05-06-2014, 12:22 PM
The King Abdulaziz airport was locked down tighter than a nun's virtue when Nicholas and Reed arrived. It was an obvious show of force. The self-proclaimed Mahdi's announcement had spread across international news like a firestorm - Nicholas himself had already made his opinion known. The fortifications were a dare. If Al-Hasan wanted the Custody out, he'd have to pay the price in blood. Perhaps Brandon should have simply avoided attacking a preacher on the pulpit.
On a night such as that, the Custody forces strengthening the airport's security detail did not take chances. Nicholas's press corps badge only moved him to the front of the line; it didn't spare him being felt up by a sweaty, overweight man who smelled vaguely of cottage cheese. He supposed it wouldn't be a true airport experience without that special feeling like all the showers in the world would never make you clean again.
The press corps followed Brandon wherever he went, if not on exactly the same schedule. Embedded within it as he was, and with Brandon's departure from Mecca, Nicholas had little choice but to follow. Or rather, little choice but to follow or return home and start doing useful things. It was getting harder to justify staying.
Perhaps it was an unconscious desire for one last hurrah before he gave up his freedom in service to something greater. It wouldn't be the first time. Of course, a road trip filled with underage drinking didn't exactly equate to running around inside the greatest threat to free society the world had ever seen. Not on a one-to-one scale, at least. The drinking was legal, now.
Speaking of that, Nicholas was just about to grab a drink at one of the airport's bars - thankfully, the Custody had done something good to Saudi Arabia - when the first explosion rocked the terminal. Then another. And another. He seized the power on instinct. The only proof he had that the thunder outside wasn't mother nature playing tricks was the lack of rain or wind. It took several minutes for the booming to subside. With his suddenly sensitive ears he could easily hear the screams of the hurt and the moans of the dying. And then the shooting started.
The high-pitched, rapid thumping of Custody rifles formed a wall of white noise that drowned out everything else. The defenders were trying to get some breathing room; likely to pull back deeper into the terminal. But it was quickly made clear that the suppressed, modern rifles were heavily outnumbered by older AKs. Their shooting quickly died to single shots, picking out and eliminating individual enemies as entire magazines of surplus ammunition were expended, likely fruitlessly, in their direction. The dull thumping of autocannons soon joined the Custody troops' rifles, but even that was too little, too late.
In the bar, panic reigned. Half the people were diving under tables and the others were part-sprinting part-stumbling out the door. What had been a quiet, relaxing atmosphere just minutes before quickly devolved into chaos once the explosions subsided. The noise of several dozen frantic phone calls almost disguised a particularly unsettling fact: the gunfire was coming from all sides.
Nicholas slammed back the last of his drink, though the power made it useless to quell a heart trying desperately to beat its way from his chest, and stood up. There was a trick he'd been meaning to try, and now seemed the perfect time to do it. With a particular coiling of air, he was able to amplify his voice - essentially like a magical megaphone.
"All of you need to shut up, right now."
The fact that every head in the room turned toward him instantly made him wonder if he'd done too much. He was surprised how calm his voice sounded. Nicholas just hoped nobody wondered why he could talk louder than most could scream. He had their attention.
"Hear that gunfire outside? The Custody is losing. They're going to pull back to someplace defensible, and try to hold out until help arrives."
Nicholas just hoped help actually would show up. If Al-Hasan could bring this kind of force to bear elsewhere, anything the soldiers in the airport did might just be delaying the inevitable. But that wasn't worth thinking about. "If we all sit here crying instead of figuring out where they're going to stand and getting there, then the next time our families see us we'll be hanging from some street lights on the morning news."
So, for once, the Custody was the good guys.
Everyone stood still for a moment, and then one man raised his hand. It was strange that in the most stressful of times, people fell back on grade school manners. Nicholas pointed, and the man spoke, confusion plain on his face and the accent of Scandinavia on his tongue. "Wh-what gunfire?"
At that, Nicholas almost smacked himself. Of course they couldn't hear it. The building was sound proofed, and the bar was closer to the center than the sides. He was only able to pick out what was happening because of the power. Luckily, that awkward moment ended quickly as shouting in Arabic filled the terminal. A moment later, glass skylights shattered as AK rounds were fired into the air. Fuck
, he thought. Where in the hell is Reed?
She could take care of herself. He'd probably find her with the soldiers.
"That gunfire. Any more questions?"
