Lroon
24-11-2006, 03:49
Charles Mensan. Leader of his people for more than thirty years. Well, not so much leader as opressor for the last twenty-eight. The woman he had selected for tonight was being escorted in by two armed guards. She looked nervous, but not actually frightened. That was good. It meant that the guards hadn't taken any liberties with her, as they occasionally did.
Waste of a good guard, that, really. "Will that be all, sir?" Asked Mr. Groll. Mensan tore his eyes of the girl, and turned to Groll. Damn the man, Mensan had forgot he was there. That happened sometimes when you were dealing with a man like Groll. He just sort of faded into the background.
"Yes. That will do nicely." Said Mensan, turning back to the young woman. Around twenty, if he remembered correctly. A pretty young thing. The prisoner uniform fit her figure nicely. He had designed it that way.
Mr. Groll stopped next to the guards for a moment, and coughed into a handkerchief. He continued on his way. The guards shoved the woman forward and left.
"Ms. Grace Harper, I believe," said Mensan, continuing to run his eyes over her. "You have been convicted of traitorous sentiment towards the nation of Lroon. The punishment for this, as I'm sure you are aware, is death. There is another option however. If, for the next several hours, you do exactly as I say, your record will be expunged and you will be set free. What do you say, Ms. Harper?"
Ms. Harper looked at Mr. Mensan. "Bullshit," she said. "I'm not leaving here alive. You and I both no it, you pompous bastard."
Mr. Mensan was in good shape for a man of sixty years. He moved with surprising speed and struck Grace across the face with the back of his hand. She stumbled backwards, a thin trickle of blood coming from her nose.
"The only difference between this and all the other woman you've lied to, is that you aren't leaving here alive either," said Grace, standing up, and began to laugh.
***
The explosion destroyed the top several floors of the building, and several others beneath that were gutted. After that, things just got crazy. Somehow untouched by the explosion, a helicopter rose from the smoldering wreckage. Without hesitation, it opened fire on an office building across the way.
***
Office workers scattered, but several were hit and killed nonetheless. The rest fled madly towards the door. Several tripped and were trampled. One man did not run, but instead rolled underneath a heavy oak desk. He came back up with an armor piercing gun. He fired several times, and through what would seem to have to be a phenomal stroke of luck, managed to hit the fuel tank. The helicopter went up in a brilliant fireball, and the burnt out wreckage spiraled to the ground below, where it fell on a fuel truck. The fuel truck went up in an even more brilliant fireball.
***
Mr. Groll paused in the street below to watch the glowing inferno. He glanced at his watch. "Hmm," he said, and took another route to his destination.
Waste of a good guard, that, really. "Will that be all, sir?" Asked Mr. Groll. Mensan tore his eyes of the girl, and turned to Groll. Damn the man, Mensan had forgot he was there. That happened sometimes when you were dealing with a man like Groll. He just sort of faded into the background.
"Yes. That will do nicely." Said Mensan, turning back to the young woman. Around twenty, if he remembered correctly. A pretty young thing. The prisoner uniform fit her figure nicely. He had designed it that way.
Mr. Groll stopped next to the guards for a moment, and coughed into a handkerchief. He continued on his way. The guards shoved the woman forward and left.
"Ms. Grace Harper, I believe," said Mensan, continuing to run his eyes over her. "You have been convicted of traitorous sentiment towards the nation of Lroon. The punishment for this, as I'm sure you are aware, is death. There is another option however. If, for the next several hours, you do exactly as I say, your record will be expunged and you will be set free. What do you say, Ms. Harper?"
Ms. Harper looked at Mr. Mensan. "Bullshit," she said. "I'm not leaving here alive. You and I both no it, you pompous bastard."
Mr. Mensan was in good shape for a man of sixty years. He moved with surprising speed and struck Grace across the face with the back of his hand. She stumbled backwards, a thin trickle of blood coming from her nose.
"The only difference between this and all the other woman you've lied to, is that you aren't leaving here alive either," said Grace, standing up, and began to laugh.
***
The explosion destroyed the top several floors of the building, and several others beneath that were gutted. After that, things just got crazy. Somehow untouched by the explosion, a helicopter rose from the smoldering wreckage. Without hesitation, it opened fire on an office building across the way.
***
Office workers scattered, but several were hit and killed nonetheless. The rest fled madly towards the door. Several tripped and were trampled. One man did not run, but instead rolled underneath a heavy oak desk. He came back up with an armor piercing gun. He fired several times, and through what would seem to have to be a phenomal stroke of luck, managed to hit the fuel tank. The helicopter went up in a brilliant fireball, and the burnt out wreckage spiraled to the ground below, where it fell on a fuel truck. The fuel truck went up in an even more brilliant fireball.
***
Mr. Groll paused in the street below to watch the glowing inferno. He glanced at his watch. "Hmm," he said, and took another route to his destination.