01-04-2011, 05:18 PM
A snickering rat wiggled and writhed as it traversed the narrow corridors of the Mayor’s office deep in the center of Central City. Behind it was strung a massive, winding metallic chord that scraped ever so softly against the walls that surrounded the rodent. It forged its path forward, and even as the wires found themselves caught on hanging nails and overhangs, it scurried back and freed them before making its way onward on its path.
If you might think it strange for a small mammal to carry technologically advanced materials from outside of a public office and through the walls to the interior, you may be forced to consider if it was even a rodent at all. Or, in fact, if any of the hundreds of rodents that carried similar strands and baubles had been as they appeared to be they would, unless under almost unfathomable circumstance, would not be leading the materials needed to construct a massive homemade bomb into every habitable surface of the building. They were, as it would seem, the part of a higher conscious being with previously existing agendas. An agenda that most certainly involved blowing up a very large, politically important structure. Now certainly one would not be able to discern that agenda from a massive group of hive-minded rats but you would more than certainly assume it to be devious. Now, if you were a clever and observational technician, you might be able to spot the fact that it was not in fact a timed explosion the furry creatures were crafting but rather a remotely detonated one. On top of being a technician, you might be an electrician and realize that it seemed to be a trigger jury rigged from a cell phone and all the malicious malcontent would have to do is call the number from anywhere to set the glorious building to ruin. All assuming you had the required skills, of course.
Rats are not the strongest creatures on Earth, but they are fairly dexterous and have small thumb-like appendages and keen senses of smell. This combination of traits, the tiny hands to set complex wiring and the smell to search out locations and building material, are of a fine disposition to plant bombs. It did not take more than a few hours to coat the entire first floor in enough kitchen cooked bang-bang that would surely tip the structure on its side or send it crumbling strait down. Together they began to flee the structure as each followed its own pathway out. If any two happened to cross one another they would merge in a shimmering flash of light and so forth until only a single rat raced after another and the two became one.
Sniffing the air gingerly the animal made its way out of the tiny crack in the wall near the coffee machine in reception. Making sure nobody was looking, the tall handsome, successful looking businessman that had gone on vacation several weeks prior strode out of the quaint reception rest area and through the front doors of the facility, making sure to nod and smile at the secretary. Adjusting his tie he strode down the sides of the streets and alleyways until his expensive dress shoes were clacking along the now somber streets of Central City.
Thumbign at the metal clasp that bound his tie to his shirt nervously the businessman was still nervous about his endeavor. He brushed a fleck of the chunks of white wall from his shoulder and cleared his throat. He did not have much training or practice in the art of espionage but it didn’t seem so hard, especially with the use of his own certain gifts. He reassured himself that the cell phone had made it with him and that he could collect it any time he so chose. He didn’t necessarily need that phone to complete his personal operation but it was the only one he knew of that had the number stored upon it. He should have taken stronger measures to memorize the number, as the entire plan hinged upon his ability to make a call to it.
He slipped into an alleyway beyond the eyes of any of the onlookers, and so the businessman was not seen until he returned from his long vacation that he had left the city for all those months ago. From the other side of the alley a young man in a bright red hoodie emerged, popping the hood over his head and zipping the front of it up. His eyes were cloaked in shadow as he milled about in the urban jungle, the faces and shades of the city punching tiny holes into his heart.
He wished that he could say that it was the oncoming invasion’s fault entirely. These people had run out of hope a long time ago… They were trapped in a system that grinded them up and made bread from their backbones. They danced and sang for zenni. They skipped and hollered for public acclaim. Not a single thing that any one of them had done in their lives amounted up to what they were all about to take part in. This invasion was going to free them. It was going to make them live for the sake of living and for the sake of their children living. Soon, as the skies darkened and their countrymen’s blood ran along the ground they would be full and flush with emotion. Thunder would fill the skies and hell would open its jaws beneath their feet. Fire would spray and ice would cling. It would be a beautiful, terrible, heavenly inferno that would open its maw and eat up all of their apathy.
He was going to be a part of it, he was going to be one of the many faces that made a difference in the world and he would be able to say that he was something more than just some kid that failed out of college. He would be more than some stupid underpaid laborer. He could almost taste the glory. It wasn’t glory in the name of the others around him, it would be a glory that he could take up in his hands and massage into his cheeks and it would become a part of him. Death was going to fall down upon so many people but none of them would know what it was to be dead because for the first time in their lives they would be alive.
He was finally free of it all. Not that he hadn’t been before but he like so many others had convinced himself that that shit mattered somehow. He was one of the world’s best at what he did, he knew that for a fact. He wasn’t even sure that anybody else could do what he could. He did know, however, that in order to master his abilities he had gone through months of arduous training of the mind. Making yourself truly believe that you can be anything, in any shape that you wanted, to make your mind and body create itself anew based solely upon the concept that you know you can isn’t simple. It’s a fucking trek, and he had forged his path across it.
