The End of an Era


carrie_icon.gif curt_icon.gif dutch_icon.gif kayla_icon.gif len_icon.gif mortimer_icon.gif nalani_icon.gif rami_icon.gif sabra_icon.gif veronica_icon.gif

Also featuring:

ashton_icon.gif and The Locos

Scene Title The End of an Era
Synopsis Primatech's Bronx facility comes crashing down.
Date June 25, 2009

Primatech Research

To an unknowing observer, it appears to be a normal evening at Primatech Research. Most of the lights have been dimmed to their afterhours station-keeping levels, and the business floors are predominately manned by a skeleton crew of security guards. The majority of them are Evolved.

The Company floors are also sparsely populated, most of the facility's personnel having been phased out already. There are just a few loose ends to tie up, a few last measures to put into place. One such measure has brought Nalani Hollingwood to Sabra Dalton's office this evening; important news, after all, should be shared in person. Ashton is a silent observer to their meeting, part of the background as always. "…as Eleanor's end is concerned," Sabra says to her guest, "nothing will change."

The lobby, some floors below, is an open space wrapped about by concrete, metal, and glass, balconies lining the atrium walls above it, two catwalks tying together the lower levels. There are two elevators at one end, a receptionist idle at his desk towards the center of an adjoining wall, and two corridors leading back into the depths of the building.

The younger Hollingwood sibling is dressed as if to attend something fancy. She already had, actually, but a phone call from Sabra had derailed her plans to go home slightly. When they say jump, Nalani jumps. That was the deal she made. Very few people can make the headstrong woman do their bidding. Sabra Dalton is one by sheer fact that the woman has something that Nalani needs/wants and is not ashamed to humble herself for it. The formal gown-enrobed woman sits in the chair, volumes of emerald green fabric, heavily embroidered in black thread and beads that would choke feed a small country in its cost. Can we say Harry Winston? "Then, all is in order it seems. I'll wait for your call or Agent Denton's should my services be required. Thank you for letting me know so that I can adjust my schedule accordingly. I assume that Agent Prince will be remaining disguised as Stephanie?" The beaded clutch rests in her hand that hangs over the arm of the chair, the other is up, forefinger stroking along her jawline in thought.

Rami is not too far from Sabra's office. He's waiting for his sister, Nalani, to finish so that they can leave together, since he happened to spot her as she entered. In the meantime, he's helping a few others pack files away and a few other bits and pieces. He wouldn't be here were it not for his sibling. Nalani doesn't know he's here. He's hoping it will be a pleasant surprise to see a friendly face after the meeting with Sabra, and whatever the woman is asking her to do.

Granted, it's nights like these that make you want to go home, kick back, put your feet up on the coffee table and turn on the game. Doesn't really matter what game. Any game will do, as long as you have a beer in hand. This would be one of those nights. However, as ordered, all his personal gear has been carted off to the new location and Len sits at an empty desk with a small laptop and not much else. He taps away at the keys, filing the last report he's going to do for the night before he packs it in.

Once this report is complete, he's heading for the nearest sports bar where he can catch that game and have that beer. Tap-tapping away, Len also glances at the Air Express envelope that sits at the desk with him. Divorce papers. She didn't take long. Probably had them already in process. Honestly, he has no idea how long that letter sat there. He's supposed to get someone to look over the paperwork, he'll sign or not depending on her terms, and they'll go from there. Chances are, he'll just sign to get it over with. Everything he needs he brought with him.

Down the hall from Len's office, Curt and Veronica are arguing — what else is new? Each has their hand on the comfortable leather manly-man's chair that Curt dragged into Vee's office a few weeks ago. A veritable tug of war is going on.

"You cannot take it," Veronica is telling Curt, as if he were a small child instead of almost three decades older than her. "We're supposed to make it look like we're not bailing ship, Curt. Dragging out a chair might look weird if anyone's watching the place. You can replace it." She attempts to move the chair with a heavy shove back into the office, but of course he is bigger and stronger than her.

Curt growls at his partner, "I've been with the Company for two decades, this chair? Nearly the same. I've patched it with duct tape older then you!!" he says, tugging back on the chair. "Woman, do not make me cripple you and leave you here." His eyes narrow angrily.

"Guys… Guys…" Carrie swings into the doorway of the office Veronica and Curt share. Her office being next door, it's no wonder the woman is cranky. "Come on… it's like little kids over here." She gives both a look, a box held in her arms, the last of the stuff from her own office. Her apartment having been emptied of her and Magnes' stuff a few days ago, sleeping on airmatresses has not helped her mood. "Jesus… I hope to hell my next office is well down the damn hall."

