Re: Vendetta [S!2 Round 1 ~ Presidentialgon]
01-11-2012, 06:34 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Flummox.
[color=#99z8rz]The walls disappeared. The old man and his goons disappeared. The room, gone. Where…?
The clicking of shoes on hard concrete tore Felgurd from his confusion. He performed a quick scan of the room. If he were discovered without having the absolute upper hand, the results would be… unpleasant. Unwanted memories surfaced in Felgurd’s broken mind, memories of that frosted bridge in Alaska. No. Tolgurd’s fate is reserved only for him, and him alone.
He had to hide. Where to hide? The room was bare. Red carpet. White paint. A mahogany desk sat alone in one corner, but it was too small to make an adequate hiding place. It had a high ceiling; the rafters were not an option. Or…
A clenched fist hit the wall, hard. Feet-hands gripped the crumbling plaster, hauling their bearer upwards, ever upwards. Another arm sprouted from Felgurd’s backside, emerging from the rear of his collar and gripping the wooden rafter securely. Swinging legs found purchase on the beams at the instant fumbling hands found the doorknob.
The door swung inwards with a soft, high-pitched creaking. Two sets of footsteps reverberated through the room, the sharp noise of high heels only slightly muffled by the carpet, and the heavy thud of thick boots clearly penetrating the walls and floor, causing the rafters to vibrate slightly.
“Sir, I clearly think that –“
“I don’t care what, you think, Mrs. Rensfield. I’ve started this operation and I’m going to finish it.”
“But sir –“
“I brought you here for a reason, Mrs. Rensfield. Now would you like to do your job or not?”
“Yes sir.”
The steps moved over to the desk. Felgurd, his curiosity aroused, peeked around the corner of the beam. A man sharply dressed in military uniform stood behind the desk, rifling through a filing cabinet. His iron grey hair stood out sharply from his deeply tanned and scarred face. A woman stood opposite, clothed in a grey jacket and skirt. Felgurd couldn’t see her face; she was facing towards the man.
The man found what he was looking for, and pulled out a black folder from one of the drawers.
“Have a look here.”
“What are these?” The woman opened the folder and began going through it. Elaborate diagrams were drawn on wide sheets of paper, but none of them made any sense to Felgurd.
“Those schematics are the plans for Operation Violent Falcon.”
“These plans seem very simplified. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No. There are simple plans for a simple task.”
“Sir, this operation won’t be easy, if that’s what you’re –“
“Not easy, no. Bloody, yes. Probably on both sides of the equation. But simple, yes. There’s only one way we can do this, and that’s the way we are going to have to choose.”
“Look, even you acknowledge that this will come with heavy sacrifice. Call it off now while it’s still in the preliminary stages of planning.”
“No. This has been started and it will end. One of us will have to die and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be us.”
“But sir, the USSR is a huge country –“
“It’s all been taken care of.”
“But you can’t seriously be thinking of destroying millions of –“
“They’re the Reds. We can do whatever we want to them, godamnit.”
“But with such a low population density, the costs of killing every single one of them will be astronomical –“
“But it’s in the budget, Mrs. Rensfield. This is absolutely necessary, I assure you.”
The two continued speaking as they exited the room. Voices faded down the hall. The rafters creaked, loudly, as Felgurd let himself down. He was confident no one else was in the room. He stepped over to the desk. Perhaps there was something of use to him there. He opened all the drawers of the file cabinet, but all its contents were papers. Felgurd could read, but not very well, and papers were no use to him anyway.
The desk was next. The drawers were a little tight fit, maybe water damaged a bit. They squeaked when opened, but hopefully it was not noticeable. There were seven drawers; three on either side and a wide one under the top. It was in the latter that Felgurd found something useful: a pistol.
He’d seen these things work before, but never actually used them. Now that he was stuck in this strange place, it was probably a good time to learn. They could be deadly. He’d seen their effect on other humans, and Tolgurd… Tolgurd!
But no. No. He had to put his past behind him. It was all resting on him now. Only he could avenge Tolgurd. No one else. No one else knew him, cared for him, loved him. No one.
He picked up the pistol. It felt light in his hand. He tried to mimic the poses he’d seen other humans use guns with, but none of them felt right. He tried holding it with one hand, two hands, sideways. It was just so unnatural. He held it up to the light. It was nothing extraordinary. A chunk of black metal, bent and twisted into another shape. He tossed it from one hand to the other. Maybe it was broken.
A careless fumble. A sudden cracking noise. It was quieter than Felgurd expected. Plaster rained from the ceiling. He dropped the gun. Footsteps came pounding towards the doorway. Thinking quickly, Felgurd sprinted over and slammed the door, hard. There were shouts, and the footsteps came faster. What could make a good doorstop…? There, the desk! Felgurd dashed to the desk and tossed it in front of the door.
There weren’t any windows in the room. No escape routes. The walls. He could go through the walls. Taking the file cabinet, Felgurd rammed it clean through the nearest wall, the surrounding plaster and concrete cracking and tearing chunks from the wall. He crawled through the hole and into the next room.
