31-01-2004, 21:09
OOC: Here’s my feeble attempt to do some schizo RPing. I’ve been visiting off and on for a few months, checking on my arms production, etc.
For ease for me, I’ll be posting both sides of this little fracas, since I’m technically both sides. I’ll continue as I have time, so don’t just jump in and take over.
IC:
Another work day was just a few short hours away from winding down in Sleeveria. In the huge, sprawling metropolis of Resnic, the first waves of the evening rush were beginning to swell the highways. Bridges and tunnels traversing the vast river that divided the city into unequal parts began to fill with traffic as workers began their nightly pilgrimage to their suburban homes. Since it was a Friday, traffic coming into the city would be heavier than on other nights, as suburbanites would flood the hot spots in an effort to forget the past week’s work.
In the midst of the growing traffic, a large tanker truck began making its way to the Midtown Tunnel. The driver and his companion were tense; months of preparation had gone into this day. They tried to appear calm, but both were perspiring. So many things could go wrong; there were so many variables that could wreck their plans. The passenger glanced for what had to be the one-hundredth time at the rudimentary control box whose wires trailed under the seat. All gauges read normal; a quick circuit test was rewarded with a green indicator light’s flashing. The truck reached its holding area on time and pulled into the shopping center parking lot. Neither man spoke, as each was absorbed by his thoughts. After a brief wait, the silence was interrupted by the shrill beeping of a pager. The driver hit a button and checked the number. He glanced at his companion with a look that said, “It is time.” Putting the truck into gear, he pulled out of the lot and headed toward the tunnel.
********
The dump truck headed south through the busy city streets, the driver being cautious to obey every traffic law that he could think of. If the police were out arresting those committing unusual acts, they would have had no choice but to stop the truck, as the driver was actually courteous as he carefully avoided any possibility of an accident. He arrived at his destination on the outskirts of the bustling business district. Parking in the shadow of the mighty steel and glass structures that reached heavenward, he waited. He pulled a small control box out from between the seats and pressed a button; a small green light flashed the system’s readiness. Satisfied, he pulled out a paper and began scanning the pages. He had no idea what was on them, as his mind was racing elsewhere. A beeper on the dashboard chirped impatiently at him; he checked the number and began rolling towards the heart of the business district. Unbeknownst to him, a half-dozen other dump trucks began moving at the same time, all heading for the same general area.
********
Back at the Midtown Tunnel, a City Transit employee walked past the tunnel complex’s main control room and noted who was inside. He continued to the break room and bought a can of soda from a vending machine. Returning to his cubical, he sipped at the soda and waited. His pager had already gone off; now, he waited for a second message.
********
The tractor-trailer slowly crawled through a maze of side streets as it gradually approached the western entrance to the Midtown Tunnel. “There,” breathed the passenger. A half-block away, the neatly-severed halves of a chain swung freely from a gate. The men saw the retreating figure of a man hurrying from the entrance. The driver allowed himself the slightest of smiles as, downshifting, he eased the truck through the gate. They were almost there.
********
The seven heavy dump trucks approached their targets. Cops and motorists alike looked at them in annoyance as they rumbled along. The drivers carefully made their way through the swarms of people that were pouring out of the walls of this man-made canyon; they didn’t want to hurt any of the puppets in their handsome suits and business attire – yet.
********
The semi driver eased to a stop. He had managed to approach the tunnel entrance from a maintenance access road; coming directly through the toll plaza would have resulted in his being told to turn his tanker around, as such vehicles were not allowed in the tunnel. He watched the stream of cars carefully, waiting for one to take a little too long in exiting the toll plaza…… there. He accelerated briskly.
A Transit Authority policeman saw the huge truck rocket from the maintenance road. He shouted at the driver, who merely glanced at him with contempt as he merged with the outermost lane of traffic and disappeared into the tunnel. The cop swore and grabbed his radio mic: “Tunnel East, this is Tunnel West. We’ve got a propane tanker headed your way. Advise that you stop this jerk when he comes out, as he must have busted a gate somewhere to get in.”
As the tanker was heading into the tunnel, the passenger dialed a number on his cell phone.
********
The City Transit employee heard his pager beep again. He checked the number. It was time. Reaching into a desk drawer, he pulled out a small-caliber pistol and headed for the control room. Upon entering, he turned and double-locked the door.