People don't usually question it when lots of different cars are following each other down the street with tinted windows, especially when there's a hearse inbetween them. Right in front of Primatech the first car seems to break down, so they all stop.

A few moments later, the doors start opening, and men wearing black biker gear with large red numbers on their helmets, from 1 to 40, and one guy with no number at all, start approaching the Primatech doors. Mortimer (That's the guy without a number, for the folks at home), removes a metallic ring on his side and throws it at the door, setting the timer for three seconds to blow it wide open.

"Increasing the explosive power of the rings, while effective, is very boring. Someone write that down, and get your guns ready." His men, equipped with one grenade at their side and two handguns in holsters, each pull an SMG from behind their back. Mortimer on the other hand (quite literally), removes his glove to show the barrel of an SMG attached to his left hand, and draws his sword from behind on his right, all of the men beginning to march into the front doors as a flash grenade gets thrown.

"33, start the music!"

Outside, the one man who hasn't begun following begins playing incredibly loud music. Oh yes, Mortimer has read books, lots of them, and he knows all about psyching out (or weirding out?) the enemy. Singing in the Rain begins to play, echoing through the streets, and plenty loud within the building.

The receptionist stands up as men in black — and not black suits! — assemble themselves outside the glass doors, but anything he might have done is forestalled by the sudden explosion. Two security guards on upper-level balconies are in less of a position to be affected by either entrance explosion or the flash-bang, though it takes them a few crucial heartbeats to recover after the latter; one takes the time to radio a message, and then they both begin firing upon the intruders.

"That would be ideal for him," Sabra replies to Nalani with a dip of her head, "if it does not inconvenience you." The real inconvenience arrives when the building klaxon begins to blare. Without hesitation, the elderly woman enters something on her keyboard; the computer then proceeds to shut itself down. Ashton rises, picking up a single file from the desk and then opening the door, gesturing for the women to proceed him out. "Turn right out the door, Nalani, and take the stairs at the end of the hall," Sabra instructs their guest as she clips a radio earpiece into place.

There are several alarm codes utilized in the building; this one is Primatech's equivalent of abandon ship. Kayla Reid darts past Carrie, Veronica, Curt, and Curt's chair, stopping herself by the simple expedient of slamming her free hand against the doorpost of Len's office. A folder is still held in her other, and the secretary at some point acquired a radio headset of her own, although that isn't part of her everyday gear. "Change in evac route. We're going out through B wing," she informs him, and by extension the crowd in the hall. "Something like thirty intruders in the lobby."

The security personnel have largely abandoned their patrol routes, chatter over their radio channels quickly sorting out who stays on watch for other parts of the building and who will address this threat. Two teams of four each respond first, ducking into doorways along the corridors to have a modicum of cover as they endeavor to delay the intruders. Each team is split into two pairs — the two people nearer to Mortimer's gang fire mundane bullets, while those behind rely upon Evolved abilities. In the left corridor are a pyrokinetic and an electrokinetic; in the right, another pyro and a metallokinetic, who primarily attacks by sending bullets back the way they came.

What the bloody hell? Nalani's perking up in her seat, looking around much like a meerkat on Discovery channel does when it's poking its head out the hole to find danger. Only Sabra's instructing her to do something. In a sweep of marchesa silk and other fabrics, the British woman is up on her heels heading for the door. Worry on her face and, for once, a hint of fear. Fire drill? No, the looks on the others' faces. Out of Sabra's office she comes, standing there for a moment before turning right, and looking straight at Rami. "Akhy! What's wrong? What's going on?" She starts heading towards him, vuitton shoes striking on the hallway floor.

"Nalani!" Rami has pulled out a pistol and keeps his eyes peeled for any commotion near them. He moves quickly towards his sister and takes hold of her arm. "Come with me." He looks her up and down, lips pursing into a thin line. What an outfit to endure an attack in. "Where's Sabra?" He tugs her arm gently and starts off down the hall, towards the stairs. His eyes narrow as he keeps a sharp watch for the shape of anyone who's not supposed to be there.

There is no rifle report, no explosion and from this range clearly no muzzle flash. The glass behind one of the balconies cracks and spiderwebs, for a moment you might assume the sniper missed his mark, before the agent standing in front crumples to the floor. The next round comes just a heartbeat afterward, slamming into the poor bastard's ear with enough force to provide for projectile brainmatter through the glass and into the room beyond.