It was strange. The last time he'd been in a situation like this, he was embedded with the Marines. And he'd been terrified. This time, his heart still thudded in his chest louder than the autocannons outside - but he had the power to protect these people. He still hoped to avoid letting them know exactly what kind of power that was.
Edited by Nick Trano, May 15 2014, 09:08 PM.
On a night such as that, the Custody forces strengthening the airport's security detail did not take chances. Nicholas's press corps badge only moved him to the front of the line; it didn't spare him being felt up by a sweaty, overweight man who smelled vaguely of cottage cheese. He supposed it wouldn't be a true airport experience without that special feeling like all the showers in the world would never make you clean again.
The press corps followed Brandon wherever he went, if not on exactly the same schedule. Embedded within it as he was, and with Brandon's departure from Mecca, Nicholas had little choice but to follow. Or rather, little choice but to follow or return home and start doing useful things. It was getting harder to justify staying.
Perhaps it was an unconscious desire for one last hurrah before he gave up his freedom in service to something greater. It wouldn't be the first time. Of course, a road trip filled with underage drinking didn't exactly equate to running around inside the greatest threat to free society the world had ever seen. Not on a one-to-one scale, at least. The drinking was legal, now.
Speaking of that, Nicholas was just about to grab a drink at one of the airport's bars - thankfully, the Custody had done something good to Saudi Arabia - when the first explosion rocked the terminal. Then another. And another. He seized the power on instinct. The only proof he had that the thunder outside wasn't mother nature playing tricks was the lack of rain or wind. It took several minutes for the booming to subside. With his suddenly sensitive ears he could easily hear the screams of the hurt and the moans of the dying. And then the shooting started.
The high-pitched, rapid thumping of Custody rifles formed a wall of white noise that drowned out everything else. The defenders were trying to get some breathing room; likely to pull back deeper into the terminal. But it was quickly made clear that the suppressed, modern rifles were heavily outnumbered by older AKs. Their shooting quickly died to single shots, picking out and eliminating individual enemies as entire magazines of surplus ammunition were expended, likely fruitlessly, in their direction. The dull thumping of autocannons soon joined the Custody troops' rifles, but even that was too little, too late.
In the bar, panic reigned. Half the people were diving under tables and the others were part-sprinting part-stumbling out the door. What had been a quiet, relaxing atmosphere just minutes before quickly devolved into chaos once the explosions subsided. The noise of several dozen frantic phone calls almost disguised a particularly unsettling fact: the gunfire was coming from all sides.
Nicholas slammed back the last of his drink, though the power made it useless to quell a heart trying desperately to beat its way from his chest, and stood up. There was a trick he'd been meaning to try, and now seemed the perfect time to do it. With a particular coiling of air, he was able to amplify his voice - essentially like a magical megaphone.
"All of you need to shut up, right now."
The fact that every head in the room turned toward him instantly made him wonder if he'd done too much. He was surprised how calm his voice sounded. Nicholas just hoped nobody wondered why he could talk louder than most could scream. He had their attention.
"Hear that gunfire outside? The Custody is losing. They're going to pull back to someplace defensible, and try to hold out until help arrives."
Nicholas just hoped help actually would show up. If Al-Hasan could bring this kind of force to bear elsewhere, anything the soldiers in the airport did might just be delaying the inevitable. But that wasn't worth thinking about. "If we all sit here crying instead of figuring out where they're going to stand and getting there, then the next time our families see us we'll be hanging from some street lights on the morning news."
So, for once, the Custody was the good guys.
Everyone stood still for a moment, and then one man raised his hand. It was strange that in the most stressful of times, people fell back on grade school manners. Nicholas pointed, and the man spoke, confusion plain on his face and the accent of Scandinavia on his tongue. "Wh-what gunfire?"
At that, Nicholas almost smacked himself. Of course they couldn't hear it. The building was sound proofed, and the bar was closer to the center than the sides. He was only able to pick out what was happening because of the power. Luckily, that awkward moment ended quickly as shouting in Arabic filled the terminal. A moment later, glass skylights shattered as AK rounds were fired into the air. Fuck
, he thought. Where in the hell is Reed?
She could take care of herself. He'd probably find her with the soldiers.
"That gunfire. Any more questions?"
It was strange. The last time he'd been in a situation like this, he was embedded with the Marines. And he'd been terrified. This time, his heart still thudded in his chest louder than the autocannons outside - but he had the power to protect these people. He still hoped to avoid letting them know exactly what kind of power that was.
Edited by Nick Trano, May 15 2014, 09:08 PM.