He doesn't expect to wake up.
Mostly because he doesn't remember laying down to sleep.
His body aches, which reminds him strongly of the morning after nights of fun. If his head wasn't aching with everything else, it'd just feel like training too long.
He starts to sit up, only to feel something pressing back down on his chest. It's large enough that instead of the feeling of a bar or a hand, those pinpointed pressures, it seems to... to press on all of him...
On not just his chest, either.
He manages to squint his eyes open, finding them full of grit and fluttering at dust. There is so much darkness he can barely make anything out... but he can make out the large shape on most of his body. Squared and heavy and dark...
He wiggles his fingers and toes experimentally. There is very little space, though he manages to do so. He finds that, despite the enormous concrete slab currently on his body, it seems what traps him is something propped up.
A small relief, better than nothing.
Better a cage keeping him stuck than a pipe through the gut.
He looks around carefully, turning his head slowly to avoid straining or shifting anything. There are more slabs, and he seems right that they're propped against each other, like pressing against the side of a cliff when there's rockfalls. Some shelter because everything is large and fell at the right moment.
He breathes deeply, getting a lungful of must and rust and dust.
The interns... He should be finding the interns. They were with him, so it makes sense that they would be in similar situations. He can figure things out a bit, figure out how to eventually fix his stuck position, but they don't even know this is all real!
Not to mention...
He was wearing a simple hoodie and jeans, running shoes and a watch. So why do his shoulders look the wrong shape in the dark? Why does he feel his clothes are thicker between him and the concrete? Why does he have objects too detailed in shape to be rubble, all scattered by his sides?
Whatever is going on is outright bizarre.
Alright... Think, Tussle. The interns are somewhere unknown, he's trapped by rubble, and they don't know the situation that landed them here.
Ignore the big picture; that isn't useful for survival in the moment.
He can't get to the interns if he's trapped.
He pushes lightly on the concrete, testing how precarious it is. Remarkably, it does move, and seems to be moving up easily enough.
The real problem is, even if he can lift the one on him, the rest of the concrete pieces aren't visible to him. He can't tell where one being lifted will have others fall on his head.
...
Why does he care?
He can't die!
With that thought, he mentally shakes himself. Brain fog and panic, the two things he hates with burning passions, more than he even hates being near exorcisms or having children assigned to his care.
Another deep breath, and he braces his arms. Exhale, and he lifts with all his might, trying to shove at the concrete. Any movement is movement that helps him, and if he dies, he'll come back.
Stone on stone, his own grunting of exertion, and voices, all fill his ears as he starts to push. He ignores it, gritting his teeth to keep going. He has to finish what he's started-
Light shines on his left eye, briefly breaking his focus, and he hisses but manages to hold his efforts in place. It leaves just as quickly, as though something with flashlights for eyes had glanced down at him.
"Captain! We got a survivor!"
He nearly pauses. He did hear voices. It just turns out that those are the voices of the living, not the dead whispering for him to come to them.
"Oi, you guys gonna help?!" he shouts up, aiming for where the light came from. "And stay off the moving bits, you'll make it harder!"
There is suddenly a mass of shouting, stomping, grunting-
The concrete lifts, and he finally can breathe fresh air. A cool breeze moves across his face and he lets someone pull the slab he's holding away, lets someone hook their hands under his arms and yank him out.
He lays for a moment, just breathing in that fresh air.
And then promptly shoves away the guy trying to lift his clothes.
"Nope, I'm fine, no need for medical. I got three missing people, a mystery to solve, no time for chitchat, sorry."
He stands, taking in his outfit under the pretense of brushing off dust and rocks. His clothes are definitely changed, less casual and more surviving-the-apocalypse.
Combat boots, cargo pants, dark earthy colors like blacks and greens. From what he can feel combined with his eyes, he figures a sleeveless shirt under a heavily loaded vest. He's got bags and items stuck all over, all in pristine condition if they weren't covered in dust and debris. Good make, then, to not have gotten dented or scratched.
And instead of the normal items for survival, he has smudges, crucifixes, an EMF reader, a radio-
A RADIO!
He pulls it out, immediately sending out a ping. When one of the rescuers tries to talk, he holds a hand up, because he needs to focus on what sort of response he gets.
Finally, there's a short crackle...