He saw a pair of men shouting and shoving t one another, some argument surely related to the coming war that would ravage the planet. Was the squabble over food? Munitions? Or was it just another mindless act of self-presentation designed to bolster an ego that it might survive the onslaught of destitution?
Sigfried pasued a moment and looked at the men as one took the other’s collar and they began to tumble, he standing in the middle of the street with his red hoodie striking stark contrast to the gloomy grey that seemed to devour the landscape. He took a step away before halting once angain and turning towards them. He began to take strides in their direction until strides became a sprint and he fell upon them like a jackal.
“Oi! Oi you fuckin…” he shouted and struggled with the men, pressing his body between them. He caught a firm fist to the jaw. Cracking it back and forth he grunted in agitation and finally managed to shove them apart. The three stood there panting and sweaty, looking across one another in indignation. Glancing between the two, Sigfried tugged on the edges of his red cloak and let out a long breath. “I don’t know what the hell you two are fighting over, but knock it off man.”
One of the men stepped forward and pointed at the other. “That son of a bitch tried t-“
He was cut off by a harsh snip from the young man, “Hey! I don’t know why you’re fighting and I also don’t give a shit.” He paced back and forth as they let out word snippets in frustration, combing back peppered grey hair and fiddling with the last pack of cigarettes he had managed to keep. “The days are winding to an end. Is this how you want your final days to be? Is this where you want to lie in your grave and remember being? Duking it out in the streets with somebody on the same side as you? Fuck that!” He shouted, his voice growing hoarse. His body trembled slightly, the energy of his emotions sending waves through him. “You should spend every last moment that you’ve got living proud! This might be your last chance to live proud. This might be the last time you’ll ever see the sun rise, as I am unsure of its status in Hell.” He turned away and pulled the hood back over his head. “Keep in mind that we are all men and men, over all other people in this universe, are the most resilient. Not because we are strong or fast or powerful, but because we are not. We are the only ones that can wage a war with pitchforks and shovels.”
He began to walk away casting a quick look backwards to the two, and he surprisingly found them following after. At first he thought the two might assault him and so he began to turn and face them. But soon he felt a warm hand upon his shoulder and in front of him the two stood with stern faces. He stood, almost confused about why they might have confronted him.
“Thank you,” the older of the two said softly. The other nodded in silent agreeance, each having that look of both shame and pride that swelled from within. Sigfried stood flabbergasted, completely unsure.
“Will you be fighting too, son?” the other said plainly.
He nodded in response and held his hand up in some strange gesture of compassion. “Yeah of course I am. I think I’ve got something I can bring to the table.”
“Well I would be proud to raise a flag in your name, son.”
Sigfried grinned widely and within the hidden pockets of his sweatshirt he wrung his hands within themselves. “I think we might be able to make that happen.”
If you might think it strange for a small mammal to carry technologically advanced materials from outside of a public office and through the walls to the interior, you may be forced to consider if it was even a rodent at all. Or, in fact, if any of the hundreds of rodents that carried similar strands and baubles had been as they appeared to be they would, unless under almost unfathomable circumstance, would not be leading the materials needed to construct a massive homemade bomb into every habitable surface of the building. They were, as it would seem, the part of a higher conscious being with previously existing agendas. An agenda that most certainly involved blowing up a very large, politically important structure. Now certainly one would not be able to discern that agenda from a massive group of hive-minded rats but you would more than certainly assume it to be devious. Now, if you were a clever and observational technician, you might be able to spot the fact that it was not in fact a timed explosion the furry creatures were crafting but rather a remotely detonated one. On top of being a technician, you might be an electrician and realize that it seemed to be a trigger jury rigged from a cell phone and all the malicious malcontent would have to do is call the number from anywhere to set the glorious building to ruin. All assuming you had the required skills, of course.
Rats are not the strongest creatures on Earth, but they are fairly dexterous and have small thumb-like appendages and keen senses of smell. This combination of traits, the tiny hands to set complex wiring and the smell to search out locations and building material, are of a fine disposition to plant bombs. It did not take more than a few hours to coat the entire first floor in enough kitchen cooked bang-bang that would surely tip the structure on its side or send it crumbling strait down. Together they began to flee the structure as each followed its own pathway out. If any two happened to cross one another they would merge in a shimmering flash of light and so forth until only a single rat raced after another and the two became one.
Sniffing the air gingerly the animal made its way out of the tiny crack in the wall near the coffee machine in reception. Making sure nobody was looking, the tall handsome, successful looking businessman that had gone on vacation several weeks prior strode out of the quaint reception rest area and through the front doors of the facility, making sure to nod and smile at the secretary. Adjusting his tie he strode down the sides of the streets and alleyways until his expensive dress shoes were clacking along the now somber streets of Central City.
Thumbign at the metal clasp that bound his tie to his shirt nervously the businessman was still nervous about his endeavor. He brushed a fleck of the chunks of white wall from his shoulder and cleared his throat. He did not have much training or practice in the art of espionage but it didn’t seem so hard, especially with the use of his own certain gifts. He reassured himself that the cell phone had made it with him and that he could collect it any time he so chose. He didn’t necessarily need that phone to complete his personal operation but it was the only one he knew of that had the number stored upon it. He should have taken stronger measures to memorize the number, as the entire plan hinged upon his ability to make a call to it.