Aproximately 1.9 miles away, Dutch rises from his hunched position over his rifle. The recoil was sharp, sharp enough to give him a nose bleed. "God damnit," he mutters, stuffing a chunk of cotton up his nose before quickly adjusting his range card. Then it's back on the rifle, setting one empty shell casing carefully beside the first.

At the first explosion, Len is already uploading his data through secure channels to the remote site. As Kayla pounds on his door frame, his door wide open as usual, he's already initiating the command that procedes to wipe the laptop of any traces using a better-than-DoD grade hard drive-wipe program. The laptop will be left behind. He stands and grabs his harness, draping it over his shoulders and moves out to stand next to Kayla. "Just thirty? Well, shoot."

All he needs is a trusty steed and a nifty catchphrase and Len Denton would be ready to ride on into action. As much as he'd like to instruct his agents to get the hell out of dodge, he knows they're good folk who will take care of their own, so getting them out is going to be a task. So, those who are not trained to fight will be the priority. He picks up Kayla's phone and punches the code for the intercom system. "This is not a drill. This facility is under attack. If you are not assigned as part of the defense team for this facility, I highly suggest you tuck your tail and get the hell out. I repeat, get the hell out." He doesn't bother hanging up the phone as he turns to Kayla and gives her a nod. "Looks like you're with me. Let's go." Weapon drawn, he moves down the corridor, stopping at each door, pushing it open and making sure that those inside are moving out.

"Looks like the chair's going to be a casualty," Veronica says, after stumbling a little against the desk when the first explosion rocks the building. She grabs her blazer off her own chair and a post-card from her bulletin board which she shoves in her pocket. "You heard the man… this is not a drill," she says lightly nodding toward the hallway, moving to follow Kayla and Len through the new exit route.

Curt glares, "You are so lucky we're being attacked." he says to Vee before he shoves the chair behind him and back into the room. He pulls the twin machine pistols he carries and flips them around, useing his thumbs to pull back the slides and check the loads. Good. He hangs back, letting the group get a good distance from him. In situations like this he's more a potential weakness then a strength. "When we get there you have to let me take point!" he bellows up front. Worst place to be is near him in a firefight. He flicks the safeties of the twin guns.

"Son of a…" Carrie has to lean against the door jamb as the floor shakes beneth her feet. Luckily the box of stuff isn't important, just a couple of Carrie's personal items. Seems like Curt's chair won't be the only casualty. Ducking into her office she drops the box on the floor, snatching a small frame from the box. She grabs her shoulder holster and slings it on, removing one of the handguns it holds. There is the soft sound of the safety being clicked off as she moves quickly to catch up with the others.

I'm si~i~ingin' in the rain, just si~i~ingin' in the rain. What a glo~o~orious feelin', I'm ha~a~ppy again.

"Kill the magnet bastard!" Mortimer instructs, and one of his men changes a clip and starts loading the metallokinetic with plastic bullets. Meanwhile poor number 7 goes down when he runs at the electrokinetic with a grenade, blowing them both to bits. Yet another man goes down, 36, just as Mortimer is charging at the pyrokinetic, ducking under a large fireball and raising up to stick his sword into the guy's head from under his chin, then promptly pulls it out before beginning to move to the stairs with some of his men.

21 and 24 are still outside, carrying a rather large (about the size of a mini-bar) complex looking machine. It's not obviously any known bomb, but, what else could it be? "You know, most of those guys are gonna die. They didn't wanna be the ones carrying the bomb. Suckers." 21 says as he shakes his head, and 24 adds, "It's just like two years ago, when Mort had the plan to take out every gang in one night. We were smart enough to sign up for Eldritch Horror duty, and watched I Love Lucy all night."

Another Loco goes down, but they continue to push their way in, obviously skipping the elevators, though they seem to completely leave the receptionist alone… if he's smart enough not to pull a weapon.

Sabra and Ashton are a matter of steps behind Nalani. The woman nods to Rami as they head for the nearest stairwell and begin to descend towards the ground floor. Or at least a lower floor. The elevators, of course, are on lockdown; it isn't long before the building lights themselves dim entirely, duller emergency lighting flickering into place. At several points throughout the building, heavy metal doors swing closed and bolt themselves shut as internal security systems activate. The security teams are cut off from any possible backup — or escape routes — in the process, but they knew that was coming when they took up their positions.

