Victor Deleoni "Ah, yes...I had a bit of trouble there. Left my purse in the car and could barely get let back inside. At all the parties I've been to, I've never seen such tight security. But, please excuse me...I don't want to keep you." "It's no bother. I have nowhere in particular to be until that slug of a CEO has decided that he's willing to give me the time of day," Victor wondered why he was saying all this. His irritation was getting the better of him. "I get so fed up dealing with the upper class sometimes," He sighed and took a sip of champagne. "I don't mean to burden you with my ramblings," He said as he noticed a few men pushing their way through the party towards the young woman. "Now may be a good time for you to make an exit. It appears that you're being pursued." He said with a wink. "I'll stall them if I can. Pleasure to meet you Miss." Then he pushed past and got between the men and the anxious young woman. "Gentlemen! You appear to be staff! Why in blazes it is so blazing hit in here?" He asked and barred their passage. "If you'll just let us pass sir..." One said, but Victor held his ground. "I would very much like to know what the host is thinking not turning up the air!"
Dirk Durgeson After Dirk had had quite the discussion with Mr. Steele, he shook his hand firmly, Steele had Dirk sold and confident that stocks with NaturOil was beyond the best idea for Durgeson's oil transport company. Aside from a brief interruption by a handsome young business-like man, Steele was all mouth and Dirk was all ears, soaking up every bit of financial insight Steele could offer the young entrepreneur. But, both Steele and Durgeson ended their chat, dabbing their brows, as Steele felt obligated to discuss matters with others and was set on determining why the air conditioning was malfunctioning so. Dirk took off his white tuxedo jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his black under shirt. He darted his eyes across the room, looking for his prize. Finally, his eyes settled back on the beautiful woman in the blue dress that had captivated him earlier, her mysteriousness almost beckoned to him. He had always felt a little bit more intuitive then most, so he found himself drawn to things and people he had a hard time figuring out. He slowly strode up behind her, taking another glass of champagne off a tray, one of the last glasses it carried and sipped on it. Quitely, he approached Monica from behind and slammed back the champagne before she noticed his presence, and then cleared his throat to get her attention. Once she turned around, Dirk gave her a heart shaking smile and held his hand out to her. Another slow song was coming on and Dirk felt like Monica seemed as if she could use something to relax her. "Would you honor me with one slow dance, Ms. Monica, the titillating mystery woman in the blue dress?" He asked her playfully.
Jo Turic Jo was startled out of her consideration of possible causes for the change in temperature by the sound of her name being called from a few feet to her right. It was her boss, or, more accurately, her boss's boss's boss. She was a little surprised that he knew her name but supposed that was his job. "Jo, I need you to return to the kitchen and tell them to turn off every heat source. Ovens, ranges, bunsens, water heaters, microwaves -- if it makes things warm, I want it dead." He paused for a moment and she nearly started moving before she realized he wasn't finished. "And tell them to halt the eggs and hold back the champagne. Have them double up on martinis to balance. And for Jove's sake, smile! We're not out to make enemies here; you least of all." Lovely. She didn't think she'd been frowning but she had been told on several occasions that her natural facial expression had a tendency to appear overly serious. She tried for a smile as she nodded, "yes Mr McDaniels, right away." It was an excellent excuse to get out of the overly crowded and overly hot room. Of course, the kitchen wouldnt' be much better. At least this went some way towards explaining the temperature situation. If it was human error, the human in question would have been replaced by now. Must be a technical failing. Something about Mr McDaniels's urgency bothered her, however. In the grand scheme of things, the kitchen appliances couldn't be adding too much to the temperature and there must be someone around here with the technical abilities to fix the larger problem of the heating system. These things were generally just a matter of a blown fuse or some such, right? At the very least couldn't they just cut the power to the heating system? It wouldn't make the air conditioning come back on but at least things wouldn't heat up any more. Perhaps she should find Mr McDaniels again and offer to help. One of the jobs she had taken to pay her way through community college had been as a boiler maintenance technician. It wasn't really the same thing as a large scale heating system such as this, but she'd always disconnected the power to the boiler before doing any actual work on it. She suspected she should be able to do something similar here. She made a note of Mr McDaniel's position before heading for the kitchen. Best to get his original orders completed first.