He slipped into an alleyway beyond the eyes of any of the onlookers, and so the businessman was not seen until he returned from his long vacation that he had left the city for all those months ago. From the other side of the alley a young man in a bright red hoodie emerged, popping the hood over his head and zipping the front of it up. His eyes were cloaked in shadow as he milled about in the urban jungle, the faces and shades of the city punching tiny holes into his heart.
He wished that he could say that it was the oncoming invasion’s fault entirely. These people had run out of hope a long time ago… They were trapped in a system that grinded them up and made bread from their backbones. They danced and sang for zenni. They skipped and hollered for public acclaim. Not a single thing that any one of them had done in their lives amounted up to what they were all about to take part in. This invasion was going to free them. It was going to make them live for the sake of living and for the sake of their children living. Soon, as the skies darkened and their countrymen’s blood ran along the ground they would be full and flush with emotion. Thunder would fill the skies and hell would open its jaws beneath their feet. Fire would spray and ice would cling. It would be a beautiful, terrible, heavenly inferno that would open its maw and eat up all of their apathy.
He was going to be a part of it, he was going to be one of the many faces that made a difference in the world and he would be able to say that he was something more than just some kid that failed out of college. He would be more than some stupid underpaid laborer. He could almost taste the glory. It wasn’t glory in the name of the others around him, it would be a glory that he could take up in his hands and massage into his cheeks and it would become a part of him. Death was going to fall down upon so many people but none of them would know what it was to be dead because for the first time in their lives they would be alive.
He was finally free of it all. Not that he hadn’t been before but he like so many others had convinced himself that that shit mattered somehow. He was one of the world’s best at what he did, he knew that for a fact. He wasn’t even sure that anybody else could do what he could. He did know, however, that in order to master his abilities he had gone through months of arduous training of the mind. Making yourself truly believe that you can be anything, in any shape that you wanted, to make your mind and body create itself anew based solely upon the concept that you know you can isn’t simple. It’s a fucking trek, and he had forged his path across it.
He saw a pair of men shouting and shoving t one another, some argument surely related to the coming war that would ravage the planet. Was the squabble over food? Munitions? Or was it just another mindless act of self-presentation designed to bolster an ego that it might survive the onslaught of destitution?
Sigfried pasued a moment and looked at the men as one took the other’s collar and they began to tumble, he standing in the middle of the street with his red hoodie striking stark contrast to the gloomy grey that seemed to devour the landscape. He took a step away before halting once angain and turning towards them. He began to take strides in their direction until strides became a sprint and he fell upon them like a jackal.
“Oi! Oi you fuckin…” he shouted and struggled with the men, pressing his body between them. He caught a firm fist to the jaw. Cracking it back and forth he grunted in agitation and finally managed to shove them apart. The three stood there panting and sweaty, looking across one another in indignation. Glancing between the two, Sigfried tugged on the edges of his red cloak and let out a long breath. “I don’t know what the hell you two are fighting over, but knock it off man.”
One of the men stepped forward and pointed at the other. “That son of a bitch tried t-“
He was cut off by a harsh snip from the young man, “Hey! I don’t know why you’re fighting and I also don’t give a shit.” He paced back and forth as they let out word snippets in frustration, combing back peppered grey hair and fiddling with the last pack of cigarettes he had managed to keep. “The days are winding to an end. Is this how you want your final days to be? Is this where you want to lie in your grave and remember being? Duking it out in the streets with somebody on the same side as you? Fuck that!” He shouted, his voice growing hoarse. His body trembled slightly, the energy of his emotions sending waves through him. “You should spend every last moment that you’ve got living proud! This might be your last chance to live proud. This might be the last time you’ll ever see the sun rise, as I am unsure of its status in Hell.” He turned away and pulled the hood back over his head. “Keep in mind that we are all men and men, over all other people in this universe, are the most resilient. Not because we are strong or fast or powerful, but because we are not. We are the only ones that can wage a war with pitchforks and shovels.”
He began to walk away casting a quick look backwards to the two, and he surprisingly found them following after. At first he thought the two might assault him and so he began to turn and face them. But soon he felt a warm hand upon his shoulder and in front of him the two stood with stern faces. He stood, almost confused about why they might have confronted him.
“Thank you,” the older of the two said softly. The other nodded in silent agreeance, each having that look of both shame and pride that swelled from within. Sigfried stood flabbergasted, completely unsure.
“Will you be fighting too, son?” the other said plainly.
He nodded in response and held his hand up in some strange gesture of compassion. “Yeah of course I am. I think I’ve got something I can bring to the table.”
“Well I would be proud to raise a flag in your name, son.”
Sigfried grinned widely and within the hidden pockets of his sweatshirt he wrung his hands within themselves. “I think we might be able to make that happen.”
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]