Having conveyed her message, Kayla — knowing full well she is anything but a combatant — bolts for the stairs. Makes it a grand total of thirteen feet before her feet seem to simply stop working, papers flying loose of the folder as the aide crashes to the floor without so much as a sound. She hadn't had time to grab the suppressant, hadn't expected to need it on what was a typical in-building errand…

One of the guards on the balcony was shot from who-knows-where; the second attempts to hunker down and take cover, but also keeps firing down on the Locos — such as are left in the lobby anyway. The receptionist seems to have noticed his neglect, and is content to remain ignored, hiding behind the weak shelter of his desk.

Not like she knew there'd be an attack. If Nalani knew there was going to be an attack, well. She'd have worn Stella and some Helmut Lang. Get it? Get it? Right. "Riiight behind us." Spoken in her muddled accent and strained. "She just told me to go for the stai…" Nalani shuts up when Len's voice bleats out over the speakers. "Rami! What's happening? This is scaring me…" She hops on one foot as she plucks off a heel, then the other and not caring how tight Rami holds onto her arm. She'll be able to run faster when she's not in five-inch heels. They're carelessly tossed to the side and she keeps up with her brother and the others behind her.

Rami takes point ahead of Nalani, Sabra and Ashton. One of the people in this little group he's bound to protect by duty, the other by blood. He's a keen shot and has keen eyes, and as they move down the stairwell, he keeps a sharp watch for any sign of movement. "Calm down, Nalani dear. I'll get you out all right. Watch your skirts." It's a talent of his that he can remain so calm in the face of chaos and destruction. That's what makes him a good agent, but a poor big brother.

The next round comes in on a high arc, clear evidence that this round has a payload. Depleted uranium impacts the front of the balcony, which our last balcony guard is hiding behind. The jacket is shed as soon as it slams home, and the thin depleted uranium shank hidden deep inside slithers through the cover to find its target on the other side. Satisfied that the exterior of the building is now "clean", he shifts his focus. Lifting a hand to adjust the focus ring of his optic, letting crosshairs hover above a pale glowing spot inside the lobby.

Dutch could stop, he'd done enough and whomever was hiding behind the desk was obviously terrified. To spare the bullet and grant the bomb though, Dutch votes to grant the bullet. Theres another moment or two, dialing in differential slope and all that. Then, with the most delicate of touches he lights off his third round at the receptionist.

Veronica frowns and kneels down to help up Kayla. "What's wrong?" she says, grabbing the spilled pieces of paper and shoving them back in the file to hand to Len, leaving Kayla to the larger, stronger agent to help carry out if need be. She unloads her own weapon, ready to shoot at anyone who might be shooting at them, if only she could see the sniper.

21 and 24 go for a different staircase entirely, around four men breaking off from the main group to escort them. Meanwhile, eight or so men follow Mortimer into his stairwell, on a collision course with Rami's group.

Number 10 is ahead of Mortimer though, having thrown his SMG aside, he pulled out a regular glock, something Mortimer himself doesn't use. He's a small man, around 5'6 or so, though talks to himself, a lot. "All these years, collecting war figurines, guns, plotting battles, it's all paying off, my first real fight." He sounds around thirty or so, walking faster. Then he spots Rami, and with a cackle behind his helmet, opens fire at the agent's chest. "Gentlemen, I like war!" he yells down the stairs at Mortimer and his group. 10 is, unfortunately, very alone, having walked ahead so quickly.

"Lu. Take em out." Len barks as he lets the other agents pass. "Sawyer, Castillo, cover him as best you can while getting the hell away from this site, and from as far away from him as you can possibly be." Sawyer should know what Lu's ability can do, hopefully Castillo does as well.

When Kayla drops, Len doesn't waste any time in picking her up and dropping her unceremoniously over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He doesn't have time for pleasantries at the moment and he needs to get her away from any wounded in the area, just in case that is what is affecting her. He doesn't have time to assess the situation at the moment. He waits for everyone else to charge up the stairs before he moves in after them. Once everyone reaches that first landing they are on ground level.

Curt's lips part in a slow smile and he nods, "Yes sir." He waits for a single heart beat as he pulls his guns up… then charges. The instant he sees targets his weapons begin to burp. Shell casings rain in trios from each weapon as he moves with surprising speed from one form of cover to the next, his path erratic and unpredictable. Bullets fly, either trying to force the invaders to take cover or take them down. As he nears the first numbered biker he stops trying to dodge and simply runs right towards the thick of them, guns blazing. It's hard to tell, but there's a chance he's singing.