Riley moved away from the main floor as a slow song started playing and many couples started to dance. Her little "announcement" had had just the effect she had expected it to. Jeremy was furious, people were happy, and most importantly, her father had stayed away from her. Now she was free to just watch all the people who considered themselves important enough to attend this party rather than actually talking to then. You see, even though Riley loved spending money and being rich, she didn't like the stereotypes and attitude that came with it, so tried to distance herself from them as much as possible. That was why she wasn't socializing with the women her age who talked about their money as openly as they wore their cleavage. Which was, unfortunately, quite openly.* Riley fanned herself absently, only just starting to notice the intense heat. Judging by the amount of people who were taking off their coats and rolling up their sleeves, she was sure she wasn't the only one. Luckily, she wasn't wearing a full length dress like many at the party. Her shoes were starting to kill her feet, but that she could deal with. "It takes pain to be beautiful." A mom on some show about young pageant models had once said that to her five year old. Riley internally shuddered. If only that little girl knew how much pain it would take to fully meet society's standards, maybe she would put a stop to it before her mother completely lost her mind.* Like Riley's had.* There was a reason Mrs. Steele wasn't at NaturOIL's party. She had stopped attending anything Jeremy was involved in years ago, when she'd first learned of his cheating ways. Why Riley still bothered, she wasn't quite sure. It wasn't as if she was really needed. Nobody talked to her about anything interesting. Other than money, which she knew plenty about and wasn't interested in hearing about anymore. The way of the rich; it made her sick sometimes, most times.* Looking down at her now-empty Piña Colada glass, she sighed and placed it on a passing tray. The champagne glasses had stopped being passed around and now they were serving some other drink, but Riley wasn't interested. She needed to keep her head tonight, for multiple reasons.*
Monica Scotts "Would you honor me with one slow dance, Ms. Monica, the titillating mystery woman in the blue dress?"[/B] Dirk asked. He held out a hand, a playful smile on his lips. He had stepped up behind her and she hadn't even noticed. The Cheif would have had words about her being so un-attentive. <Stop it.> She thought, addressing the command to her fluttering heart. <He's adorable, but who knows where his true intentions lie.> Before her mind could say no, her heart said yes and without her permission the words came out of her mouth. "I'd love to." She took his hand and stepped out onto the floor. The music though slow had a fun beat and the two dancers fell quickly into sinc. The heat of the room almost seemed to melt away. The constant nagging in the back of her mind that something was wrong disappeared almost completly. The other dancers no longer existed. It was just her and Dirk. Dirk felt like a giddy child while dancing with this goddess of a woman. He studied her over as they danced. Her elegance was supreme as he twirled her firm and slender body around and around the dance floor. There was just something about her presence that twisted Dirk in a way he had never encountered. He was used to getting all the girls and figuring them all out before he could even learn their last names. But, this bronze beauty was different. "Your converstation with Mr. Steele went well, I take it?" Monica asked Dirk as he dipped her on the dance floor. He was noticing the heat of the air less and the heat between the two of them a little more. Dirk grinned down at her. "Of course. There is no doubt that the man has his secrets, but he definitely knows how to talk money and reel in his customers like hungry fish." He told her in a soothing voice, brushing some strands of her shoulder length hair from her eyes. "But, I'd really like to talk to Lance. You are his secretary, are you not? Maybe you could gain me an audience with him?" "I'm sure I can try and set something up. Though he has been very busy lately. Something has been bothering him." As Dirk twirled her out, she scanned the room. Lance was no where to be seen. Odd he wouldn't make an appearance at his own party. "In fact I haven't even seen him here this afternoon." The song ended, light applause errupted, and the many of the guests took their seats as a livelier song began. Monica and Dirk took a seat at a nearby table, Monica ordering a tall glass of minted ice water. Her face was bright red. Not just from the way she was feeling but from the heat that seemed to have gone up 10 degrees. She dabbed her forehead with a hankerchif from her clutch. "I think something is wrong. It doesn't make sense that they wouldn't have the air fixed by now." Dirk had ordered an ice water as well, dabbing, like Monica, at his forehead. He was thankful that he didn't produce very much body odor when he perspired. "I think something is wrong. It doesn't make sense that they wouldn't have the air fixed by now." Monica told Dirk worriedly. Dirk found himself concerned also. "Yeah, Steele doesn't seem like the type to let thing malfunction for too long. I'll go find a waiter or waitress and inquire about this dreadful heat." He said to Monica, getting up from the table and placing a hand on Monica's shoulder. He squeezed it gently and smiled down at her. "I'll be right back, beautiful." Dirk strode over to the Kitchen entrance where a tired looking yet adorable young waitress with a name tag displaying "Jo" was about to enter. He quickly made his way towards her and gently tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned he gave the girl a smile. "I'm sorry to bother you miss, but have you any idea what is wrong with the air conditioning? We guests are all quite tired of being drenched in our own saline." He told the girl with a forced smile, again dabbing his handsome face.
Bryn Michaels A faint pink passed over Bryn's cheeks as she had watched the man talk about himself and his status. When she had walked into the room, she had noticed everyone was obviously more upper class than she was. If there was such a thing she would be defined as mid-upper class. She made more than enough for herself, yet most of her paychecks went towards her camera equipment. Costly stuff. "Now may be a good time for you to make an exit. It appears that you're being pursued." the man said with a wink. "I'll stall them if I can. Pleasure to meet you Miss." Bryn looked over her shoulder to see a few large men pushing their way through the crowd. Her eyes widened even more when she realized the other man was planning to help her. Too bad she wouldn't be able to thank him personally. She turned the opposite direction from where she had come, walking around tables, scanning the room for any exit that led to another floor with a balcony. She would not take the elevator. Period. That had not been a fun experience and it would not be good to run into that McDaniels greeter again. She stood behind a decorative plant, fanning herself as she thought of possibilities. How could she get a picture without anyone noticing? How could she blend in better? And, why exactly was it boiling in here? Was it a result of her nerves? She could feel her make-up running with the beads of sweat trailing down her face.
Victor Deleoni After about 2 minutes, the two men finally made it past victor in their pursuit of the young woman in the black dress. He didn't know why he had helped her out, she was attractive and all, in a kind of, intellectual, vulnerable way. She was gone now however, and Victor suspected that she wouldn't be back. So, he resumed his search for Jeremy Steele. Maybe he could finally have a talk with the bulbous whale of a man. For a moment he entertained the idea of just shooting him... the heat was not having a good effect on his psyche. He was not a violent person by nature, only when he had to be. That was his fathers job, and he was very good at it. Now that the whale had surfaced, he was hard to miss. Victor spotted him immediately and started to make his way over, determined that he would be getting out of this building in the next ten minutes.
