Officers Dietrich and Gutierrez have two important things on their mind right now: How long will this crisis last and who should they ask about getting a cup of coffee?
For the past thirty minutes, everyone has been standing around twiddling their thumbs (metaphorically speaking) and waiting for Stephen Callahan to come back outside with his crew – or whatever is left of it – so they can hop into the van and drive to the airport. The van’s driver yawns, a sure sign that they have been waiting longer than anyone expected. The snipers on the roof have gotten up several times from their positions to stretch their legs. All of them really have to pee. If this goes on for much longer, they may need to quickly go to the bathroom and hope nothing exciting happens in the meantime.
“How much equipment did they bring with them?” Special Agent Mendoza asks Dylan and Henry.
“Oh, not much,” Henry recalls. “The guy who’s breaking into the safe was carrying a duffle bag, like he was going golfing or something. Everyone else didn’t have anything on them except for guns.”
“I think Stephen had a backpack, didn’t he?” Dylan asks his chef. Henry shakes his head.
“No idea, boss. I was in complete shock when everyone burst into the room. I don’t remember. Sorry.” Dylan pats Henry on the shoulder. Special Agent Mendoza whispers something into Robert L. Baker’s ear. The time is now 4:37 in the morning. It’s hard to believe that this crisis has lasted for more than four hours. For Dylan and Henry, it feels like an entire week has passed since they were in the cabaret room, drinking and dancing the night away. When this is over, Dylan realizes he’s going to have a shitshow on his hands which could dwarf the previous shitshow that he had to endure four years ago. He’s already dreading that reality.
Everyone turns their heads toward the front door when it suddenly opens. Instead of Stephen Callahan and his men coming out, it’s the three women – still naked and all drenched in blood – sprinting for the front gate. Dylan and Henry stand up to greet them. The police and FBI agents stare in complete and utter shock at the surprising sight of three muscular women covered in blood running for their lives. Officer Cunningham, who was busy texting his girlfriend, drops his phone to the pavement as he watches the three nude women approach. The screen cracks.
“DYLAN! We’re so glad you’re okay!” Melanie screams. Dylan, horrified to see his three friends covered in a gory mess, drops his blanket on the grass. He hugs all three of them, not caring if he gets blood-soaked in the process. Everyone watching from a distance cannot believe what they’re seeing. The tall woman is as big as an NFL linebacker. She looks like she struggles to fit through doorframes. The other woman with big boobs is so curvy and well-built that it’s giving Officers Dietrich and Cunningham strange erections. The black girl, while the smallest of the group, is as gorgeous as a supermodel and as strong as an ox. The sight of these three unusual looking women completely covered in blood raises in everyone’s minds one singular question:
What kind of party was Dylan Tanaka hosting at his house?
Before anyone can think too deeply about the ramifications of what they’re witnessing, Melanie approaches the front gate. Special Agent Mendoza, who identifies as bisexual but has kept that part of her life a secret from her colleagues, starts to squirm a little when she sees this large, strong, muscular woman walk toward her. She does her best to remain calm and collected.
“Look, no time for introductions. We’ve taken care of all four of Stephen’s men,” Melanie explains. “Only he’s left. And he’s downstairs in the basement. Not sure why, but that’s where he is…for now.”
“Are…are there any, uh, hostages left in there?” Mendoza stutters, trying to make eye contact with her and not be distracted by her broad shoulders, bulging arms, massive quads, and ripped abdomen. She wants nothing more than to run her fingers all over this woman’s beautiful strong body. But first thing’s first.
“No, we’re all safe. I mean, we’re all in pain…and Peggy’s been shot a couple of times, but we’re all safe. Is that what’s been holding you back?” she demands to know. Special Agent Mendoza shakes her head. Baker approaches the gate, equally mesmerized by this large muscular woman standing before him.
“Yes. That’s why we haven’t stormed the house yet. It’s not an active shooter situation, so we know no one’s life is in danger unless we make the situation more dangerous than it needs to be,” Baker calmly says to the group. “But if that’s not the case anymore, then let’s get at it.”
Dylan enters a four-digit code into a panel, which opens the gate. Only four SWAT team officers enter the property.
“We still need to proceed carefully. He claims he has a bomb hidden somewhere in the city, a threat that we don’t think is real but must take seriously, nevertheless. So we can’t just all rush in like Black Friday shoppers at a Best Buy. Dylan, can you escort these four officers into your home and show them where he’s probably hiding?” Mendoza goes from trying to avoid looking at Melanie’s muscles to averting her eyes so she doesn’t stare at Dylan’s penis. What distracts her even more is when she briefly looks down and sees Henry’s really, really large penis hanging between his legs. She’s seen a whole lot of people naked while on the job (mostly prostitutes, their johns, or criminals taking a shower while the FBI busts into their homes), but none of them as aesthetically pleasing as the three women standing before her or a man as well-endowed as Dylan Tanaka’s personal chef.