“Hey, Tim, what are you doing?” asked his supervisor.
Tim smiled as he approached with one hand behind his back. “Just a security precaution, that’s all.”
His supervisor paused, uncertain of what was going on. His eyes widened as Tim’s hidden hand came around from behind his back. In a smooth motion, Tim fired a round into his boss’ left eye. As the body collapsed to the floor, Tim spit and muttered, “Infidel.” Shoving the pistol into his waistband, he hurried over to the ventilation control panel. With a few keystrokes, all ventilation fans throughout the tunnel were disabled.
********
The dump truck drivers were all within site of their delivery points. Each pulled their control boxes out into the open as they headed into the milling throngs of people.
********
The tanker driver began slowing as he approached the midpoint of the tunnel. Slowly and deliberately, he began cranking his steering wheel to the left. Car horns erupted behind him as he cut off two lanes of traffic. He felt the wheels of the rig bounce over the low divider that separated the three eastbound lanes from the three heading west. Flashing his lights and blowing his horn, he warned the oncoming traffic of his intentions. He didn’t want to hit anyone, as they might have thwarted his purpose. In a few more seconds, he was stopped, blocking all six lanes with his vehicle. He nodded to the passenger, who hit a series of switches on his control panel.
Instantly, six customized blow-out panels on the tank opened. A roaring sound surprised those drivers who were in the process of getting out of their stopped cars. A business man cursed, then gagged. “What is that, propane?” he coughed. Inside the cab, the driver was relieved to see that none of the people were smoking. Allah was in control. He smiled. The passenger had his eyes glued to the dial on his box; it took all of two seconds for the dial to indicate that most of the gas had left the tank. Without looking at the driver, he pressed a small button.
Inside the tank, four detonators flashed.
Those closest to the tanker didn’t even know what had happened; the expanding fireball from the improvised fuel/air bomb consumed them with a millisecond. Those further from the truck had barely enough time to scream as the orange billows engulfed their vehicles and busses. Cars began erupting in flames; as was hoped, many gas tanks began exploding, adding their contents to the conflagration.
********
Back at the western entrance, the Transit Authority officer noticed that the traffic had stopped flowing into the tunnel. He walked towards the opening; he was almost there when a low rumble shook the ground beneath his feet. He stopped and looked around in wonder; his head jerked up as a huge gout of flame roared out of the tunnel entrance. The sound and the fury of the blast threw him through the air like a rag doll. Cars began burning; people ran screaming as their clothes, hair and skin blazed. The officer shakily got to his feet and stared into what seemed to be the very mouth of hell.
********
One after another, the dump trucks arrived at their target zones and stopped in the midst of the great crowds of pedestrians. Every truck had been modified; extra steel lined the insides of the bed walls. Someone familiar with these trucks would have noticed that the normally indented exterior bed panels were smooth. What they would not have been able to see was that the cavities were filled with rows of claymore mines; the reinforced bumpers were lined with the devices as well. Each truck was effectively a huge anti-personnel device.
Each driver pressed a button. With a deafening roar, the trucks seemed to explode as hundreds of thousands of steel balls blasted through the fake cardboard walls. As the explosions subsided, there was a brief silence that was shattered by the screams of the shocked, injured, and dying. The drivers looked out on scenes of total carnage. Shredded bodes stretched for a hundred yards on all sides. Windows were shattered. Dazed and bleeding commuters clutched themselves and each other as their minds tried to comprehend what had just happened.
After a few stunned moments, people began to pour into the kill zones in the effort to help the injured and dying. Nearby cops began making their way toward the smoking trucks, weapons held in their shaking hands as they picked their way through the bloody mess that used to be a sidewalk. The drivers noted the police approaching their respective vehicles. Over the next five minutes, the city shook seven more times as each driver detonated the huge bombs that they carried in their beds. Buildings lost their glass facades that crashed atop pedestrians. Small fires broke out in ground-floor shops. Vehicles exploded. People screamed. Buildings burned.
********
Four men looked out over the city from their vantage point across the river. Seven distinct columns of smoke combined in a massive funeral pyre over the financial center, and two thick, black towers of smoke billowed from either side of the river. The leader of the men observed for a few moments, seeming to savor the wails of the sirens that wafted to them on the late afternoon breeze. He spoke for them all: “May Allah be thrice-blessed.”