Lance Dresden Boom. Darkness enveloped the room. The noise was deafening, with screams and whimpers drowned out by the thunderous roar below. Guests fell about like rag dolls, panes of glass shattered and cracks snaked up the crimson upholstery. The tremor was gone as quickly as it came, leaving the party in uneasy silence. Together they waited, desperate for some signal of salvation. The tower had turned into an arctic freighter, party guests its cargo. The northerly winds poured into the broken gaps and the steel hull gave an almighty groan, heavy metal twisting above and below. But after what felt like hours, salvation finally arrived. The emergency lighting washed across the crowd with its dim orange glow. A few gasps of elation hopped about, but soon the dangerous realisation crept upon them. Something was very wrong. And it was cold. Bitterly cold. Snow was starting to form along the edges of the level while guests scrambled for jackets, cardigans, anything to warm themselves up. Lance felt especially sorry for the woman that had decided to wear skimpy little dresses, covering next to nothing. Five minutes ago he wouldn’t have been complaining, but the situation had changed things. And now that same situation needed attention. And fast. Lance’s first priority was assessing the problem. “Sitrep, give me a call out.” He said into his radio. McDaniels responded first, then Monica, before two other security guards called in. Four. There had been twenty at the start of the night. They must have all descended to 41st floor, the poor fools. Yes, there was an issue below, but why did they all go? He let out a quiet sigh. This was the problem when working with non-military personnel; there was no real fear of danger, other than drunk or rowdy guests. But now was not the time to mourn. “All of you, stay on the 42nd floor.” Containment was the next step. “We need to keep everyone on this floor, so we can control the evacuation and subdue any panic.” Lance scouted the room and already people were arguing irrationally, enraged by fear and confusion. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he was going to have to be the voice of reason, the clarity in all this mess. He bound up the stairs to the 43rd floor and turned to the sea of faces when he reached the top step. A soft hush washed over the crowd, awaiting the news. “Ladies and gentleman, I require your undivided attention. Please do not interrupt so we can get through this as quickly as possible.” He drew in a large breath, ready for the anxiety. “There has been a gas leak on the 41st floor, which unfortunately my team were unable to cut off in time. This has led to the explosion we have just felt; however I can guarantee that firstly this floor has been unaffected by any major damage or leakage, and secondly there will not be any further explosions or fires. The plan for evac…” “If your team couldn’t spot one gas leak, how the hell can you guarantee there won’t be another!?” A man towards the back shouted, which was received by many guests with a nod or an agreeable murmur. Another guest chipped in, “Why weren’t we informed earlier? Or even evacuated!?” Followed by a resounding “Yea!” from the crowd. Lance didn’t panic, but he didn’t have time to continue either. Mr Steele wanted to kick him while he was down. “You worthless piece of shit. I hire you to run security and you put our entire party at risk!” Jeremy stepped forward, waddling up the steps. “I wasn’t even informed there was a problem and this is my tower – my company.” Even in crisis he showed his true, selfish colours. Lance stood his ground, “Sir, my team are addressing the situation and are looking at the safest way to evacuate the gue…” “You could have killed us all! And for all we know you might well have!”
Monica Scotts Monica coughed as dust from the explosion swarmed the room. A pane of glass landed dangerously close to her. She was very away of Dirk attempting to shield her with his body. Had the situation been any other he would have received an elbow to his ribs but the room was dark, people were crying out in terror and knowing that there was someone else besides her keeping calm was a great comfort indeed. Lance's voice entered her ear through the communication link and she replied that she was alive and well. She shifted her seating on the floor as her gun dug painfully into her thigh. Her FBI senses went on high alert as she tried to figure out the situation. Finally after several minutes the emergency lights came on. She could see the damage wasn't too terrible but the windows had broken open and winter night air as well as snow was flowing in freely. Which would explain the drop in temperature. Lance stood and attempted to calm everyone down but was almost immediatly shut out. Every fiber of her being screamed that she should pull out her FBI badge and calm everyone down but this was the best opportunity she was going to get to search for evidence. She could slip down to Lance's office during the chaos. She needed to stay undercover at least until she had something that would keep the case alive. She looked over at Dirk, whose arm was still around her shoulders. Maybe he'd be willing to help.
McDaniels picked himself off the floor and dusted off his pants and jacket, his head swimming and body aching from the force of the impact. He glanced about, unable to see anything. For a moment, he worried that the blow had left him blinded, but then he found himself able to make out vague shapes around him. He wasn't blind, the power was out. Squinting in the darkness, he turned to the elevator he had stepped out of moments before, returning from parking Miss Steele's car. Of course, it was dead as the rest of the building. He wasn't sure why he expected otherwise. The emergency lighting buzzed to life around him, but the elevator remained dark. No emergency power system there. “Sitrep, give me a call out.” He placed his finger to his earpiece. "McDaniels here. Elevator's a no-go. I'm going to check on my staff." He dashed into the 42nd floor kitchen. The place was in shambles. The explosion had knocked almost everything out of place. In the flickering of the emergency lights, he could see knives and broken dishes scattered across the countertops, and strewn food and shattered glass made the floor slippery and trecherous. The cooks and waitstaff were in as poor condition as the room. One chef was huddled beneath a handwashing sink, clutching the pipes in a white-knuckled vise. Another was struggling to free himself from a toppled freezer which had crushed his leg. A third was pressing chunks of frozen sherbet to her arms and chest - a nearby overturned pot told why, the spilled water around it still boiling. Fortunately, they seemed to have carried out his orders and killed the burners in time, so there had been no explosion in this room. He rolled up his sleeves and began applying a torniquet to a young chef sobbing with fear and pain, a knife impaled in her arm. "You two!" He pointed out two uninjured waiters. "Drew and Jeffery! Get Johnathan out from under that freezer. Everyone else, make your way out of this room slowly and carefully. We don't want any more accidents!" Torniquet in place, he helped the young woman to her feet and assisted her - practically carrying her - into the hallway, grabbing the medical kit stored beside the door as he passed through it. "All right, which of you know first aid?" A trio of people raised their hands, including the burned chef. McDaniels nodded. "I want you two to make sure everyone here is taken care of. Not you, Alice. You just worry about your own injuries. "Everyone else who is able, spread out and help me calm the crowd. Keep them on this floor; the stairwells are blocked just below the 41st."
Dirk Durgeson Dirk had made his way back to Monica before the explosion and had managed to gather her in his arms as soon as it erupted. He had thrown them both under a table, blocking a lot of the shards of glass from the windows from hitting the two of them. After a moment, everyone gathered themselves off the floor, some suffering from minor cuts and injuries. Dirk brushed himself off and hugged Monica. "Are you alright, Monica?" He asked her, kneeling down in front of her to be closer to eye level. He brushed some of the dirt from her dress in appropriate areas. "Are you hurt anywhere?" He repeated, his eyes glistened with concern, unaware of the chaos around him until he heard Steele's voice across the room yelling at Lance. He looked over at them briefly but returned his gaze to Monica.