Peggy Cole collapses onto a stretcher and is taken by two paramedics into an ambulance. Monique and Melanie chat with a couple of firefighters, who are interrogating them about their injuries. This gives Dylan confidence that he can proceed and escort the police officers down to his basement. Officer Gutierrez hands Dylan and Henry two pairs of gym shorts and two plain white t-shirts that an FBI agent delivered an hour ago. Both men get dressed in a hurry, returning to an acceptable form of modesty.
“Let’s go,” Dylan says.
“I’ll watch over the ladies, boss man. Don’t you worry about them,” Henry tells his boss. This makes him smile.
“I trust you.”
“Two will be in front of you, two others will be behind,” Dietrich says to Dylan. He nods his head. “Go. Move it.”
As Dylan and the four SWAT officers rush into the house, the other SWAT team members and several uniformed cops run all over the property so the whole house can be surrounded. The snipers on the roof return to their ready positions. If law enforcement had known that four of the five gunmen are already dead, the logical thing to do would’ve been to storm the basement until the lone thief had no choice but to surrender. There will be plenty of time to assess what could have happened during the inevitable investigative panel that will follow.
When Dylan reenters his home, he tries to ignore the damage done to his property. Shattered glass, bullet holes in the walls, one of his marble statues broken in thousands of tiny pieces, and (as he will later discover) two massacred bodies in the kitchen, one in the dining room, and the other in the gym. He attempts to not think about how much repairing the damage will cost, both in terms of monetary value and emotional labor. Lawrence is going to have a field day trying to explain to the contractors and insurance brokers what happened here tonight.
“He’s spent all night trying to break into the safe,” Dylan explains to the lead SWAT officer. “I have no doubt he’s there right now, trying to finish the job. He has no way to escape, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his pride. He’ll want to spite me even if he ends up losing at the end.”
“How will he do that?” the officer asks. This gives Dylan pause.
“No clue. We’ll soon find out.”
Two SWAT officers carefully walk down the stairs. Dylan has been instructed to stay behind in case the situation gets hairy. The lead officer mumbles something into his earpiece, most likely communicating to someone that they’re approaching the target. After several moments of eerie silence, one of the officers at the bottom of the stairs raises his right fist in the air. The other three officers begin their descent down.
“You say it’s straight down the hall?” the lead officer clarifies.
“Yes. You can’t miss it.”
“Good. Thanks. Now, get out of here. Go back and tell them that we need backup. Your job is done here,” he says.
“Sure. Okay. I’ll do that.”
“Great.”
The lead officer flies down the stairs as quietly as possible. Dylan hopes they aren’t making mud tracks on his carpet. Just one more thing to add to the bill. Carpet cleaning services. Defying the orders just given to him, Dylan looks around to see if any gunmen are present. No one seems to be on the ground floor. For some strange reason (probably another example of his intuition kicking in) Dylan remains where he is. He leans over the railing to listen in on what’s going on in the basement. All he can hear are several small footsteps charging down the hall to the storage room.
“Good luck, gentlemen,” Dylan mutters.
The sound of footsteps racing down the hall makes Stephen’s ears perk up. He knows it’s only a matter of time before the authorities outside realize most (or all) of his men are dead. This makes this confrontation as inevitable as the sun rising over the horizon. Stephen has spent the past several minutes planning his next move. Just as the SWAT officers turn the corner to enter the storage room, Stephen removes two grenades from his backpack (he has more than one major surprise waiting for anyone unfortunate enough to foil his plans). He pulls the lynchpin from one of them and tosses it underhand in the direction of the noisy footsteps. Stephen plugs his ears with his fingers and ducks behind an old leather sofa to protect himself from what’s about to happen next.
“Surprise, motherfuckers!”
The faint sound of an object no larger than a baseball rolling down the linoleum floor makes the lead SWAT officer stop dead in his tracks. He mumbles a curse word right before a brilliant flash of light explodes across his face, sending him flying backwards.
BOOM!!!
