what a terrible, terrible game we play
WHO: Cavil, Tony Stark, and everyone who signed up here. Please tag yourself in!
WHERE: The area surrounding the overpass by Stark Tower
WHEN: About 4:30 in the afternoon, Saturday (Forward-dated)
WARNINGS: Violence. Bodies. Injuries. People on fire. Describing a post-explosion setting.
SUMMARY: Cavil and GLaDOS are going to give the heroes in this city the very, very large mistake it needs.
FORMAT: Starting in paragraph, but feel free to chose whichever format makes you feel comfortable!
Cavil had rented a hotel room for the special event, checking in just after he returned from his little field trip with GLaDOS. With both of their skills, the plant and its computer system had been pitifully easy to break into. The schedules had been pitifully easy to change. No, no, you wanted to use this truck to carry your propylene. Never mind its old age, its weakened hull. You wanted to add extra - what was that? - you wanted to carry five tons of propylene over the limit? These numbers could be switched, you know, with a click of a button, a flick of the hacker's wrist. They could even guarantee that the route the weak, overfilled truck took today would be on the overpass a few blocks away from Stark Tower, a much more crowded district than regulations would ever allow. They could guarantee a lot of things, the two of them.
The truck was going to explode. The neurotoxins GLaDOS planted in the laptop under the seat were going to spider through the driver's system at 4:33, Saturday, October 24th, the truck was going to lose control and crash, and Cavil was going to be in the hotel, three blocks from the overpass, because he wanted to feel the shock wave. (Well, not purely because of that, but it would have been nice.)
When the time came around, he shut himself in the bathroom and heard the satisfying BANG and then the windows bursting in, the shards of glass sounding like a dozen stringed instruments snapping in half all at once. When he came out, he could see the fires.
That was what he needed. More than allies. More than fulfilling someone else's twisted revenge fantasies. He needed to feel the reverberations of a series of explosions and know they belonged to him, that his hand played a role in quote God's reckoning unquote and engulfed everything in fire. It was nothing like Picon, like the miles and miles of flames and dust and ashes he could see from the raptor's window (and someone was next to him, someone familiar he thought carried some significance, and yet--) but it did the job. The blocks ahead of him were an inferno. From his shattered hotel window, he could hear screaming in thousands of pitches, car alarms, fire alarms. He could hear the crackling pops of other, smaller explosions, the poor cars and ovens that burned quickly and then gave in, and he could hear infrastructure crack and moan and die. He could see people swallowed in flames. Some of them were still moving. Others weren't.
As much as he would have preferred to watch and admire from the sidelines, he was going to have to get down into there if he ever wanted to get anything done. He wished for steel lungs and nonflammable skin as he put a damp cloth to his face and made his way out into the city streets. Inside his pockets, he kept a folded flame retardant blanket and the violin tuner that activated the certain note necessary for his powers. He didn't turn the tuner on, though - there was no need. The tick mark on its screen merely shifted with all the sounds in the air, picking up cries and sirens, telling him too sharp, no, too flat, too sharp, natural, yes, too sharp, no, natural, yes, natural, yes--
With the plan firmly in his mind, he could almost forget the suffocating heat that the surrounded his body like a glove as is he drew closer and closer into the fires.
((ooc: feel free to tag your characters into any of the locations! anything that isn't specifically locked is completely open If you wish, you can coordinate with other muns in the ooc post.)
WHERE: The area surrounding the overpass by Stark Tower
WHEN: About 4:30 in the afternoon, Saturday (Forward-dated)
WARNINGS: Violence. Bodies. Injuries. People on fire. Describing a post-explosion setting.
SUMMARY: Cavil and GLaDOS are going to give the heroes in this city the very, very large mistake it needs.
FORMAT: Starting in paragraph, but feel free to chose whichever format makes you feel comfortable!
Cavil had rented a hotel room for the special event, checking in just after he returned from his little field trip with GLaDOS. With both of their skills, the plant and its computer system had been pitifully easy to break into. The schedules had been pitifully easy to change. No, no, you wanted to use this truck to carry your propylene. Never mind its old age, its weakened hull. You wanted to add extra - what was that? - you wanted to carry five tons of propylene over the limit? These numbers could be switched, you know, with a click of a button, a flick of the hacker's wrist. They could even guarantee that the route the weak, overfilled truck took today would be on the overpass a few blocks away from Stark Tower, a much more crowded district than regulations would ever allow. They could guarantee a lot of things, the two of them.
The truck was going to explode. The neurotoxins GLaDOS planted in the laptop under the seat were going to spider through the driver's system at 4:33, Saturday, October 24th, the truck was going to lose control and crash, and Cavil was going to be in the hotel, three blocks from the overpass, because he wanted to feel the shock wave. (Well, not purely because of that, but it would have been nice.)
When the time came around, he shut himself in the bathroom and heard the satisfying BANG and then the windows bursting in, the shards of glass sounding like a dozen stringed instruments snapping in half all at once. When he came out, he could see the fires.
That was what he needed. More than allies. More than fulfilling someone else's twisted revenge fantasies. He needed to feel the reverberations of a series of explosions and know they belonged to him, that his hand played a role in quote God's reckoning unquote and engulfed everything in fire. It was nothing like Picon, like the miles and miles of flames and dust and ashes he could see from the raptor's window (and someone was next to him, someone familiar he thought carried some significance, and yet--) but it did the job. The blocks ahead of him were an inferno. From his shattered hotel window, he could hear screaming in thousands of pitches, car alarms, fire alarms. He could hear the crackling pops of other, smaller explosions, the poor cars and ovens that burned quickly and then gave in, and he could hear infrastructure crack and moan and die. He could see people swallowed in flames. Some of them were still moving. Others weren't.
As much as he would have preferred to watch and admire from the sidelines, he was going to have to get down into there if he ever wanted to get anything done. He wished for steel lungs and nonflammable skin as he put a damp cloth to his face and made his way out into the city streets. Inside his pockets, he kept a folded flame retardant blanket and the violin tuner that activated the certain note necessary for his powers. He didn't turn the tuner on, though - there was no need. The tick mark on its screen merely shifted with all the sounds in the air, picking up cries and sirens, telling him too sharp, no, too flat, too sharp, natural, yes, too sharp, no, natural, yes, natural, yes--
With the plan firmly in his mind, he could almost forget the suffocating heat that the surrounded his body like a glove as is he drew closer and closer into the fires.
((ooc: feel free to tag your characters into any of the locations! anything that isn't specifically locked is completely open If you wish, you can coordinate with other muns in the ooc post.)