Fortunately, it was empty.[/color]
[color=#99z8rz]The walls disappeared. The old man and his goons disappeared. The room, gone. Where…?
The clicking of shoes on hard concrete tore Felgurd from his confusion. He performed a quick scan of the room. If he were discovered without having the absolute upper hand, the results would be… unpleasant. Unwanted memories surfaced in Felgurd’s broken mind, memories of that frosted bridge in Alaska. No. Tolgurd’s fate is reserved only for him, and him alone.
He had to hide. Where to hide? The room was bare. Red carpet. White paint. A mahogany desk sat alone in one corner, but it was too small to make an adequate hiding place. It had a high ceiling; the rafters were not an option. Or…
A clenched fist hit the wall, hard. Feet-hands gripped the crumbling plaster, hauling their bearer upwards, ever upwards. Another arm sprouted from Felgurd’s backside, emerging from the rear of his collar and gripping the wooden rafter securely. Swinging legs found purchase on the beams at the instant fumbling hands found the doorknob.
The door swung inwards with a soft, high-pitched creaking. Two sets of footsteps reverberated through the room, the sharp noise of high heels only slightly muffled by the carpet, and the heavy thud of thick boots clearly penetrating the walls and floor, causing the rafters to vibrate slightly.
“Sir, I clearly think that –“
“I don’t care what, you think, Mrs. Rensfield. I’ve started this operation and I’m going to finish it.”
“But sir –“
“I brought you here for a reason, Mrs. Rensfield. Now would you like to do your job or not?”
“Yes sir.”
The steps moved over to the desk. Felgurd, his curiosity aroused, peeked around the corner of the beam. A man sharply dressed in military uniform stood behind the desk, rifling through a filing cabinet. His iron grey hair stood out sharply from his deeply tanned and scarred face. A woman stood opposite, clothed in a grey jacket and skirt. Felgurd couldn’t see her face; she was facing towards the man.
The man found what he was looking for, and pulled out a black folder from one of the drawers.
“Have a look here.”
“What are these?” The woman opened the folder and began going through it. Elaborate diagrams were drawn on wide sheets of paper, but none of them made any sense to Felgurd.
“Those schematics are the plans for Operation Violent Falcon.”
“These plans seem very simplified. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No. There are simple plans for a simple task.”
“Sir, this operation won’t be easy, if that’s what you’re –“
“Not easy, no. Bloody, yes. Probably on both sides of the equation. But simple, yes. There’s only one way we can do this, and that’s the way we are going to have to choose.”
“Look, even you acknowledge that this will come with heavy sacrifice. Call it off now while it’s still in the preliminary stages of planning.”
“No. This has been started and it will end. One of us will have to die and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be us.”
“But sir, the USSR is a huge country –“
“It’s all been taken care of.”
“But you can’t seriously be thinking of destroying millions of –“
“They’re the Reds. We can do whatever we want to them, godamnit.”
“But with such a low population density, the costs of killing every single one of them will be astronomical –“
“But it’s in the budget, Mrs. Rensfield. This is absolutely necessary, I assure you.”
The two continued speaking as they exited the room. Voices faded down the hall. The rafters creaked, loudly, as Felgurd let himself down. He was confident no one else was in the room. He stepped over to the desk. Perhaps there was something of use to him there. He opened all the drawers of the file cabinet, but all its contents were papers. Felgurd could read, but not very well, and papers were no use to him anyway.
The desk was next. The drawers were a little tight fit, maybe water damaged a bit. They squeaked when opened, but hopefully it was not noticeable. There were seven drawers; three on either side and a wide one under the top. It was in the latter that Felgurd found something useful: a pistol.
He’d seen these things work before, but never actually used them. Now that he was stuck in this strange place, it was probably a good time to learn. They could be deadly. He’d seen their effect on other humans, and Tolgurd… Tolgurd!
But no. No. He had to put his past behind him. It was all resting on him now. Only he could avenge Tolgurd. No one else. No one else knew him, cared for him, loved him. No one.
He picked up the pistol. It felt light in his hand. He tried to mimic the poses he’d seen other humans use guns with, but none of them felt right. He tried holding it with one hand, two hands, sideways. It was just so unnatural. He held it up to the light. It was nothing extraordinary. A chunk of black metal, bent and twisted into another shape. He tossed it from one hand to the other. Maybe it was broken.
A careless fumble. A sudden cracking noise. It was quieter than Felgurd expected. Plaster rained from the ceiling. He dropped the gun. Footsteps came pounding towards the doorway. Thinking quickly, Felgurd sprinted over and slammed the door, hard. There were shouts, and the footsteps came faster. What could make a good doorstop…? There, the desk! Felgurd dashed to the desk and tossed it in front of the door.
There weren’t any windows in the room. No escape routes. The walls. He could go through the walls. Taking the file cabinet, Felgurd rammed it clean through the nearest wall, the surrounding plaster and concrete cracking and tearing chunks from the wall. He crawled through the hole and into the next room.
Fortunately, it was empty.[/color]