And still no introduction of my main character. *forehead smack*
Here's yesterday's and today's writing, since LJ was down and I couldn't post my completed chunk the other day.
There was something in his blue eyes, a coldness that echoed his calm over the acts he had committed. That cold gaze stopped those who were looking at him, wondering how he could have survived, and with each person his eyes fell upon, they remained transfixed, afraid that they were next as his watchful glare lingered upon them for several moments, before continuing on to the next person.
Several people within the building had gathered at the windows, watching the scene below. None of them dared rush outside to try and stop anything further from occuring. Not after what they had just witnessed. Even from the windows, none of them felt safe, and some kept well away from them, and others not even willing to even try to watch, for fear that just that simple act would bring destruction down upon them.
From the moment of the explosion, and the people inside had seen what happened, calls had already been placed to 911, and far off in the distance, sirens could already be heard. Outside, everyone remained in a frozen tableau, everyone unsure of what to do, not willing to intimidate the stranger in their midst.
Finally, the representative of First Strike moved, breaking the tension, even if it was broken only to increase, and took a few steps forward, moving past the charred asphalt he had created. He came to a stop just beyond the arc of the crater he had formed.
The others broke from the spots where their feet had taken root. They scrabbled to put as much distance between them and the man who only moments ago they had seen explode. Now that they knew he had inexplicably survived, and was moving closer to the brick structure they spent most of their current lives in.
With a single word, a single cry of, "Stop," the employees found themselves frozen once more, not through any compulsion, or act of control by their assailant, but simply due to a basic animal desire to survive the encounter. Meanwhile, inside, the people nearest the window took several steps back as well, when the man moved forward, coming closer to them.
While the carnage around them still weighed heavily on their minds, it slipped further from their primary thoughts, as everyone remained focused on the young man in the trenchcoat. He glared at those around him, as they came to a stop upon his command, pleased at the power of fear he held over them.
A small smile cracked on his face, his lips thinning as the corners of his mouth twitched at their reaction. If anything, this only caused a deeper sense of fear within the people he had come to terrorize.
At long last, he spoke again, once he had surveyed those he had left alive.
"Those of you still remaining here," he said, as an arm extended, and a hand covered in a black glove extended a lone finger, pointing in an arc, taking in all those arrayed around him. "All of you, have been chosen, through design, or by fate to be the messengers of First Strike. Your survival is a mercy, granted upon you by whatever higher powers you choose to believe in. You will speak of that which you witnessed here today, and you shall spread the word of First Strike. You now know that what we claim to do, what we have shown you we can do, is in fact, reality. I was the one who walked through Boston and set it ablaze. I was the one who entered Seattle, and left fire in my wake. You have all witnessed the truth of this."
He looked at the stunned faces around him, watching his words sink in, hoping they were sinking in. He could see it in their eyes. Past the fear, past the pure, shocked silence echoed in each and every one of those gazes that they heard his words, and they understood.
However, he still asked exactly that. When no one responded, their fear having yet to loosen its grip upon their voices, he shot a sharp glance through all of them. "I said, do you understand?" His voice raised higher, shouting, and no longer the calm he had shown so far.
"I do not wish to send more of you to your makers than I need to, but I only need one body to remain upright, remaining alive, to spread the word of First Strike. Only one of you to let the world know what happened today. Now, do you understand?"
The unblinking stares of the people around him slowly broke, and it was as if the people were returning to their bodies, and waking up from a deep sleep. Their heads slowly began nodding. First one off to his left, then one in front of him, then another between the two, and after that, all the way to the right, until those who had been chosen to deliver his message.
"Remember. We can do what we said we could. You all saw it. You saw me combust right before you here, and I laid waste to those who were found wanting. These bodies are evidence of my power, though they are but a small example."
He slipped his hands back into his pockets, and his eyes flickered up at the windows, surveying the brave sould who were daring enough to keep watch upon the scene, waiting for the police to arrive, even if they held doubts that the authorities would do any good against him.
"But even with such an example, they already know our abilities in the area of explosions. The message that needs to be sent is that a new era of humanity is dawning, a brighter age, that will only be brought about through fire and chaos. The caretakers of the future are here, and will usher in this age, and we have made the First Strike towards a better day. The next step in evolution has been born, and we offer a hand to our older brethren, to carry them through these trying times. If our will is obeyed, than all shall come through better than before. So swears First Strike."