For ease for me, I’ll be posting both sides of this little fracas, since I’m technically both sides. I’ll continue as I have time, so don’t just jump in and take over.
IC:
Another work day was just a few short hours away from winding down in Sleeveria. In the huge, sprawling metropolis of Resnic, the first waves of the evening rush were beginning to swell the highways. Bridges and tunnels traversing the vast river that divided the city into unequal parts began to fill with traffic as workers began their nightly pilgrimage to their suburban homes. Since it was a Friday, traffic coming into the city would be heavier than on other nights, as suburbanites would flood the hot spots in an effort to forget the past week’s work.
In the midst of the growing traffic, a large tanker truck began making its way to the Midtown Tunnel. The driver and his companion were tense; months of preparation had gone into this day. They tried to appear calm, but both were perspiring. So many things could go wrong; there were so many variables that could wreck their plans. The passenger glanced for what had to be the one-hundredth time at the rudimentary control box whose wires trailed under the seat. All gauges read normal; a quick circuit test was rewarded with a green indicator light’s flashing. The truck reached its holding area on time and pulled into the shopping center parking lot. Neither man spoke, as each was absorbed by his thoughts. After a brief wait, the silence was interrupted by the shrill beeping of a pager. The driver hit a button and checked the number. He glanced at his companion with a look that said, “It is time.” Putting the truck into gear, he pulled out of the lot and headed toward the tunnel.
********
The dump truck headed south through the busy city streets, the driver being cautious to obey every traffic law that he could think of. If the police were out arresting those committing unusual acts, they would have had no choice but to stop the truck, as the driver was actually courteous as he carefully avoided any possibility of an accident. He arrived at his destination on the outskirts of the bustling business district. Parking in the shadow of the mighty steel and glass structures that reached heavenward, he waited. He pulled a small control box out from between the seats and pressed a button; a small green light flashed the system’s readiness. Satisfied, he pulled out a paper and began scanning the pages. He had no idea what was on them, as his mind was racing elsewhere. A beeper on the dashboard chirped impatiently at him; he checked the number and began rolling towards the heart of the business district. Unbeknownst to him, a half-dozen other dump trucks began moving at the same time, all heading for the same general area.
********
Back at the Midtown Tunnel, a City Transit employee walked past the tunnel complex’s main control room and noted who was inside. He continued to the break room and bought a can of soda from a vending machine. Returning to his cubical, he sipped at the soda and waited. His pager had already gone off; now, he waited for a second message.
********
The tractor-trailer slowly crawled through a maze of side streets as it gradually approached the western entrance to the Midtown Tunnel. “There,” breathed the passenger. A half-block away, the neatly-severed halves of a chain swung freely from a gate. The men saw the retreating figure of a man hurrying from the entrance. The driver allowed himself the slightest of smiles as, downshifting, he eased the truck through the gate. They were almost there.
********
The seven heavy dump trucks approached their targets. Cops and motorists alike looked at them in annoyance as they rumbled along. The drivers carefully made their way through the swarms of people that were pouring out of the walls of this man-made canyon; they didn’t want to hurt any of the puppets in their handsome suits and business attire – yet.
********
The semi driver eased to a stop. He had managed to approach the tunnel entrance from a maintenance access road; coming directly through the toll plaza would have resulted in his being told to turn his tanker around, as such vehicles were not allowed in the tunnel. He watched the stream of cars carefully, waiting for one to take a little too long in exiting the toll plaza…… there. He accelerated briskly.
A Transit Authority policeman saw the huge truck rocket from the maintenance road. He shouted at the driver, who merely glanced at him with contempt as he merged with the outermost lane of traffic and disappeared into the tunnel. The cop swore and grabbed his radio mic: “Tunnel East, this is Tunnel West. We’ve got a propane tanker headed your way. Advise that you stop this jerk when he comes out, as he must have busted a gate somewhere to get in.”
As the tanker was heading into the tunnel, the passenger dialed a number on his cell phone.
********
The City Transit employee heard his pager beep again. He checked the number. It was time. Reaching into a desk drawer, he pulled out a small-caliber pistol and headed for the control room. Upon entering, he turned and double-locked the door.
“Hey, Tim, what are you doing?” asked his supervisor.