Dylan audibly gasps when he hears a roaring blast of sound echo down the hallway and up the stairs. He falls to his knees as the floor shakes below him. He’s fortunate to be so far upstairs, otherwise the blast would have blown out his eardrums. Dylan is unsure if the explosion could be heard or felt from outside. The grenade explosion causes all four SWAT officers to fly in different directions. The leader, who experienced the bluntest trauma, gets most of his face ripped off as he lands on his back. The stomach-churning smell of burning flesh and hot shrapnel piercing human skin permeates the air. White smoke rolls down the hall and fills the whole storage room. Triumphantly ecstatic, Stephen stands up to inspect the damage. The stench of flammable chemicals makes him gag a little. He’s surprised there isn’t more fire surrounding the blast point, which is probably more a product of him seeing too many movies instead of studying the finer science of incendiary devices.
“Holy shit. Sorry boys. Nothing personal. Just business.” Three of the SWAT officers are unmoving. A fourth one is squirming around a little. A large pool of blood has formed around the four bodies. Most of the front wall has been blasted away. Even a cold-blooded man like Stephen Callahan turns away in disgust as he sees limbs strewn across the floor. He does his best to avert his eyes as he warily approaches the front of the storage room. “Sweet Jesus. Wow. What the hell did I just do?”
To make matters worse, the explosion prompts the fire alarm to ring incessantly. While not as ear-piercing as the fire alarm in prison (fire drill days were always a hassle), it’s just one more element that he must deal with as he makes his last stand. It is at this moment that Stephen realizes that this is his first time ever killing someone. He certainly threatened to kill Dylan and his hostages earlier this evening, but until this moment that’s all they were. Verbal threats. As he looks down at the gory mess before him, Stephen finally realizes that this is the end. There’s no going back. He’s no longer a common crook, or even a terrorist. He’s now a monster.
“God…have mercy on my soul.”
Upstairs, Dylan gets up to his feet and ponders what to do next. The only rational thing is to go back outside and get as many reinforcements as possible to storm the basement. How many exploding devices does Stephen have with him? Dylan cannot imagine it would be that many. Without a moment’s hesitation, Dylan sprints to the front door and runs as fast as he can back to the front gate. By now, a large contingency of officers and federal agents have gathered on his front lawn. Special Agent Mendoza is the first to spot him.
“What’s happening in there?” she asks.
“Something just exploded down there! It was fucking loud. Don’t know what it was, but he’s not messing around. I have no idea what happened to your men.”
“DAMN! He wasn’t kidding about possessing bombs. Shit.” Just as Mendoza is about to give an order to the SWAT officers to immediately enter the house, Officer Cunningham hurries toward the group.
“Hey! He’s trying to talk to us through the front gate. Come over here.”
Special Agent Mendoza, Dylan, Robert L. Baker, and Officers Dietrich and Gutierrez rush to the callbox. Before Baker can press the “talk” button, Dylan pushes his way to the front of the group and does it himself. Melanie and Henry, meanwhile, listen in as they’re being looked at by paramedics.
“Alright, you piece of shit. What do you want?”
“Wow! Dylan boy, you’re still there? I’d like to think you’d be somewhere else by now. Visiting your whore friends in the hospital, perhaps? Well, then. That certainly changes things,” Stephen rejoices. Thick white smoke breezes into the storage room. The ringing noise of a smoke detector located in the hallway (just a few yards away from where the grenade exploded) can be faintly heard in the distance. Stephen Callahan gave up smoking cigarettes shortly before serving his prison sentence. However, he finds the waft of carcinogenic white smoke comforting – especially in these tense circumstances. “As you probably heard, we’re not just armed with guns. We have explosives, too. That certainly ups the ante, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’ve heard a rumor that you may have hidden a bomb somewhere in the city,” Dylan adds. Robert L. Baker steams with fury. As a trained hostage negotiator, he knows how delicate these situations can be and how rapidly they can get out of hand (which at this point, is somewhat moot). The thought of Dylan Tanaka, someone who’s clearly not trained in communicating with dangerous terrorists, taking over the duties of speaking to Callahan makes his blood boil. Mendoza observes Baker’s incredulousness and puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.
“Oh yeah, that. You’re right that I did spread such a rumor around the water cooler.” Stephen removes the second grenade from his bag. He sets it down on the ground with the pin turned toward him. “However, you and your friends can rest easily knowing I was bullshitting you all the whole time. I’m sure this isn’t a surprise to any of you.”
“No, it’s not!” Mendoza chimes in. Officer Dietrich lets out a sigh of relief knowing there isn’t a dangerous threat looming over the whole city – just here in this (formerly) quiet cul-de-sac. Baker considers pushing Dylan Tanaka out of the way but resists the urge, deciding this could be the best way to talk Mr. Callahan off the proverbial ledge.