A police car screeched up on the main road, turning sharply onto the offshoot that lead down towards the parking lot, the scene of the crime. It was followed closely by several other black and white vehicles, blue and red strobes flodding the air, illuminating the trees that ran alongside the road, branches overhanging and shading the cars as they raced towards the office space.
Behind those, came a large, black van, more like an armoured van used to carry money between banks than one owned by a soccer mom, or a bachelor. Even further behind the authorities came several ambulances, and a fire truck, although those were not needed, at least not at this point. There was no lingering fires that were of any danger, and everyone at the site was either dead or alive, and no amount of medical attention would bring those who had not survived their trial by fire would change their current state of being.
At the sound of the squealing tires as the vehicles came barrelling down the road towards, tires kicking up the loose gravel that the road had slowly become over the years as fewer and fewer businesses used this location, and his eyes catching those all too familiar lights. For a brief moment, he was stunned, not as stunned as the people he had come to address, since he was expecting the arrival of police eventually, but he had dearly hoped he could have made good his escape before they were so close.
For the briefest moment when he was distracted, and his focus was on the impending police action against him, and his back was turned towards the offices and the survivors, one of them could have done something to avenge the deaths of those scattered on the ground, but they were as distracted by the police sirens as the stranger was. Then just as swift as it had come, the moment where they could have stopped what came next, disappeared.
The police cars entered the parking lot, that first car taking the lead and swerving towards the left, and the next going right, and so on down the line, forming a barricade of cars, blocking off easy access to the only road out of the location.
The black van pulled up behind the cars, and stopped just to the left of the road, and a number of men in black SWAT gear, holding high-powered rifles piled out of the van, not unlike a clown car, but far more believably filled with a reasonable amount of people.
The fleet of emergency service vehicles hung back, once the situation became clear that they were not immediately needed, nor could they get near anyone who may be among the wounded to attend to them, even if they wished to do so.
With the cars stopped, the agent of First Strike could hear the thumping of boots against the asphalt parking lot, and the clattering of weapons, all training upon him, in all likelihood. He was lucky that they had yet to just shoot him down where he stood.
The forces arrayed against him had been informed that someone had set off some sort of incendiary device, and given the description of a young man in a brown trenchcoat. None of the people observing from inside the building had seen what had transpired, and only saw the aftermath of the explosion, and the man standing amidst the chaos of it. None of them could report the truth of the matter, only drawn to see what had transpired after they were alerted to it by the explosion, and made their best estimation of what had transpired.
The booming voice of one of the officers, hiding behind his car, and using a megaphone to be heard clearly across the sea of black tar between the police and their target.
"Stay where you are! We have your only exit route blocked, and there is no chance for escape! Lay down any weapons you may have, and put your hands behind your head!"
The First Striker look across the gulf of distance at those which stood in his way. His head cocked to the side, curious that they would try to stop him after what he had done. He took a tentative step forward, wanting to test the resolve of the people that had come to oppose him. He knew his own will was strong, but was there's?
His advance was met with the clattering of guns as they were raised against him, safeties clicking off, and hammers being pulled back at the ready. The sound was like a wave of chattering insects, all clamoring to talk at once.
The sound only made him grin. He took another step, one that was more confident this time. He even held his hands in the air, so everyone could see he had no weapons in his hands. He didn't need them.
He watched as several weapons raised up, point with an increasing level of threat towards him. If he glanced downwards, he could clearly see several red dots clustering over his upper chest, all the rifles easily having him within their sights.
"Stop right there," called out the lead officer amongst them. "Not one more step! We will put you down!"
The man's hands lowered to his sides, and with his next step, he increased his stride, breaking into a run with barely any warning to the police and SWAT members assembled against him.
Loud cracks of gunfire echored through the air as everyone responded to the increased threat, no longer caring if he was taken alive. However, none of them expected what came next, as the moment he heard gunfire, his body was engulfed in flame, and quickly expanded into another eruption of force.