Tim smiled as he approached with one hand behind his back. “Just a security precaution, that’s all.”
His supervisor paused, uncertain of what was going on. His eyes widened as Tim’s hidden hand came around from behind his back. In a smooth motion, Tim fired a round into his boss’ left eye. As the body collapsed to the floor, Tim spit and muttered, “Infidel.” Shoving the pistol into his waistband, he hurried over to the ventilation control panel. With a few keystrokes, all ventilation fans throughout the tunnel were disabled.
********
The dump truck drivers were all within site of their delivery points. Each pulled their control boxes out into the open as they headed into the milling throngs of people.
********
The tanker driver began slowing as he approached the midpoint of the tunnel. Slowly and deliberately, he began cranking his steering wheel to the left. Car horns erupted behind him as he cut off two lanes of traffic. He felt the wheels of the rig bounce over the low divider that separated the three eastbound lanes from the three heading west. Flashing his lights and blowing his horn, he warned the oncoming traffic of his intentions. He didn’t want to hit anyone, as they might have thwarted his purpose. In a few more seconds, he was stopped, blocking all six lanes with his vehicle. He nodded to the passenger, who hit a series of switches on his control panel.
Instantly, six customized blow-out panels on the tank opened. A roaring sound surprised those drivers who were in the process of getting out of their stopped cars. A business man cursed, then gagged. “What is that, propane?” he coughed. Inside the cab, the driver was relieved to see that none of the people were smoking. Allah was in control. He smiled. The passenger had his eyes glued to the dial on his box; it took all of two seconds for the dial to indicate that most of the gas had left the tank. Without looking at the driver, he pressed a small button.
Inside the tank, four detonators flashed.
Those closest to the tanker didn’t even know what had happened; the expanding fireball from the improvised fuel/air bomb consumed them with a millisecond. Those further from the truck had barely enough time to scream as the orange billows engulfed their vehicles and busses. Cars began erupting in flames; as was hoped, many gas tanks began exploding, adding their contents to the conflagration.
********
Back at the western entrance, the Transit Authority officer noticed that the traffic had stopped flowing into the tunnel. He walked towards the opening; he was almost there when a low rumble shook the ground beneath his feet. He stopped and looked around in wonder; his head jerked up as a huge gout of flame roared out of the tunnel entrance. The sound and the fury of the blast threw him through the air like a rag doll. Cars began burning; people ran screaming as their clothes, hair and skin blazed. The officer shakily got to his feet and stared into what seemed to be the very mouth of hell.
********
One after another, the dump trucks arrived at their target zones and stopped in the midst of the great crowds of pedestrians. Every truck had been modified; extra steel lined the insides of the bed walls. Someone familiar with these trucks would have noticed that the normally indented exterior bed panels were smooth. What they would not have been able to see was that the cavities were filled with rows of claymore mines; the reinforced bumpers were lined with the devices as well. Each truck was effectively a huge anti-personnel device.
Each driver pressed a button. With a deafening roar, the trucks seemed to explode as hundreds of thousands of steel balls blasted through the fake cardboard walls. As the explosions subsided, there was a brief silence that was shattered by the screams of the shocked, injured, and dying. The drivers looked out on scenes of total carnage. Shredded bodes stretched for a hundred yards on all sides. Windows were shattered. Dazed and bleeding commuters clutched themselves and each other as their minds tried to comprehend what had just happened.
After a few stunned moments, people began to pour into the kill zones in the effort to help the injured and dying. Nearby cops began making their way toward the smoking trucks, weapons held in their shaking hands as they picked their way through the bloody mess that used to be a sidewalk. The drivers noted the police approaching their respective vehicles. Over the next five minutes, the city shook seven more times as each driver detonated the huge bombs that they carried in their beds. Buildings lost their glass facades that crashed atop pedestrians. Small fires broke out in ground-floor shops. Vehicles exploded. People screamed. Buildings burned.
********
Four men looked out over the city from their vantage point across the river. Seven distinct columns of smoke combined in a massive funeral pyre over the financial center, and two thick, black towers of smoke billowed from either side of the river. The leader of the men observed for a few moments, seeming to savor the wails of the sirens that wafted to them on the late afternoon breeze. He spoke for them all: “May Allah be thrice-blessed.”