"Get back!" barks out the Arab man as he finds himself face to face with the attackers. Were this any other mission, were it any other two people behind him, things may have turned out differently for Rami Hollingwood. He's fast enough and agile enough to have gotten out of the way, but that would have left the three people behind him vulnerable.

Rami may be a cold man, a killer, a man lacking in morals. His career has left a trail of bodies in his wake — not all necessary. But it appears he can do something noble with his life.

Before the attacking thug fires at his chest, he gets off a few shots. He is usually a man with killer precision, but only one flies straight and true before the enemy bullets slice through his chest. As he goes down, a few more shots go off, but then he falls prone, pistol dropping from his hand.

It's no long, drawn out death with pained last words or spurted out mouthfuls of blood. All his beloved sister gets in the way of a goodbye is a pained, remorseful look from his downed position, sprawled out against the stairs.

At least I protected you, ahkti.

Those would be his last words if he had breath to say them. The one good thing he's done with his life, for all his sins, was make sure his little sister stayed safe.

She followed his orders, backing up when Rami said so. But she looked back, he never said she couldn't and she see's the discharge from his gun, the discharge from the other mans. There's a pained scream that belongs to Nalani as she sees her brother go down. Backing up isn't on her mind just an outflung arm and the scream of his name as their eyes meet and she starts to rush down the steps towards him, intending to fruitlessly plug the bleeding holes in him with her hands. "Ahky! Ahky!"

Bullets pierce through 10's chest, causing him to fall back on the stairs and gaze up at the higher flights of stairs above him. The only thing he says is, "First blood…" before his body suddenly goes limp.

"What's that idiot doing up there? We're supposed to be going below." Mortimer says just as Curt comes out of nowhere, dropping his guys like flies. "Hey, what the hell!" yells Mortimer, raising his gun arm and holding out his sword. "If you wanna fight, let's do it, buddy!" he offers with a grin, since 21 and 24 are handling the explosion. Sadly it doesn't seem like they'll make it to files or prisoners at the rate these powered guys keep coming out, but hey, who cares, this is fun!

Meanwhile, 21 and 24 are arming the bomb at the lower levels of their side of the stairs, and once armed, them and the other men start running back up. "No offense, but you guys are gonna die," 24 yells back at the four Locos trailing behind them, who all look at each other in confusion. But sure enough, 21 and 24's intuition is usually correct, and as soon as they burst through the lobby doors they quickly blow closed and lock on the other four. "Told 'em."

Sabra descends the stairs at a rapid pace, grabbing ahold of Nalani's arm. "Ashton will do what he can, but we cannot stay." She doesn't keep hold of Nalani, as the woman can do what she will, but comes to the first-floor landing. Allowing Len to exit first, still carrying Kayla, Sabra lifts a hand to her earpiece. "C Wing. Two on A. B on my instruction." Her other hand gestures for the remaining agents to hurry up and get outside.

Whether Nalani hinders him or moves on, Ashton picks up Rami's body — heedless of the blood — and carries him outside.

The sound is muffled, over here in B wing, but another explosion shakes the building shortly after Sabra's directions. The walls tremble as if from an earthquake, but Dutch has the best view of all — from his watchpoint, a large section of the building first begins to crumple, then collapses inward in a shower of dust and glass particulates.

Somewhere, a stopwatch begins to count. Five seconds. Ten. Thirty.

They can't stay, but Nalani won't let her brother's body stay either. Ashton though is picking up her brother's corpse and Nalani's following, trying to keep pace with the pair, bare feet slapping on the stair surfaces and heading out with the others. "Save him. Save him, please, he's all I have. You have to save him." Somewhere in her mind though, in the far back, there's the realization that anything would be fruitless at this point.

With Kayla over his shoulder, Len's only intent at the moment is to get her away from death before it claims her as well. He doesn't see Rami fall, hear Nalani scream, only Sabra give orders in this earpiece. His agents can take care of themselves, and he's fairly certain Curt is having a hell of a time. He'll have to remember to buy that man a beer when all is said and done. Hell, he'll buy the entire gang as much beer as they can possibly consume.