Bryn Michaels A nightmare. Worse than her worst nightmare. Everything had happened before she could blink. She had heard a deafening noise, been knocked to the floor, and faint screams echoed in her mind. Her brain hazy, unable to decipher if they were all dying, she had scrambled to sit up. But, when she opened her eyes, she saw nothing. Darkness had overwhelmed her. It had been Will's fault! He had forced her to go to this gorgeous party, and because of him she hadn't listened to the bad auras. All for one stupid picture! Now, she was nothing, death had won. And, she thought there would be angels singing, heaven's gates opening. No. She only existed as a mere molecule floating in this spacious place of nothing. Not even a camera flash could fight this darkness. With that thought, lights flew throughout the building and instant relief flooded through her. She was still alive, and she vowed to stay that way for a long time. With the clearer sound of yelling voices, her breath began to grow ragged. Deep breaths. She inhaled through her nose and exhaled out of her mouth, remembering the hyperventilation tips her psychologist had taught her years ago. After a few minutes of steady breathing, she was able to look at her surroundings. Her lower body appeared to be buried underneath a foot of dirt. The few decorative plants had knocked over, but luckily she had dodged the pots, getting the aftermath instead. As she brushed off the dirt, she was able to free her feet. Though, something still didn't feel right. She felt no pressure on her right shoulder...her bag was gone! "No...no...no..." Bryn groaned, sitting up on her knees. When she fell, her purse must have slipped off. She bobbed her head frantically, scanning the clean floor near her, her eyes finally resting on the pile of dirt. Like a mad woman, she began to dig through the pile, flinging dirt everywhere. Her treasure must be under there, it had to be! She couldn't lose the camera she had invested over hundreds of thousands of dollars in. Even with her nail-beds turning brown, she still continued to search. Until a sharp pain fell on her hand. Her stomach flipped when she raised her dirty hand turning red. A stray pot shard had lodged inside her palm, causing blood to spread around her wound. Between her uneasy breaths, she managed to yell out. "Somebody help me please!"
Jo Turic Jo's head was spinning and it seemed her vision was completely gone. She closed her eyes for a minute. Okay, breath. A monotonous tone still filled her right ear but with her left she could hear what she hoped was some of the kitchen staff moving around. She opened her eyes again. Still nothing. Except, yes, there was a crack of light to her right. Now she remembered. She'd ducked under the sinks when the explosion went off. She must have been just in time. The object which was now blocking her exit was the industrial size freezer which had come crashing down only a moment later, landing right where she had been standing talking to Johnathan. Oh gods, she hoped he hadn't still been standing there. Had she not gotten them the message in time. Was it a gas leak? Had one of the stoves exploded? No, she could have sworn everything was off by then. Whatever had happened she needed to get out of here. For all she knew this place was on fire and and there was no bloody way she was going to wind up roasted because she couldn't get around a freaking freezer. She gave the freezer an experimental push. Nothing. Cursing she wiggled around in the small space so her back was against the wall and her feet on the side of the fridge. She pushed again. In the same moment, the freezer moved a few millimeters and she Johnathan let out a loud, pained groan. Crap, he must have been caught as it came down. She couldn't help him from in here and she couldn't get out to help him without hurting him more. As she stopped to think, she thought she heard voices. The extra crack between the fridge and the sink must be letting in more sound. She couldn't make out what was being said around the overloud rasping of her own breathing and held her breath to listen. "... out and help me calm the crowd. Keep them on this floor; the stairwells are blocked just ..." McDaniels' voice faded away. He must be leading the staff out to the main room. How could he not have realized there was a man stuck under the freezer? She was just gathering her breath back to shout when the freezer started to move. She could hear muffled cursing from outside followed by the scraping of heavy objects being dragged across the floor. "That's right, use it as a lever. Get the freezer up high enough and I'll pull Johnathan out." The freezer rose several inches off the ground and she pulled her toes back, not wanting them to get caught when it came back down. Then she took another deep breath, she was going to need to shout if they were going to hear her. "Hey! Move out of the way of the freezer, I'm going to push it away from the sinks!" "There's someone in there," said one of the voices. Well done nucklehead, nice conclusion. Jo's head was really beginning to pound now and it was making her already bad mood worse. Really, of all the times for a migrain. There was some scuffling around outside and she put her feet back up on the side of the freezer and pushed. It moved several inches this time. Another push and it went nearly a foot. It kept moving as she repositioned herself for a last push, someone was helping pull it away. One push later and there was enough space for her to crawl out. Gods be good, the kitchen looked like a war zone.
Riley Steele Riley had only hit her father twice on two different occasions. The first time, because he had offered her as part of some deal with another large oil company in the Middle East. The second, because he had thrown a wine bottle at her in a drunk rage. Both times she had walked away untouched, leaving Jeremy to clean up his own blood and regain his breath. When the explosion rocked the room, glass from the windows shattered all over Riley, but other than a few minor cuts, she was fine. Others weren’t so lucky. As Lance started to explain the situation, she watched Jeremy stalk towards him, anger written all over his face. She followed him, grabbing a serrated knife out of the pocket of one of the waiters as she walked. Just in case things got really ugly. By the time she reached her father’s side, his rant was over, is target already found. Before people had a chance to agree with him, she hit the side of his jaw with the butt of her hand, hard. Something popped and he recoiled, shock paling his features. Her second blow resulted in a steady flow of blood from his nose. He tumbled backwards and landed on his hands. Riley wiped her hand along the side of her dress and faced the crowd. She hadn’t used the knife, but would if needed. “I don’t think Mr. Dresden appreciates your interruptions.” All those classes in public speaking sure paid off. “Now. I know many of you aren’t used to this feeling of… insecurity. There are people here, however, who deal with such emotions everyday. For a living.” Her glare was pointed. “Like Mr. Dresden. So, if you all want to walk out of this tower alive, I suggest you shut up and listen to what he has to say.” She flashed a smile as Jeremy let out a loud groan. “We wouldn’t want anybody else to end up like Mr. Steele, now would we?” Riley threw the knife down and was rewarded with its dull clunk as it buried into the lush red carpet. She looked to Lance, waiting for him to continue. As long as the situation proceeded in a controlled matter, they would be fine. Most of them.
