Eternity RPC Board
10-12-2020, 02:14 AM
Melonoë swallowed thickly. Thirty? Thirty containers? That was far more than she’d been prepared for — about five times more to be precise. Clearly Shapur and his comrades had been moving their product into the elevator for days if not weeks. If not months.
Damn the inadequate intel she’d received.
Her hesitation lasted only a second.
“Stay here,” she barked, her gun still pressed tightly against the man. “If I see your face, I’ll kill you.” Unmentioned was the fact that she planned to kill him either way before the evening’s end.
Before she’d even finished her last word, she jumped backwards, opening the door with her weight and keeping her eyes and gun trained on the man until the springs pulled the door closed again. She wheeled herself in an about face and set off across the port floor at full tilt, not bothering to look back to see if she’d been obeyed - it didn’t matter. She clumsily holstered her gun as she sprinted, jamming it down through the unzipped top of her coveralls; in a moment, a pistol wouldn’t matter, either.
As Melinoë ran, she ducked and wove behind concrete support pillars, laden forklifts, and other solid structures, putting something of a barrier between herself and the man she’d left behind. Surely Shapur would have radioed his comrades for support by now, and it was better if she could lose herself in the sprawling complex — getting shot would really put a damper on things.
Destroy the cargo.
Demonstrate the Asphodel.
Minimize bystander casualties.
The checklist replayed in her mind as if it were a grocery list and she might forget an ingredient for a meal. Oil, flour, salt. Destroy, demonstrate, minimize.
As she closed the distance between herself and the outermost security checkpoint at the base of the elevator, she jerked up her sleeve and tapped a button on the hands-free communicator strapped to her forearm. At the same time, a group of inspectors and customs agents, discontented by this disheveled mechanic sprinting directly at their area, began waving their arms as if trying to flag down a runaway semi.
“Hey, you’re not permitted beyond this point!” they shouted, and, “Stop! Hey, you, stop!”
At once, they were cut off as the deafening sound of warping metal and straining synthetics squealed and groaned into the cavernous space from behind them. The din swallowed the ambient sounds of the lifts and trains and myriad other mechanical processes. When it was over, the Gundam Asphodel stood at full height in the wrecked carcass of an elevator train: a fully formed warrior Athena burst from the head of Zeus. A demon of the underworld.
Damn the inadequate intel she’d received.
Her hesitation lasted only a second.
“Stay here,” she barked, her gun still pressed tightly against the man. “If I see your face, I’ll kill you.” Unmentioned was the fact that she planned to kill him either way before the evening’s end.
Before she’d even finished her last word, she jumped backwards, opening the door with her weight and keeping her eyes and gun trained on the man until the springs pulled the door closed again. She wheeled herself in an about face and set off across the port floor at full tilt, not bothering to look back to see if she’d been obeyed - it didn’t matter. She clumsily holstered her gun as she sprinted, jamming it down through the unzipped top of her coveralls; in a moment, a pistol wouldn’t matter, either.
As Melinoë ran, she ducked and wove behind concrete support pillars, laden forklifts, and other solid structures, putting something of a barrier between herself and the man she’d left behind. Surely Shapur would have radioed his comrades for support by now, and it was better if she could lose herself in the sprawling complex — getting shot would really put a damper on things.
Destroy the cargo.
Demonstrate the Asphodel.
Minimize bystander casualties.
The checklist replayed in her mind as if it were a grocery list and she might forget an ingredient for a meal. Oil, flour, salt. Destroy, demonstrate, minimize.
As she closed the distance between herself and the outermost security checkpoint at the base of the elevator, she jerked up her sleeve and tapped a button on the hands-free communicator strapped to her forearm. At the same time, a group of inspectors and customs agents, discontented by this disheveled mechanic sprinting directly at their area, began waving their arms as if trying to flag down a runaway semi.
“Hey, you’re not permitted beyond this point!” they shouted, and, “Stop! Hey, you, stop!”
At once, they were cut off as the deafening sound of warping metal and straining synthetics squealed and groaned into the cavernous space from behind them. The din swallowed the ambient sounds of the lifts and trains and myriad other mechanical processes. When it was over, the Gundam Asphodel stood at full height in the wrecked carcass of an elevator train: a fully formed warrior Athena burst from the head of Zeus. A demon of the underworld.