon.

"Is there life out there, or am I just talking to ghosts?" Static murmured; rubbing his thumb over a crack in the microphone, the heels of sneakers propped on the frame of the open window.

A yawn spilled over his lips and his eyelids fluttered lower; he knew people existed because he saw them now and again when he ventured to the camps and the outskirts of the city; but they existed within two scopes. One of them was the people who were useful to him for the things they had to trade and the other was the basic desire to feel human by being in the presence of others; it was impossible to weigh which of the idea was more important to survival though.

But at night it was mostly just the voices he needed; something to keep him company and feel like family as their tones and words gave him a lullaby to usher into sleep with.

Tagged: #Static Pulse

Not every day was one of dire exhaustion and melting sunlight, as much as the men in ivory towers and masks with fangs would have the world believe otherwise; there was the occasional morning that made the sky glow.

True, it was likely because the lingering radiation from a late evening rain storm had yet to soak into the ground and the people scurrying around on it, but that hardly took much away from the skies above painted more vividly than a can of spray paint could splash across a BL/ind wall.

Reds, violets, golds and orange in a hazy mix of tones that dripped into the tawny color of the sands below like an impressionistic painting.

Somewhere out there a more poetic soul than himself was no doubt waxing words to capture the essence of colors and the warmth they offered.

But for Static the pleasure came in far less complicated ways; he perched atop the highest point he could climb to on his home and sat there with legs dangling over the side and head tilted upward to trace where colors intersected and blurred together.

With only the wind whispering some tiny secret now and then and the light still weak enough to feel good on his skin it was a rare, good sort of morning worth just a few moments of idle indulgence.

The Zones were beautiful, now and then, if they were given the chance to be.

Tagged: #Static Pulse