The Five The voice exploded across the opening with guests flinching and cowering for a second time. The sea of faces turned in unison to discover five figures standing at the back of the room. It was as if they had appeared from thin air. “Did we ruin party!?” roared the giant of a man, in his thick Russian accent. The abomination loomed large over the entire group, his incredible stature blocking out some of the emergency lights. Even ‘The Hulk’ would have been a little taken aback. Through all his combat gear and webbing, two mighty arms hung from an olive tank top; one holding an M4 assault rifle; the other, a huge M249 light machine gun. In his arms they looked like small toys. “Hush now Tank, you’re frightening the guests.” With a childish giggle she stepped forward slowly, making her way towards the front. She glided along with a huge sniper rifle resting on her hips, passing people by in her tight green leather suit. Whenever she danced passed a male, she threw them a teasing stare and a soft pout from under her short blonde hair. “Aww, aren’t you all so cute! Don’t ‘cha think Spider?” The woman flicked her fringe over to her left, signalling to the Hispanic man walking beside her. Spider, all dressed in black, kept pace with Wasp while she admired the ‘talent’, before having a peek himself. Far too many of these women were disinteresting, pampered by riches and dull as a plank. That is, until he saw one woman that took his fancy. He drank from her deep eyes, intoxicated by her beauty. With a quick snatch of the hand he gave a tender kiss. She sprang it back from the lion’s mouth, sticking it rigidly at her side. It didn’t matter though, Spider had already moved on to the next woman, with the same results. “These Mama Setas are so feisty. I like it.” The Five moved on through the crowd; the towering Russian in the middle with the flirts on his left and the other two on his right. Both had stayed quiet up until this point, though the curvy woman covered in tattoos gave the odd terrified guest a love bite, before pushing them to the floor. Male or female – it didn’t matter – she just wanted a taste. The group made it to the bottom of the stairs and paused to soak in their arrival, and all the guests squinted and stared through the pale orange glow at the gate crashers. When the gasping stopped the last member made his mark, addressing the guests. He stood tall in his desert camo, but nothing in comparison to Tank’s height. “Who’s in charge here?” He said listening as the murmurs faded. All that could be heard now was the howl from the winter winds, thrashing through the broken windows. The man reached for his SPAZ-12 shotgun and started poking guests sharply, asking, “Is it you?” repeatedly. Whimpers came and went as the weapon poked through the crowd, but the silence soon broke. Lance puffed out his chest and called out, “I am.” The relief was palpable, the guests happy to see another take the fall. Snobs rarely got their hands dirty, but then again Lance had got them into this mess in the first place. The blame game could be played later, he needed to focus on the man holding the shotgun, who nodded towards the giant, “Tank, deal with him.” Time slowed. The Russian began his climb to the top, each step vibrating through Lance’s skin. This was it. Some of the guests even looked a little guilty, sentencing a man with their silence. The two guns bounced in Tank’s arms, slowly rising to meet Lance’s head. The sights trained on him. But instead of a loud Bang sound there was a Clunk in its place as the M4 rifle fell into Lance’s hands. Tank grabbed his M249 with both hands and asked, “Phase Two?” Lance smiled. “Yes Tank. Phase Two.”
Monica Scotts "Are you hurt anywhere?" Dirk asked after the dust had settled. "I'm fine." She replied, shrugging off his arm. "I wonder what happened." Dirk nodded, his eyes narrowed, his concern for the situation was rapidly increasing. "Should we stay down here? You work in this building, correct? Maybe there is another way out?" He asked her, still ignoring the growing chaos and panic. She looked over at the dead elevator. "The elevator is dead, and the stairwell is blocked on level 41. There's no other way out except up...unless there is another "gas leak" up there. My instincts tell me this wasn't an accident." As if to prove her instincts four men and a woman began making their way to the front of the room. Several women cried as one of the men kissed them. She gagged in disgust, desperatly wanting to pull out her gun and badge and shoot the creep. But they were armed with M4's and M249's...she would have been dead the moment she stood up...along with the other guests most likely. So, instead, she kept her head down and watched the proceedings. The moment she found her opening, they would wish they'd never crashed this party. Then, the worst and yet best thing that could have possibly happened...happened. One of the men asked for the leader. Lance stood, seemingly to take the fall. Then a weapon was dropped in his hand. “Phase Two?” He asked. Lance smiled. “Yes Tank. Phase Two.” D*** that man. I knew Lance was a no good scoundrel. And now all the proof I need is happening right before my eyes, and the eyes of dozens of witnesses. A terrible thought entered her mind after the thought of triumph. They're going to kill us all.