“What do you want, Stephen? It’s hopeless for you. All your hostages have escaped. We’re safe. I’m pretty sure most or all of your associates are dead or dying. What do you have left? Why go on? Just surrender and put an end to this nightmare. I could use a nap, for crying out loud!” Dylan snickers. He knows this will either further enrage him or demoralize him. No matter what, Dylan knows this could be the last time he ever talks to his former colleague. He wants to make it count. “What do you say, old friend?”
“What do I say? Here’s something. Let’s just call it, a dirty little secret of mine.”
“What? You mean the fucking hand grenade or whatever it was, that just added a couple million bucks to my repair bill?” Dylan seethes with anger as he reminds himself that his home has been damaged to the point where he’s going to have to live in a hotel for the next four to five months – maybe longer. He looks over at the army of SWAT and police officers surrounding his house. He hopes nobody with an itchy trigger finger puts additional bullet holes where they don’t belong.
“Oh no. I do have one more grenade, if you must know. But I’m talking about something even more dangerous. Is the gentleman I was speaking to earlier still there?” Stephen asks.
“Yes. I’m here,” Baker answers.
“Good! I’m glad to hear your voice again, Rob. And can I also assume that your cop and fed friends are also within earshot?”
Dylan and Robert L. Baker look around at the small group that has congregated around the front gate callbox. Even Melanie, who still feels aches and pains all over her body, has walked away from the paramedic attending to her so she can get closer to the conversation at hand. “Yeah, we’re all here. You’re talking to a large group of people, Steve,” Baker assures Stephen. “So whatever you got to say, just spill it. You have an attentive audience.”
“Great! Here’s what I’ve got in my possession. A dirty bomb.”
The crowd, almost in unison, stops breathing. Everyone looks at each other with a mixture of horror, confusion, skepticism, and apocalyptic dread. Baker and Mendoza stare at each other for a long time without saying a single word. The crazy man has just admitted that there is a bomb…and it’s located in Dylan Tanaka’s basement. They are unsure if they should believe him this time or brush it off as yet another empty threat. Both federal agents scramble to remember what their training taught them regarding situations like this. Their minds come up with no coherent answers.
“A dirty bomb, you say? Like something radioactive?” Baker inquires. His breathing returns to normal for a moment. The same cannot be said for the others.
“Yes. Not too long ago, I stole an x-ray machine from a hospital. I won’t say where, but I’m sure you folks could figure it out if you did your homework.” Stephen pokes his head out the door to check in on the SWAT guys who took the brunt of the blast. Nobody seems to be moving. He regrets doing this the moment he sees someone’s severed arm sitting on a pile of rubble. The smell of burning flesh makes him want to vomit. Stephen wisely decides to step back into the storage room and remain close to the vault. “I asked an associate of mine who shall remain nameless to make an explosive device out of it. I’m happy to report that he did it without any trouble. I haven’t tested it, obviously, but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to give it a go and see what happens. Like you said, Dylan boy, I have nothing left to fight for. If I’m going to go down, I might as well go down in the blaze of glory, right?”
Dylan glances at Baker. The hostage negotiator nods to him to keep talking. Mendoza raises an eyebrow, which tells him it’s okay for him to take the lead in this conversation. “Alright. We believe you. To tell you the truth, none of us believed you when you said you hid a bomb somewhere in the city. I know you better than that. You’re cold, but you’re not that cold. However, a suicide mission being your last resort is well within your character. I can believe that. You’re smart enough to have known that this score of yours wouldn’t have a one hundred percent chance of succeeding. We’ve worked on enough projects together over the years to learn that the hard way.”
“Yes we have,” Stephen recalls.
“Which mean you need a real ace up your sleeve. A way to succeed even when the original mission goes down in flames. You need some way to give me the ultimate middle finger, come hell or high water. Am I right so far?”
“You can read me like a book.”
“Of course I can. Which is why I believe you. So what are you going to do? Blow us all up to kingdom come?” Henry and Monique join Melanie’s side as they also listen in on the conversation going on between the former friends. The paramedics on duty stand back, knowing there’s no way they can convince them to come with them to the hospital. Peggy left for Harborview Medical Center long ago. She’s the only one who suffered bullet wounds, giving more urgency to her condition. Henry, Melanie, and Monique want to stay to support Dylan as long as they can.
“No, this bomb in my hand isn’t designed to do that, exactly,” Stephen explains. “It’s meant to poison this entire neighborhood for the next fifty to a hundred years. The blast itself will put a large hole in the side of your house. But the real damage is the radiation that will spread across a five-mile radius. That’s the real charm of this thing.” He looks at his dirty bomb with a combination of fear and relief. He knows this will be his last day alive on Earth. But how many others will (unbeknownst to them) say the same thing?