The explosion grew outwards from where he was, moving forward as he did, moving like a glowing, orange snowball, increasing in size and fury as it flew nearer the police force, rolling towards them as a giant ball of flame and concussive force.
It continued to grow as it moved forward, a kinetic explosion rolling across the pavement and smashing into the swarm of police cars as if they were so much bowling pins.
Some of the cars were flung out of the way from the expanding explosion, others were caught within its growing, fiery grasp. The gas ignited, adding literal fuel to the fire, as each of the police cars too close to the strange, almost completely never before seen event, were turned into bombs of their own, causing more damage than would have simply occurred had it just been the lone fireball raging through a crowd of people.
The bullets fired hit the flames, and melted before they could go any further. Small marks of once-melted lead would forever mark the spot where this fight took place, a memorial of the tragedy, and a sign that the world had truly changed, in more ways than anyone could have suspect was possibke.
As the police and SWAT officers were not close enough to the rolling explosion to be caught in the initial blast, like those who were there in the first blast that morning, they weren't instantly charbroiled. Instead, they caught fire, and were thrown back along with their vehicles.
Also unlike the premiere victims, they began screaming. The police forces ran around, arms flailing, and voices crying out for aid as the flames from the explosion and the cars that also had gone up in flames, painting a fiery scene of chaos.
The fires roared, shimmering in the morning air, and making the parking lot feel unseasonably warm, even for October. The scene looked like a typical natural disaster film, or as if Godzilla had stomped through on a visit from Tokyo.
Amidst it all, remained a lone visage of calm. Kneeling at the spot where the first police sedan had been parked, forming the cornerstone of the wall made of four-wheeled bricks, was now the man who had rushed at them and turned into a human incendiary device.
He stayed there for a moment, kneeling down on one knee, leaning over, and his hand resting against the smoldering pavement. Behind him was a blackened track where the fireball that had surrounded him had rolled along as he ran, the explosion having marked his passing.
The parking lot was now marred beyond recognition, and looking more like a warzone than the rest stop for vehicles, and spot for cigarette breaks it had once been used for.
Smoke lazily rose off the man, nothing actually on fire, except for the minutest particles that had fallen upon his form during the day. He rose to his feet, dusting himself off with his now-typical calm, surveying the havoc he had wreaked upon the scene.
As he stood there, silently watching the police run around in circles, screaming in pain and terror, he watched the fires, more than the fellow human beings dying before his eyes.
Only mere moments had passed since he had begun his assault on the police, and it was already essentially over. The medical crew, and firemen were scrambling from their vehicles, grabbing hoses, and equipment as fast as they could.
They ran the short distance to the carnage, made all the longer by burning cars in their path. The firemen quickly went to work finding a hydrant nearby, and went to town to get the fires under control.
The medics surrounded the police that had managed to escape the worst of the explosion, and used blankets to put out the small fires that they had caught from the blast. Once those were taken care of, they tended to the wounded, slowly increasing their work load as the firefighters got the rest of the situation under control.
While they remained aware of the man who had caused all this death and destruction in such a short span of time, and with no apparent means to cause it, they went about their jobs nonetheless, determined to save whom they could, and make things easier for as many as possible. Through it all, the man responsible stood where he had stopped, watching the people do their good deeds, and helping their fellow man.
The man responsible for all that stood where he had ceased his run, and dissipated the explosion he had created. As he stood there, watching these people save lives, and heal, all he did was watch.
None of them made a move against him, too concerned with the wounded and dying. That was just fine by him. As long as they stayed out of his way, and didn't interfere, they may just walk away from this day unscathed. More witnesses would serve the purposes of First Strike just fine.
He turned back towards the spot where he first sent his message today. The people he had drafted into the role of messengers had yet to move. They had hoped the police would stop him, ceasing any destrucion he may have caused in the future, but it was not to be. All they could do was watch, enthralled and horrified by his continued acts of violence, as he mowed through the police that had come, their only hope to stop this man.
Calmly, he adjusted his coat, and tugged at his gloves before turning away from his messengers of the truth, and turned back to the people tended to the police.