Jo Turic “Did we ruin party!?” The voice stopped Joe in her tracks. She was holding Johnathan up by one shoulder, Drew had the other and Jeffery had his feet. The panicked hubbub which had been emanating from the main room of the party had entirely vanished. Shifting Johnathan's weight to one arm she put a finger up to her lips with the other, the last thing she needed was for some noise they made to carry in the silence. Thankfully Johnathan wasn't groaning any more. He'd passed out when she'd put tension on the traction splint they'd fashioned out of a broom and some bandages from the kitchen's first aid kit. That kit had also contained some aspirin and Jo sincerely hoped it would kick in soon. It was difficult to tell what was going on in the main room from here but it certainly didn't sound like a positive development. After lowering Johnathan to the floor, Jo motioned for the others to stay before moving towards the doorway. Years of overly realistic rounds of paintball war with her parents, their army friends, and their kids were starting to kick back in and she wanted to know what in the hell going on. An unhelpful voice in the back of her head wondered whether this was capture the flag or last man standing. It wasn't a comforting thought. As she neared the doorway she pressed herself up against the wall. If she peaked around the frame she might get a better idea of what was going on, but she'd also stand a much greater chance of being seen. She stayed where she was and listened, moving her multi-tool out of her pocket as she did so and using the belt clip to attach it to the front center of her bra under her shirt. It was a lot less likely someone would check her bra for weapons than her pockets, though what good a less than 2-inch blade and some pliers would do her she wasn't sure. It was a lot easier to hear the speakers now that she was closer. Clearly the original man's reference to a "we" had not been bravado. "... all so cute! Don’t ‘cha think Spider?” This one was a woman. Jo had clearly missed part of the conversation, but it didn't seem they were talking about anything useful. “These Mama Setas are so feisty. I like it.” Lovely, crazy mercenaries or extremists or whoever the hell these were. At least now she knew there were three, that one hadn't sounded at all like the first man. “Who’s in charge here?” Another new voice, a man, and this one wasn't crazy. Or, at least, he wasn't playing around. His question was met with silence. A few interminable moments passed interrupted only by the occasional wimper, presumably from terrified guests. Finally, a voice broke the silence, “I am.” She knew that voice. It was the security guard who had briefed the wait staff when they first arrived, no, the head of security. “Tank, deal with him.” She waited. Expecting a shot. There was nothing she could do for him. Ultimately it was a voice which broke the silence. “Phase Two?” It was the first voice again, but the question made no sense. “Yes Tank. Phase Two.” And that was the security guard again. Crap. This was an inside job. And at least two of them were using code names. If the TV cop shows were to be believed, these folks weren't crazy, they were pros. Jo moved slowly away from the door, they needed to get out of here, fast. Down was a no-go, that was where the explosion had come from. But maybe upstairs. If she was lucky, there might be offices up there and someone might have left a phone at their desk rather than take it to the party. The city couldn't have helped but notice the explosion, and maybe a few people had called out in the first few minutes to let loved ones know that they were okay, but she doubted anyone had dared pull out a phone since the latest development. When she got back to the others she grabbed Johnathan's arm again and jerked her head up in the direction they'd come. "We need to get out of here. I'll explain everything when we get upstairs.
Victor Deleoni Victor picked himself up off the floor. The explosion had knocked him off his feet, and when he fell, he had hit his head on a table. He held his hand to the pulsing spot on his forehead, and sighed in disgust when his hand came away red. This had not been his night. "Somebody help me please!" He heard the call, but amid the commotion, no one seemed to have noticed. His head wasn't to bad, just a little cut, and that cry had sounded desperate. He shook of the vertigo and started off in the direction the sound had come from. After a moment, he saw the same girl he had just helped get away from the guards. She was sitting on the ground, obviously distressed, in front of a mound of dirt and broken pots, her hand held out in front of her. It was dripping red. He moved over to her and crouched down. "Are you alright?" He asked, and took her bleeding hand. At first she shuddered away from his touch. "It's alright, let me take a look at it. I'll help you." He said, and she gave him her hand. There was a piece of pottery stabbed deep into her palm. She was hyperventilating. "Alright...this is going to hurt." He said, then grabbed the pot shard and yanked it out, quick as he could. Then pulled a handkerchief from his lapel, and wrapped it around her hand securely. "C'mon," He said. "We need to find a first aid kit and something to wash that off with." Victor stood up, but as he did, five people with guns walked into the room. “Did we ruin party!?” Giant Russian said. "Keep your head down!" He hissed as he crouched back down next to the woman. He still didn't know her name. "Looks like we've stepped into some really deep crap. Just stay calm and try not to panic." It was to little, to late he knew. She had been panicked when he got there, and didn't appear to be doing any better. This really had not been his day.
Bryn Michaels Bryn cradled her wrapped hand, with a now bright red handkerchief soaking up her blood. It stung like none other, and when the handsome man from earlier pulled out the shard, it had taken all she had not to scream. Well, he had also done it so fast it hadn't given her time to process what he planned to do. But, now as she took in what had happened, she clenched her teeth in pain. "Keep your head down!" the man hissed, crouching back down next to her after peeking his head around the corner. "Looks like we've stepped into some really deep crap. Just stay calm and try not to panic." She nodded at the unsettled tone in his voice. She could hear voices, several of them. By their harsh yells across the room and the gasps from the other guests, they meant business too. Were they planning to hold them all hostage...kill some of them? With this thought Bryn turned her head slowly, still searching for her bag. She needed her camera, even if she didn't use it until they were safe. Will would think she hit the jackpot with this story, but he wasn't the one here for the experience. She just wanted the one thing that kept her calm, her friend in time of need. Finally, she spotted it, the brown leather couture bag, laying barely a foot away. During her panic attack, she hadn't been thinking very clearly. Slowly she stretched her uninjured arm, shifting her body until she held the strap between her fingers. Bryn took a deep sigh of relief, then turned back to the man, catching his eye. "I knew I shouldn't have come today. My editor forced me to." Bryn whispered. She took another breath, as she tried to get used to the painful heartbeat in her wound. "But, thanks for helping me...um..." "Victor," he replied. "I'm Bryn...Bryn Michaels."
