You go through ten bars before you give up.

Your second, desperate attempt is the news studio. If any information was about to be broadcast, you would fing it there. It takes a while to walk there by foot, but you can't take a car, since combustion is sure as hell not going to work when time doesn't. But after walking for a while you come across a bike. That only requires your movement to work, so you "liberate" it from it's frozen rider, after which you manage to get there before getting bored to death.

After trying the necessary doors and not finding a key, you break in through a window. You get lost a few times, not that it matters much, before you find something. They printed out the text, thank god, so no need for a working computer. You read. And then you lean on the wall for support. And slowly sink to the ground.

An atomic bomb. That's what's happening. That's what would've killed you. What would've killed everyone. You stare at the ceiling. Then you stare at the floor. You stare, for a long time. An unmeasurably slow moment. There is no way to stop this. Your best hope is to take your bike and drive until it won't hurt you. You check the paper to see how far to go. It's doable, everything is when your body can't get tired.

But..

You look at the news reporters around you, their frozen faces of fear, as they rushed through the preparations, to at least warn the people of what's coming. You see it in their faces. They knew they would die for this broadcast. And they were still late.

You can't leave them here.

The info on the paper is essential. You can guess at what distance your powers would proclaim you safe. It saved you from many things which would not have necessarily killed you before, so if you merely dragged people to the point where they would get hurt but wouldn't be likely to die... You could do it. It's doable. It must be done.

You start with the tv studio. At first you're uncoordinated, but after the first few you start a system, sweeping the building from one side to the other, from top to bottom. By the time you're done with the first building, you're sure it would have taken you at least three days, had the planet been turning.

You could've spent a century here, doing this. Your body can't get tired, you don't need to eat, or sleep, or to breathe, as all physiological needs are magically suspended. No time passes, no energy is spent, and yet you move. After a few houses, you draw out the safety line with chalk to keep track of it. You read a book, sometimes, just so you don't go crazy. It's not like you don't have the time for it. One by one the houses get emptied. One after another the streets are deserted. Block after block turn lifeless. City districts, moment ter eternal moment, slowly, torturously slowly, become ghost towns.

And then, after metaphorical, uncountable centuries of work, you are done. You took count, every house and every street adding up to a number somewhere around the official citizen count. There's piles of paper filled with the calculations. You still probably didn't get everyone. But you got a lot. You gave them a chance. You breathe a sigh of relief. You sit down, finish your book and take your bag.

And then you cross the line running.

The sound of the air moving around you reaches your ears for the first time in forever. With it, the sound of many, many confused people.

A month & a half later (+ inspiration):