Day 4

Back!  Haha!

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“Well, crap my pants.”

CHEVY KARUSSIN, self-marketed explosives expert, surveyed his own creation with a flashlight, having destroyed the existing lights.  Frosty sprinkles of glass and curled smoking metal scraps dotted the hallway.  The interior of the restricted corridor was comparatively cleaner, the force of the blast absorbed mostly by the bulletproof glass.  Whatever alarm that might have sounded at the fire was now silent, and certainly anyone in proximity was dead now.  Karussin tossed aside the two bomb shields–double layer protection for that close range explosion–and entered the corridor.

The cul-de-sac corridor led to a single doorway a few meters down, bright lights inside still gleaming.  His long legs easily crossing the distance, Karussin peered in, congratulating himself for wearing sunglasses.  It was a rather large and strange bedroom.  One half contained a flat bed, dresser, and closet; the other half displayed a computer desk, filing cabinets, and shelves of terabyte storage disks–everything painted white with Christmas lights strung beneath them.  The sheets on the bed were neatly tucked in, the pillows fluffed, the dresser and closet shut and bearing no decoration or forgotten accessory.  On the other side, the computer desk was barely visible, its metal face peering through paper mountains and book piles.  The shelves and cabinets were equally well-dressed.

Karussin cleaned the desk in one shove, the paper swooshing in great cascades to the floor.  Now for his secondary job: computer hacking.  Hooking up his palm-sized notebook to the desktop, he opened up his own decrypting program, as well as iTunes.  Theme music was necessary.

***

Icard awoke to the sound of Rammstein in the distance, eyes blurry and ears ringing.  He couldn’t breathe properly–something heavy crushing him.  He blinked several times and saw the wrinkled edge of Coulton’s tie.  Unable to push the heavyweight Coulton aside, Icard dragged himself out.  Jagged shrapnel punctured Coulton at several points, his back completely scorched.  He was most certainly dead, but that was the last thing concerning Icard.

Darkness everywhere!  The explosion had blown out the lights, and a stifling dread was crawling up his spine.  There was a faint light down the hall, in the direction of the restricted corridor, the source of the music.  Ignoring the pain shooting up his leg, the pounding in his head, and the burns on his arms, Icard hastened towards the light.

394 words.