“So is this it? This is the end? You’re just going to press the magic button and let us all die?” Dylan asks solemnly. Officers Dietrich, Gutierrez, and Cunningham quietly peel back to warn their fellow cops to evacuate the area. Gutierrez instructs a low-level officer to inform the neighbors holed up in the Martinelli residence to get out and run to the public park across the street. The young officer sprints to the end of the cul-de-sac like an Olympic gold medalist competing against Usain Bolt.
“Yes. Basically. That’s the plan,” Stephen sighs. “But I don’t want to die. At least, not yet. We can still strike a deal to avoid a catastrophe. Who’s still there?”
“You mean…”
“Which of your friends are still there?”
“Oh, that. Henry is still here. And…” Dylan trails off. Melanie and Monique push their way through the crowd to get closer to Dylan. He smiles when he sees that his friends are still here. They haven’t retreated to safety yet. “Melanie and Monique, too. I think Peggy has gone to the hospital. She needs urgent medical attention.”
“Sounds delightful! I’d like to invite all four of you back inside. Down here, in the basement. No one else. If I sense any cop or federal agent sneaking in with you, I’ll push the magic button. Don’t think I won’t. How does that sound? Perhaps we can come to an arrangement that will prevent your neighbors from dying of radiation poisoning.”
Special Agent Mendoza whispers something unintelligible into Dylan’s ear. He listens intently. Baker also whispers a pithy message to him. Henry, Melanie, and Monique dread the thought of having to go back inside Dylan’s house given all the physical and emotional trauma they’ve experienced already. But if it’s what they have to do in order to prevent mass murder, they’ll begrudgingly do it.
“Okay, let’s do it. Come on, everybody.” Dylan releases the “talk” button. Mendoza and Baker both agree that they cannot assume he’s lying about the existence of this dirty bomb. He may have lied through his teeth last time, but they cannot take that chance – even though they said the same thing before. After a quick conversation between the feds and the freed hostages, Dylan leads the way back inside his house. Dylan and Henry are still wearing gym clothes that belong to somebody else. Melanie and Monique, on the other hand, are still wrapped around blankets (but this time, blankets belonging to the emergency responders). They slowly trudge back inside the mansion. Everyone immediately notices the rotten smell of dead flesh, burning debris, and gunpowder. Henry decides that he may need to find another job after this is over. He loves Dylan like a brother, but he knows he’ll get PTSD flashbacks if he steps foot inside this building again. But this is a conversation that will have to wait until another time. There are more pressing matters at hand.
Meanwhile, outside the property, the SWAT officers have been instructed to retreat. The police radio to the TV news helicopters to get as far away from the vicinity as they can. Specific details weren’t given, but the tone of their message told the whole story. Get out now or else you might find yourself in a body bag. That’s unambiguous enough. Officers Dietrich and Gutierrez continue to coordinate the evacuation of police vehicles from the neighborhood. Special Agent Mendoza and Robert L. Baker frantically speak to their superiors via walky-talkies. The ambulances, however, remain behind. The EMTs know that they’re going to be needed no matter what happens. It’s an occupational hazard.
“God help us,” Mendoza says to herself.
“There’s nothing He can do right now,” Baker replies. “We got to trust Dylan and his friends to solve this problem. It’s the only way.”
“I don’t find that very reassuring.”
“Nor do I.”
***
None of the four rescued hostages noticed the smoke alarm blaring from the basement. It’s as though all the violence they’ve witnessed this evening has desensitized them to further unpleasant sensory experiences. Dylan coughs when the group gets near the bottom of the staircase. He dreads having to see the bloody mess left behind from the grenade blast.
“It’s going to get ugly when we get down here,” Dylan warns.
“Don’t worry, Dylan baby,” Melanie says. “We’re used to it.”
As expected, the gory mess in the hallway is worse than any Hollywood horror movie could attempt to replicate. The four SWAT officers are all dead now. The final officer who was furthest away from the blast zone has finally bled out. He breathed his last breath just moments before Dylan and his friends reentered the house. The four friends avert their eyes when they smell rotting flesh penetrating the air. Small flames have sprouted everywhere. Dylan considers whether he should install sprinklers throughout his house once the dust has settled. Henry further solidifies his decision that he should look for new employment once this is all over.
“Be careful where you step,” Dylan advises. “And if you can avoid it, don’t look down. Don’t look at what carnage he’s caused.”
“Holy fuck, this is some next-level Saving Private Ryan shit going on,” Henry laments. Melanie and Monique grab hands so they can stabilize each other. It takes forever for everyone to reach the end of the hallway. When they do, they can hear Stephen Callahan arrogantly whistling to himself as if he were lounging around a fishing boat up in Alaska.