Chapter Two :We Are Not Alone Lance and The Five ________________ The curtain fell and the actors bowed to their audience. The show – this charade – was over. Murmurs spread around the room like wild fire, and Lance held his hand high with silence dropping over them like a shroud. The cold air gnawed at their flesh, but they would not dare shiver. They would not dare move. “Ironic…isn’t it.” He said with a smirk. “I couldn’t get a word in edgeways when trying to save you, but now…” Lance eyed his rifle with delight. “…now your silence is deafening. Power is such a fickle thing.” The five moved up to join him at the top of the stairs, all but the man with the shotgun. He had decided to linger with the Steele family; father and daughter nestled in an awkward stillness. Lance motioned to the man, “C4, bring the CEO upstairs. You can put his daughter with the rest of them.” And with that, C4 threw Riley down towards the crowd. Luckily another guest caught her before she could fall. As Jeremy reached the summit, Lance addressed the room. “Now I know that most of you will be thinking, ‘Why us, why here?’. Do we march here for money? For power? For vengeance or religion? No. We are here to send a message.” Like a viper he stung the butt of his rifle into Jeremy’s leg, forcing him to kneel. The fat cat went down with a wobble and the whole ground shook violently like it had been hit by an anvil. “This round little man poisons our world, just to line his pockets.” Lance said. “I have seen many things in lifetime; children fighting the wars of men; men killing defenceless women; and women sleeping with the enemies their loved ones fight against. But to see a group of mercenaries, butcher village after village, town after town, razing each one to the ground… just for oil?” He paused, realising the volume and intensity of his voice. Fingers buried deep into his palm and the adrenaline shook at his body. He saw their faces. Every single one. The wide eyes, the bloodied faces, the mouths gaping but no sound came forth. Every time he closed his eyes he saw them. “From that day on, I vowed to stop this corruption. I singlehandedly killed every last one of those mercs. But it wasn’t enough. They wouldn’t stop.” Lance pointed to Jeremy, “He wouldn’t stop. Now, we come to find evidence and send our message to the world.” “The problem is the world won’t hear if we whisper the message. We have to shout it!” He pulled out a flashing green device from his suit jacket and watched the faces drop with more gasps and whimpers. With his rifle in one hand, he raised the device high above his head. “Come now, shout with me.” The device clicked. The green turned to red. Boom. A small thud sounded underneath the guests. Followed by another. And another. Dozens of thuds rippled through the floor, cracking and breaking at their feet and suddenly one guest fell through to the level below. Followed by another. And another. Like a house of cards they all fell, flesh and rubble intertwined in a cruel blend with limbs crushed and bones broken. More groaning from the steel structure echoed along the walls and when the dust settled and the cries stopped, a haunted stillness split the air. All that remained were the stairs and the kitchen, and Lance peered into the giant chasm carefully, searching for survivors. He saw nothing, but decided to make sure. Lance didn’t become the best at his profession cutting corners. “Tank, fire into the crater. The last thing we need is survivors.” The Russian obeyed, volleying off a barrage of rounds into the hole. They clattered into the wreckage with a little spark and a ting. The gun recoiled a final time and Tank turned back to the group. All eyes had fallen on the trembling CEO of NaturOil Corporation, a fat lard of a man. Their stares pulled at his skin like teeth and he tried to gather himself, but Lance stepped over him, “Terrible shame to see your gorgeous daughter murdered. Seeing her legs every day in the office sent my head spinning.” His dry smile beamed with amusement. “Oh well, onto business. Let’s take a little trip to your office...”
Monica Scotts "<Monica *static*....can hear me *static* frequency 26.>" It was the cheif. They had to be close by. Monica rolled a small dial on her earpeice till a prerecorded voice said "26." "<Cmon, Agent Scotts. Give us a hint you can hear us.>" Monica looked over at Dirk. She had practiced speaking in code with her cheif and listening to two different conversations at the same time...but she had never done it in real life. She coughed. "Wonder if the police are coming." She said softly. "I don't know. Hopefully they'll get here before things get too messy." Dirk replied. "<Ok. We'll take that as a yes. Whats the situation up there?>" Monica sighed and rolled her eyes. She was terrible at this type of communicating. "I can't believe that gas leak took out the fourty-first floor, and that Lance is in on this! Those five must be pro's. I hope they don't shoot us with those big guns." Monica swallowed. She must have sounded so stupid. Hopefully Dirk wouldn't catch on. (Dirk's response) "<D*** it. So it wasn't an accident. And we can't evac the guests from the top because of your company. We'll think of a plan, Monica. Hang tight and don't try somthing stupid!>" Cheif went silent. “Ironic…isn’t it.” He said with a smirk. “I couldn’t get a word in edgeways when trying to save you, but now…” Lance eyed his rifle with delight. “…now your silence is deafening. Power is such a fickle thing.” He continued on with a long speech about how he had to send a message and junk like that. Then before Monica had a chance to react Lance pulled out a detonater and pushed the button. The floor beneath the guests collapsed. Fortunetly it wasn't a long way down to the next floor. Unfortunetly, she knew they only had seconds before he threw down another bomb or sent a hail of bullets their way. As she scrambled to her feet she screamed, "MOVE BACK! Away from the opening! Get under something!" So few had time to react before the anticipated hail of bullets came. Too few responded to her warning in time. Too few survived the hail of death from above. When the sounds died...and the dust had cleared; less than half of the guests were alive . There were moans of pain from those stuck in the rubble or hit by bullets. There were cries of panic and fear. Monica, herself, wanted to panic as well. A bullet had grazed her right arm and stung like no other. But she was a trained agent. These people weren't. They needed a leader to get them safely out of this mess. Monica was no longer the personal secretary of Lance, she was Agent Scotts of the FBI.