He moved forward, slowly and deliberately. His steps were calm and heavy as he moved closer towards the smoldering wrecks of the police cars. Some of the emergency medical team there stopped taking care of their charges, and watched the man as he neared them, nervously seeing something akin to a hurricane heading directly for your home as you sit on the front porch.
Fear reflected in their eyes, watching him as he neared them. They had seen what he had done, they had seen it first hand, and not just the aftermath. He had to admit, at least to himself, that while he may not have wished to have the police and other show up, it was going far better than his initial plan. The more, the merrier, after a fashion.
The man stopped, watching them for a moment, and shock his head. He waved a hand in the air, saying wordlessly that all they had to do was let him pass, and all would be well. At least, for them, if not for the burnt bodies laying on the ground and being taken care of.
He continued forward, weaving around the bodies, and the wrecks. None of the medical team made any moves to stop him, and the firefighters were still working on the fires he had made to pay him any attention, although they did shoot him some disapproving glances.
One of the cops, who had managed to only sustain a few burns, watched as the attacker moved nearer to him, and reached for the handgun holstered at his side, and he winced from the pain caused by his injuries.
The causes of this day of terror stopped and shot a sharp glare at the cop, freezing him as the holster snapped open, releasing the gun and ready to be drawn, but those eyes, something burning within them, an anger waiting to be unleashed, daring the police officer to do it, end his life in that moment, and those around him.
It was a classic standoff. The cop had a job to do, he had been tasked to stop this man, and there he was right in front of him, not ten feet, but if his hand moved even a centimeter closer to his piece, then he would very likely die, and others around him would be taken out with him.
The moment hung there in the air, for what felt like an eternity, as all the options floated through the young cop's mind, but after only a couple of seconds had passed, he moved his hand away from his side, and held both of his hands up in the air, mimicing what he had told so many people to do when they faced him, including First Strike's representative standing in front of him, not more than five minutes ago.
He smiled at the cop, a rare show of emotion, from this man who had caused such tragedy in such a short span of time, not to mention the other explosions he had caused that year.
"Wise choice," he said, speaking softly. "I do not relish the actions I take. I do what must be done, and a message must be sent. Do not throw your life away. You have seen how effective your bullets have been against me, and all it will do is make me angry, and you wouldn't like that. All you would have done was end the lives of others. If I leave here now, and no one else troubles me, then you shall go home with only the barest of physical reminders."
He watched the cop for another second, and then resumed walking through what had once been a police barricade against him. When he spoke, everyone had stopped what they were doing, listening to his words, hearing his voice, the voice of terror.
No one else troubled him as he passed amongst the crowd and destruction, walking as if he belonged there, if he had come to lend a hand in the recovery, rather than being the cause of it all.
Like an artist surveying his work, he stopped at the firetruck at the end of the road down to the parking lot, sitting there were the road met the asphalt, and turned back to look over the scene.
Fires continued to burn in small spots, mostly on the cars, but those would be out soon, as the firefighters were busily taking care of things. Many people watched him still, praying he would not return, feeling that his work was incomplete, and needed to cause more damage to send his message.
That was far from his reason for turning back. He wanted to take it all in, burn into his mind the carnage he had caused. He took pride in his work, believing what he was doing was right, even with the sacrifices that needed to be made of innocents, and the not so innocents.
With his handiwork taken in, he turned his back on them for the final time, and continued up the road, passing vehicle after vehicle to deal with the destruction he had caused.
Now that the police that were there had been taken care of, they would send more shortly, so he wanted to put as much distance between him and the offices before they arrived to add to the death toll.
Once he had disappeared, despite the tightening security grid around the location, and the news had broken across the nation, the nation went into a panic.
The government would have liked to sit upon the revelation that there was superhuman entities now walking the Earth, and more than willing to use such tools against the people of the United States. However, with the witnesses there, and the news crews not far from being on the scene, the word quickly spread over what had truly happened, long before the government could put a lid on it and reveal that the world was changing in unexpected ways.
With the revelation that there now existed in the world people who could cause their bodies to explode at will, and repeatedly, with no other means at their disposal, the government was more determined to do something, find some way to combat this newest threat to our way of life, and security.
Pressure was placed upon the secret government projects seeking to create such abilities in the average man, instead of waiting for some fluke to create them naturally.