“Just stay calm,” Melanie urges. “Don’t do anything stupid. We’ve come this far. Let’s not blow it when we can still end this thing the right way.” She can feel the sweat dripping off the palm of Monique’s hand. If fear could be smelled, it’s currently rising out of everyone’s pores like bitter perfume.
“We’re almost here,” Dylan says.
“Indeed, you are here!” Stephen proclaims. He stands up to greet his guests. With a grenade in one hand and the dirty bomb contraption in the other, Stephen steadies his breathing so he can handle this situation the way he wants to. The endgame is near. He’s right on the cusp of it. He can taste it.
“Hello, Stephen.” Dylan, standing in the doorway, peers into the soul of his former colleague and current foe. Henry, Melanie, and Monique crowd behind him. Everyone is covered in blood, grime, soot, sweat, and dirt. What began as a pleasant, carefree evening has now descended into post-apocalyptic wasteland territory.
“Please, come closer. I won’t bite.”
The group follow his orders. They step over debris, broken furniture, and bullet casings scattered on the floor. Stephen watches them closely, trying to see if any of them are armed. He’s certain none of them are carrying a gun. It’s just them. As Dylan and his friends stand thirty feet away from the vault, Stephen sighs.
“Look at us. We all look terrible. Even you, my gorgeous darling,” he points to Monique, who’s full of so much anxiety she looks like she could collapse at any moment. Melanie squeezes her hand even tighter. Everyone glares at the lone terrorist who dares to end his petty crusade with threats of mass murder. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. As you can see, I’m armed. But not with bullets, but with explosives. I’m not going to bother proving that this works. Trust me, it does. And you see that large black bag over there?” Stephen tips his head in the direction of Thomas Sellars’ duffle bag. Everyone nods back.
“We see it,” Henry speaks for the group.
“Inside that bag are many useful tools. One of them is a veil of acid that will help burn through the final last few millimeters of metal keeping this goddamn vault locked. I’ve never used it before, but my safecracker showed me before we left for this adventure how to apply it. You attach it to a small gun that looks like something you’d use to pierce your ears. But it’s not for that, obviously. It’s for burning a small hole through solid metal,” Stephen explains. He sees that he has the full attention of everyone present in the room. “This is where I need some help. I need one of you to be brave enough and use it to help open this fucking vault. Then, once all of Dylan’s dirty laundry has been freed, we can have an entirely different conversation. One that I think you will all enjoy.”
“What kind of conversation?” Melanie asks.
“One that will financially benefit all of us, even you, Dylan boy,” Stephen reveals with unscrupulous pleasure. “I’ve had a change of heart. You’re no longer my enemy. You’re now my friend again. You may not reciprocate those feelings, but you don’t have to. Instead of fighting you, let’s work together once again, like old times. I’m going back to prison. That’s a foregone conclusion. You all will survive this, but with plenty of scars to remember this evening by. So, let’s strike a deal. Shall we?”
Nobody speaks for a long time. Dylan, whose rage has subsided for the time being, decides that acting rationally is the best route to avoiding an apocalyptic outcome. “Go on. What’s your deal, old buddy?”
Stephen smirks. It’s the only proper way to react to Dylan extending the symbolic olive branch. “When we open the contents of his safe, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with here. I’m guessing the stuff inside here is worth tens of billions of dollars. At a minimum. Would you agree?”
“That sound about right,” Dylan answers.
“Here’s what we’ll do. After we come to an agreement, I’ll promptly surrender myself to the authorities. The nightmare of this evening will come to a swift end. They’ll put me away in a secured federal prison. You all will be interviewed by Oprah Winfrey by the end of the month. Or Jimmy Kimmel. Or whoever. Jimmy Fallon? I don’t know or care. Meanwhile, Dylan here will quietly sell his secrets to the highest bidder. I can even pass along to you a few names I’ve already spoken to about this. Trust me, you won’t believe who’s interested in purchasing this intel. You’ll recognize some of the names. It’ll blow your mind. And once you do, all four of us, uh, or rather, six of us will split the profits evenly.”
“Six of us?” Monique asks.
“That whore with the big tits isn’t here, but she counts too. She’s a part of this as well. She deserves to be. The six of us will split evenly how much money we get from this buyer. And after a few years have passed, Dylan can pay off as many federal officials as it takes to break me out of prison. I’ll get my cut, move to a far away place where you’ll never hear from me again, and we’ll never speak of this agreement to anyone. Understand?”
“Why should we break you out of jail? Once we put you away, we’ll forget all about you. Hell, I could probably convince the government to throw away the key once they lock you away for good,” Dylan threatens. Even as he says this, he gets the feeling that Stephen has planned for this exact scenario.