Riley Steele Oh my goodness, my head hurts. Oh my goodness, my stomach is wet. Oh my goodness, I’m bleeding! Oh my goodness, there is a dead guy lying on top of me and he’s bleeding all over my stomach! Riley’s head was spinning, and opening her eyes to find somebody else’s own pair practically touching hers wasn’t her most preferred wake-up call. He was dead, the man who had caught her when one of Lance’s thugs had pushed her into the crowd. Shot multiple times… protecting her? Shielding her? No, his leg had been caught in the rubble as the floor collapsed and he hadn’t been able to get away from the rain of bullets. Riley had passed out when something had hit her head, only to awake to the sound of Lance’s voice once again. “Terrible shame to see your gorgeous daughter murdered. Seeing her legs every day in the office sent my head spinning. Oh well, onto business. Let’s take a little trip to your office...” She gagged. So, in ten minutes, not only had she learned that the man she had always looked up to as a sort of father-figure/older brother was working against Jeremy, but that he was also a sick, perverted man who had been checking her out every time she stepped foot in the tower! She almost wished she could pass out again, just to spare her mind from thinking about it all. As the doors to the stairs leading up to Jeremy’s office closed, Riley pushed the dead guy off of her and sat up. Four patches of dark red blood had seeped into her dress. There was a small cut on her cheek, judging by the warm sticky substance that kept trickling into her mouth, and she probably had a concussion. Other than that, she was fine. Surveying the rest of the room, however, she realized many weren’t so lucky. At least half of the guests were dead, both from bullets and the weight of the rubble, and those who were left suffered varying injuries. They were all in a massive pit. She guessed a bomb had triggered the cave in, but the kitchen seemed to be untouched. Certainly there were more people in there, people that could help look for survivors and deal with the injuries. Careful not to cut her hands on the rebar that was sticking up everywhere, she made her way out of the pit and brushed herself off. From above, it looked much, much worse than it had from where she had fallen. Bodies were everywhere, blood was still flowing, groans were starting to escalate. And all of it sat under a heavy blanket of fear and uncertainty. Walking on unsteady legs, but too afraid to step on anything if she took her shoes off, Riley stalked cautiously towards the kitchen door and then edged it open the slightest bit. What she saw looked like a tornado’s aftermath in an appliance store. The first explosion had had quite an effect on the staff too. She pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside. A young waitress was tugging at an injured man’s arm, saying something about going upstairs. Other staff looked less than helpful, but the woman she could use. “Don’t go upstairs yet. Lance just took Jeremy and his goons up there. There are five of them, too many for you to deal with. An explosion blew a huge crater into the main room and half of the guests are dead. Many are injured and won’t last long, but there are some like me that can help.” Riley said it all without emotion. Just facts. If they were going to get out alive, they needed to move quickly. “It’s relatively safe out there, until they come back. I suggest you bring out your injured staff and we’ll treat the most severe ones first.” She glanced at the first-aid bag lying on the ground. “Medical training? Please say yes.” She pulled her phone out f her purse and turned it on. No signal. “Phones are down, which is to be expected I guess.” The girl’s name tag caught her eye. “Jo? Are you even listening to me?”
Victor Deleoni As the floor dropped, Victor grabbed the girl, who he now knew to be Bryn, by the arm and pulled towards the wall, at the last minute he jumped, just as it flew went out from beneath him. He collapsed against the wall. "Holy...Are you all right?" he asked Bryn. She looked to him, pure fear in her watery eyes. "Ye-yeah. I think so." "We need to find a way out of this building." He said. "I can't imagine the elevator working. Let's try the stairs." He said, and got up. He didn't want to know why these people were here, or why they were doing this, he just wanted to get out, and then tell his father that he was quitting. "C'mon, let's go." He stood up and held his hand out to Bryn. They were concealed from view of the mercenaries by a corner. "You really picked a fine night to crash a party." He said as he helped her up. She scowled at him, "Well, it wasn't my choice. I would've stayed in the restroom the whole night, but I needed to get one stupid picture!" Her fear had turned to brimming anger. "Wait until my editor hears about this. He will freak and in a good way! Loves the action. Me? I prefer to stay behind the lens." He led the way around the edge of the room over to a metal door that looked went into the kitchen. He pushed it open and saw the stairway at the other end of a small corridor. "Alright, let's see where this takes us." He said as he started down. "Wait!" Bryn yelled, her voice echoing off the walls, "What if there are more bombs down there? Like booby traps?" "I guess we'll just have to be careful." Victor replied. This was not time to overthink things, they needed to do something. He started through the kitchen. He stopped dead when he saw her. "Riley!" She was talking to a familiar looking waitress. "What the h*** is going on here?"
Bryn Michaels "I guess we'll just have to be careful." Bryn sighed, as she watched Victor make his way down the stairs. Being careful was not charging into a place probably lurking with who-knows-what planted by the insane masterminds. She didn't want to be left behind though, so she was forced to carefully run after him. The door led into the kitchen area, but it didn't look much like a kitchen anymore. Cooking equipment was knocked over and scattered on the tiled floor, plus a refrigerator had toppled over. She stepped over some spilled liquid, rushing to catch up with the man. He sure was in a hurry. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks, making Bryn crash into his back. "Hey! What are you doing?" she yelled, after adjusting her glasses. But, he was now talking to another girl surrounded by other kitchen staff. "Riley! What the h*** is going on here?" Bryn rolled her eyes at Victor's outburst, surprisingly he was being more high-strung than her at the moment. She squinted as she studied Riley, from her blotchy designer dress to her bloody cheek. She quickly realized it was the girl who had rudely passed her by at the elevator without a word, or even a smile. "Slow down, Victor." Bryn said as she walked around him to face Riley, "Miss, are you okay? That's a nasty cut."
Riley Steele Riley sighed. She hated it when people interrupted her, especially when what they had to say was completely unimportant. Still, she turned to take Victor’s rather unnecessary outburst and his accomplice’s concerned question. She wondered who the girl was. Obviously not someone he had brought with him wince Riley had watched him walk in, alone. She mentally shrugged, deciding it wasn’t important at the time. “I’m fine, thanks.” She said in response to the girl. Victor she ignored, glaring at him instead and checking her phone again. “Please tell me I’m not the only one who still doesn’t have reception.”