He kicks at the bar of the door in his path that leads out. It swings open and he takes one moment to look for hostiles before it starts to swing shut. Taking the risk, he kicks it open again and hustles out the door. First things first, as he makes his way towards the nearest parked vehicle that hasn't been hit and he uses a size 15 boot to kick in the window. Moments later, Kayla is tucked down into the back of the car, and after a moment of hotwiring, Len is screaming the tires out of the parking lot. Surely the instant the wing with his office goes down, he'll remember that envelope that sits still on his desk. That'll take some explaining.

"Curt!" Veronica barks out at her partner. She gives a jerk of her head to tell him to disengage. She trains her weapon in his direction, prepared to either shoot him or any of his assailants, whichever works out better — as long as he's within 10 feet of his enemies, his wounds will be theirs, after all.

"Go on," she adds to Carrie, letting the fellow agent know she'll keep Lu covered. Once he's as close to Vee as to the men in black, Veronica will turn to make her own way out of the building, following the others and letting Curt cover them. Nalani's voice grabs her attention, and she flinches as she sees the dead man on Ashton's shoulder.

Keeping out of the range of Curt's ability, Carrie takes a moment to fire of a couple of rounds. When Sawyer calls her partner, she starts backing up as Curt moves, covering his retreat as best as she can without getting close to the man. Last moment she ducks out the door after Veronica, keeping low. "Watch out for that damn sniper." God she hopes it's not who she thinks it is. Gun sweeps left to right as she follows close to the other female agent.

Curt's lips part further and he empties the last of one of the weapons into one of the few remaining bikers about to try to charge him from the side. He drops the gun and pulls a wicked Vietnam bayonet from a sheath at his back, lining it up along his forearm in a reverse grip. Quiet descends for just a second, long enough for Mortimer and anyone listening to likely hear the lilting and pleasant tones slipping past Curt's lips. He's actually got a pretty voice, "If happy little bluebirds fly, beyond the rainbow, why oh why can—" He doesn't even pause in the song before his arm twitches and he unleashes the rest of his clip at Mortimer's legs. Curt doesn't retreat right away, he stays for a moment to eye Mortimer with a sadistic slow grin, "Iiiiiiii." He finishes the song. He winks once at Mortimer before turning to run towards the doors. He trusts the bomb blast will handle anyone left inside. "Go go go!" he yells ahead of himself, reloading his pistol and firing behind himself to keep everyone from following.

"With a ha~a~ppy refra~i~in. Just singin', singin', in, the rai~i~in!" Mortimer countersings, bullets pelting into his legs, though the armor in his knees keeps some of the bullets from going completely in, the rest of his legs get pretty messed up. Still, he keeps running, not even firing his gun, he just gets off a few slashes which cause some of his men to grab their sides and arms in pain as blood spurts out. "One of their Avatars…" is all he says as Curt leaves, and suddenly there's a huge explosion from below.

A huge white blob starts climbing the stairs in A-wing, while also going deeper, crushing and destroying anything in its path, and it's clearly going to spill outside the lobby, break through the glass and out to the street, then cross over into B-wing as people are escaping.

The last thing anyone sees Mortimer do is pull out a grenade. What kind of grenade? It's hard to say, but no one quite manages to see his final fate, as the last thing he says is, "It's your turn with Cassidy, stuck up bastard. Wait, I'm not schizophrenic…" The blob of polyurethane completely spills over the room, climbing down B-wing's stairs, and breaks through the exit, leaving there absolutely no hope of anyone getting back in.

Two minutes. A wing implodes precisely on schedule, though the expanding polyurethane within makes this almost a moot point; as the surviving agents locate vehicles and depart the scene, B wing is also dropped in its entirety, leaving Mortimer's creation very little left to expand into. Between the confluence of all the explosives, even those things which were inadvertantly left in the building is destroyed beyond all recovery; picking at these bones will yield nothing.%r%rBlack cars with flashing blue-and-red lights arrive in the streets mere moments later, summoned to the scene by a woman who finally figured out the puzzle left for her by Mortimer — but there is absolutely nothing and no one left to save, and the Locos who were able to get out have also made good their escape.

Main Headline for June 26, 2009:

<complete with many pictures of the demolished building>

At approximately ten pm last night, an explosion rocked the Bronx. The Primatech Paper offices were apparently attacked by a group called 'The Locos', for reasons as yet unknown. The gang used high explosives and destroyed the entire building beyond recovery; it is believed that several gang members and security guards were killed in the attack. Investigation of the event is currently under way. No Primatech employees were available for comment as of this morning.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License