“True, but consider this. You see this dirty bomb I have in my hand? What makes you think this is the only one I have? I can assure you that I have a friend who also has one in his possession,” Stephen lies. He’s fibbed his way well enough so far. Given the dangerous stakes, nobody can afford to not believe him at this point. “If you don’t break me out of prison by a certain date, I’ll instruct my friend to detonate his dirty bomb in some major city somewhere. I won’t say where or when it’ll happen. And if you tell the authorities about it, and he suspects he’s about to get caught, he’s been instructed to set it off regardless. So don’t test him or your luck.”
Stephen’s captivated audience can only stare at him in disbelief. They don’t want to believe him but have very little choice but to take his threat seriously. Dylan knows his blood pressure is through the roof. He doesn’t want to cut a deal with a man who invaded his home, threatened to murder himself and his friends, and still seeks to profit despite all the bloodshed. “Let’s assume you’re telling the truth, which I think most of us, if not all of us, doubt very much. Let’s say you do have another dirty bomb that can go off if you don’t get your way. If that happens, what do you do next? What does your friend gain from this? Who benefits?” Dylan interrogates his former business partner. “Huh? Answer me that.”
“You’re getting better at this.” Stephen briefly glances down at the dirty bomb. Weighing more than sixty pounds and shaped like a car battery, he sees the timer in plain sight. All it takes is a few keystrokes to set this thing off. “Yes, I may be lying. And if you sincerely believe that, which I have no doubt you do, there’s no way you’d ever strike a deal with me. So I suppose I shouldn’t expect you to follow along. I guess that leaves me no choice…”
As his fingers hover over the timer, Dylan and his friends can only yell “STOP!” Stephen looks up, smiling like a kid who just successfully stole a cookie from the cookie jar. No one dares to move a muscle, lest they risk everyone’s lives.
“God damnit, you’re a pain in the ass!” Dylan screams. “Okay, okay, okay. Let’s strike a fucking deal. You win. Don’t do it. We’ll play along. Just tell us what you want to do.”
“Come on! You can’t be serious!” Henry cries out.
“It’s okay, my friend. I know what I’m doing,” Dylan assures him. The two ladies are holding on to each other for dear life, as if the power of their friendship alone could protect them from radiation poisoning. Dylan closes his eyes in an attempt to plan his next move. He’s stressed out, sleep deprived, and knows his life will never be the same after this evening. Stephen watches him like a hawk. “A six-way deal, you say? Does that offer still stand?”
“Yes, it does. But I need to know for sure what’s inside this vault. I need to know if it’s worth it.”
“Of course it’s worth it,” Dylan says indignantly. “If the contents of that safe were valueless, you think I’d have put up with your shit all night long? It’s as you say it is. It’s worth tens of billions of dollars if put into the right hands. In the wrong hands, maybe less. But I’m assuming your buyers are competent people. They should know how to put it to good use.” Melanie and Monique let go of each other, both of them soothed by Dylan’s level-headedness.
“Then let’s not delay. It’ll be dawn before we know it.” Stephen removes the veil of aqua regia from the duffle bag and carefully inserts it into the jet injector. He removes a small cap to free the metal syringe. Dylan, Henry, Melanie, and Monique watch with morbid curiosity. Like an experienced medical technician, Stephen holds up the injector in front of a light to get a better look at it. All seems ready for usage, he decides. Time to finally open this sucker up and reveal the buried treasure. He then puts on a pair of heavy gloves, a medical facemask, and goggles. The four onlookers back up slowly, anticipating that something potentially dangerous is about to happen.
“That looks dangerous,” Monique observes. She squeezes Melanie’s hand. Her grip is strong enough to choke an elephant. Melanie is feeling too tense to care about the pain.
“That’s because it is. Oh, that reminds me. You folks should probably leave the room. Aqua regia leaves behind toxic fumes that shouldn’t enter your lungs. That’s why I’m wearing this N95 mask. My plan is to use as little as necessary, for obvious reasons. If I’m going to die here tonight, it won’t be because of poisonous gas like this.” After hearing this, Dylan looks back at his crew and motions them to leave the storage room. It’s better to be safe than sorry, a mantra that Dylan will view in a whole different light moving forward.
“Let’s go. We’ll be nearby,” Dylan says.
“Good. Don’t do anything stupid, now.”
“We don’t plan on it,” Melanie quips. This makes Stephen grin.
