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Post by beholdthevoid on Mar 2, 2005 1:26:33 GMT -5
And I was hoping to get some work done today. Ah well, it can't be helped. I knew when I first started doing what I was doing that the truth takes precedent over my assignment. Hopefully I can still find time to scrounge together a story for the paper that is worth reading. I finish cooking my noodles and dump them into a bowl, slurping them down as fast as I can. Grabbing my notebook and throwing on my suit, I make my way to the subway and into the office. By the time I get there, it's 6 AM, I have a bit of time to do some research before I start working. Going over files, I begin to make some steady progress before my coworkers file in. Eventually, the assignments are handed out, and I'm off. While I do make a marginal effort to get the information I need for my story, most of my time is spent researching what Peter asked for. At 11:00 AM, I believe I've put together enough information and I give him a call.
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Post by Heikki Toivonen on Mar 2, 2005 1:30:49 GMT -5
Heikki was very angry at the mud puddle he stepped in. He was admiring the blast and didn't bother to look down at the massive oily puddle. He swears at his saturated sock as the smoke billows from the Moscow apartment building he just helped to blow up. "Fucking stupid... Chechnya...pay my dry cleaning..." Are amongst the many words he says.
Typo: "muddle puddle?"...
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Post by Peter G. Nielsen on Mar 2, 2005 1:38:17 GMT -5
Peter snaps open his phone, his hand shaking slightly as he does. Damn it was cold out. "Tell me good news, Austin. I've got frostbite out here."
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Post by beholdthevoid on Mar 2, 2005 1:43:49 GMT -5
"It depends on how you define good news. I've been researching the names all morning. The first three on the list were just recently connected to a thwarted terrorist attack made by Muslim extremists on Heathrow Airport last night. They all managed to escape relatively unscathed and are still at large. The forth, sixth, and seventh name are all cold trails, nobody's heard from them in quite some time. The fifth, however, has been quite busy. He's involved in some sort of negotiations with Opec, and it looks to be rather shady business indeed. The final one... he worries me. He resurfaced recently and appears to have been staying clean and keeping his nose out of trouble. Most people aren't aware of what he's done in the past, so he's pretty much free to move as he pleases around the country. He's been making contact with not only the Microsoft VP but the higher-ups of other corporations as well. So far he hasn't put even a toe out of line, and that worries me more than the rest of them put together."
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Post by Peter G. Nielsen on Mar 2, 2005 1:52:18 GMT -5
"Great. That guy's even had deals with Vector. This one could be tricky if he's involved. I..." Peter curses rather creativly into the phone for a moment before his voice returns to a more even tone, "Sorry. Rat bite me on the toe. God, I hate this park. Mr. Final Name: Trent Steel... name like that, you'd be sure it was fake. I'll check the guy out in person, I know he's in town for a few days.
I don't think the bombers are the contacts with the VP, their more grunts that organizers. And Opec is always bad for politics. Deepthroat will be pissed if their involved.
*sigh* Alright. I'm going to check out Trent and then look into Opec guy. I'll call you back in five hours. If you don't hear from me them message Deepthroat's contact address.
And remember to cover your track, Austin."
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Post by beholdthevoid on Mar 2, 2005 1:56:17 GMT -5
"I always cover my tracks, Peter. It's part of the business," I say as I hang up. Now that that's been taken care of, I can actually get back to my REAL job. Checking the time, I continue my work on the story, scrounging up enough information to submit a rather detailed report to the editor. It is good that I never really performed this job to my full potential, I can make him think that what I am giving him is good work while putting most my effort into other, more important endeavors.
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Post by Peter G. Nielsen on Mar 2, 2005 2:06:16 GMT -5
A little under an hour later Peter is leaning against the smooth marble wall of a building on wallstreet, a latte in his hand, helping to combat the cold wind.
"Trent Steel," he mutters into his drink as he takes a sip, "Dangerous ground..." Security for the building is passable but without knowing what kind of staff Trent had, Peter didn't want to wander around in there. Best to wait it out.
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Post by Mikhael Nadyezhda Kirsanov on Mar 2, 2005 2:07:45 GMT -5
People are running away from the explosion in all directions, screaming. Some are standing in shock, and awe. I sling my rifle back over my shoulder, and make it to the explosion. An apartment complex.
The floor is littered with bodies, and within a few seconds, other soldiers and police, make it to epicenter. Men and women kneel beside bodies yelling and screaming, doing their best to will them back into existance.
"Get out of here, now. Seychas!" I say, waving my hand to motion for their escape. Most start to run, but some stay behind, still grieving. I grab one by the shoulder. "GET GOING!" I shout. The others begin to leave.
"Shit!" A Spetnaz shouts in the distance, by the stair case. He runs at us yelling "It's all coming down, run for your fucking life!" His arms off to the side, as though he were trying to capture us with a net. I turn around and begin running with the others, leaping over the bodies of the dead. A harsh grinding sound rings in my ears, followed by louder and louder thuds. Smog fills the air, almost from nowhere, and follows us out of the apartment complex. Within a few short seconds, the entire building collapses, me just one step ahead of it.
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Post by beholdthevoid on Mar 2, 2005 2:08:54 GMT -5
Having finished gathering information, I return to my desk and begin typing the article to appear in the paper.
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Post by Heikki Toivonen on Mar 2, 2005 2:13:33 GMT -5
Someone pushes Heikki as they try to escape the collapsing apartment. He takes a large bite of an apple as screaming people flood past him in a panic.
"Okay people, I'm trying to eat here. Show some respect." He says as he is jostled once again. The building will soon crumble, but Heikki doesn't care enough about his life to run.
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Post by Peter G. Nielsen on Mar 2, 2005 2:17:27 GMT -5
Peter is on his third latte by the time his target leaves the lavish hotel, a personal body guard with him and three security officers along in another car. Peter eases away from the building and hails a cab, quickly sliding inside.
"Follow that car," he says, wincing at the cleche the moment is passes his lips. The driver looks back at him and says something with a thick Persain accent. Too thick, Peter has no idea what he said. "Just follow them."
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Post by beholdthevoid on Mar 2, 2005 2:20:20 GMT -5
The article is easy to write, and I am finished in less than an hour. Now with nothing better to do, I look into the reports on the thwarted terrorist attack from earlier this morning.
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Post by Peter G. Nielsen on Mar 2, 2005 2:25:05 GMT -5
After a few hours, and a very costly taxi ride, Peter has learned a few things.
1) Trent visited alot of business people 2) His security had no openings Peter could make use of. And 3) None of these meetings seemed to be odd.
Excluding the sheer number of business Trent conducted there was nothing out of the ordinary with the way the man operated. His connections seemed to run all through the town and the door man at every building he went to knew his name.
Once again on the street, once again outside Trent's hotel, Peter opens his cellphone to call Austin. He needed another opinion on this.
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Post by beholdthevoid on Mar 2, 2005 2:26:14 GMT -5
"Hello?"
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Post by Mikhael Nadyezhda Kirsanov on Mar 2, 2005 2:32:07 GMT -5
We push through the doors, the cloud pushing on ahead of us. It doesn't take longer than a second before I'm completely blinded.
Snag.
I trip over a piece of debris, and fall hard on my face. The roar of the building begins to catch up with me. A large slab of concrete lands square on my back, where the assault rifle was resting, knocking the wind out of me. A strange painful moan/yelp escapes my lips, as I am now unable to breathe.
The roar is now loud in my ears, and just as it reaches its apex, something hits my head hard, and I am knocked unconscious.
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