(no subject)
Weeks after it had been found, the counter had yet to reach zero.
He pressed the button. Others pressed the button. Every hundred and eight minutes the alarm sounded, the numbers were entered and it began all over again. That first day, John Locke followed the electrical cords back through the jungle, to their origin, where he'd both anticipated and dreaded they'd meet. He stood over one of the Compound's electrical outlets, hands on his hips, looking at the plugs, the grey, bound wires leading off into the jungle, and hummed under his breath.
"Okay," he said to himself, to whomever might be listening, and then he turned and made his way back to the button.
Two weeks later and John Locke had not left his post.
He stood now under the cover of a partially finished cabin, what would soon be a permanent shelter sprouted up around the computer, the counter, and the record player he'd moved nearby. The computer and the counter would not be moved. He'd build this new station up around it.
Nails sprouting from between his teeth, John was standing on a makeshift ladder, hammering on one of the cabin's outer supports, when the alarm began to scream. Another one hundred and eight minutes had passed and it was time, maybe not to save the world, but to protect something more than worth the effort.
[[John's taken up his post. Find him any time during the day or into the evening and he'll tell you what he's saving, or maybe try and recruit you for a shift. ST/LT more than welcome.]]
He pressed the button. Others pressed the button. Every hundred and eight minutes the alarm sounded, the numbers were entered and it began all over again. That first day, John Locke followed the electrical cords back through the jungle, to their origin, where he'd both anticipated and dreaded they'd meet. He stood over one of the Compound's electrical outlets, hands on his hips, looking at the plugs, the grey, bound wires leading off into the jungle, and hummed under his breath.
"Okay," he said to himself, to whomever might be listening, and then he turned and made his way back to the button.
Two weeks later and John Locke had not left his post.
He stood now under the cover of a partially finished cabin, what would soon be a permanent shelter sprouted up around the computer, the counter, and the record player he'd moved nearby. The computer and the counter would not be moved. He'd build this new station up around it.
Nails sprouting from between his teeth, John was standing on a makeshift ladder, hammering on one of the cabin's outer supports, when the alarm began to scream. Another one hundred and eight minutes had passed and it was time, maybe not to save the world, but to protect something more than worth the effort.
[[John's taken up his post. Find him any time during the day or into the evening and he'll tell you what he's saving, or maybe try and recruit you for a shift. ST/LT more than welcome.]]