As the four friends scurry away toward the hallway, Stephen takes several deep breaths before attempting to inject the acid into the safe’s door. He knows he’s wearing a mask, but he doesn’t want to take any unnecessary chances. His mind races in a million different directions. The chances of this “six-way splitting of the loot” deal working out is less than 1 percent. Maybe even less than that. There’s no way Dylan will consent to helping him break out of prison. And it’s not an issue of money, influence, or resources. It’s a matter of pride. What Stephen did here tonight is unforgivable. That’s not up for debate. Who would want to reward him after pulling such a traumatic stunt like this? And Stephen senses Dylan and his friends don’t really believe the B.S. story about a second dirty bomb existing out there. Then again, the police believed his imaginary bomb hidden somewhere in the city so much that they actually chartered a private plane for him and his (now fallen) comrades. That’s something. That wasn’t expected.
“I’ve made it this far with my balls intact,” Stephen whispers aloud. “Who says I can’t get away with this hare-brained scheme? Huh? Why not?”
Out in the hallway, the four friends try to avoid looking at the dead bodies of the SWAT officers spread across the floor. The disgusting smell of burnt flesh and rubble persists. No one speaks for a long time. All they want is for this horrible experience to come to a swift end. It looks as though there is light at the end of the tunnel. The finale appears to be imminent.
“Do you believe him when he says he’s willing to blow up a major city if he doesn’t get his way?” Henry asks the group. Dylan shakes his head. The two ladies don’t know what to believe anymore.
“I doubt it, to be honest,” Dylan says.
“Same. But damn. That’s frightening to think about, you know? Fucked up shit is happening all the time these days. School shootings. Terrorist attacks. Riots in the streets. Natural disasters. Man, we can’t assume nothing is impossible anymore, you feel me?” Henry speaks in hushed tones so Stephen Callahan cannot possibly hear their conversation. He almost vomits when he sees a severed finger lying on the carpet no more than ten feet away from him. When he gets home, he plans to take a long shower and sleep for the next week or two. That, and schedule a sit-down interview with Oprah Winfrey.
“You’re right. We can’t assume anything is off limits these days,” Melanie says. “But my gut instinct, I don’t know, my gut instinct is that he’s lying through his teeth. He doesn’t have any other associates other than the four dudes he came with. And they’re all dead. I think, if I had to guess, he’s all alone. It’s just him.”
“What happens when he opens that safe?” Monique asks. She looks back at the carnage behind them and immediately regrets doing so. She knows she’ll need therapy for years to come after all she’s been through.
“Well, what happens is that he’ll know what kind of stakes he’s dealing with. Which he knows already. To tell you the truth,” Dylan guesses, “I think he only wants to break in because he wants the satisfaction of, you know, breaking into my safe. He won’t have time to pore through everything in there. I think this is more about pride than anything else.”
“Pride, eh?” Melanie asks. A devious tone to her voice can be distinctly heard. Everyone looks at her, curious where she’s getting at.
“Uh, yeah,” Dylan answers.
“Then let’s give him the most undignified ending possible. If you don’t mind me, I have something to retrieve upstairs.” Melanie sprints down the hallway and rushes up the stairs without waiting for anyone to stop her or ask her where she’s going. The three left behind can only watch her leave without looking down at the charred corpses.
“What? Where the fuck is she going?” Henry wonders.
“Uh, no clue. I have no idea,” Dylan says.
Back inside the storage room, Stephen Callahan slowly injects the acid into the hole where Thomas Sellar’s many drill bits have been. He is amused seeing so many titanium pieces of metal worn down to a nub scattered on the ground. After injecting about 20% of the acid into the metal door, Stephen removes the injector gun and peers into the hole to inspect the damage. He finds a small flashlight in Thomas’s bag and shines it.
“Holy shit!”
Stephen can clearly see through the inch-wide hole the interior of the vault. It looks like a stack of old books sitting on a shelf. He clicks the safety switch on the jet injector, puts it back into the bag, and fishes out the wire contraption that will help him open the door from the inside. This is the part that makes him the most nervous. He’s never broken into a car in his life, so he’s not adept at opening door handles without being able to see what he’s doing. The device is a long malleable wire that can be bent in all sorts of directions. It’s flexible enough to be applicable for multiple situations, yet sturdy enough to withstand repeated uses. At the end is a hook that he will use to grapple on to the door handle.
“Alright, come to papa! I’ve come this far. I’m not giving up yet. It’s go big or go home!”
He inserts the wire into the hole. He cannot smell any fumes in the air, which is a good thing. Stephen twirls the hook around in a circle to see if he can identify where the handle is located. He then realizes this will be much easier if Dylan were here to provide him directions.
“DYLAN! GET BACK IN HERE!” he shouts.
“Stay put, you two. Wait for Melanie to come back. I don’t know what she plans to do, but I trust her to make the right decision,” Dylan instructs his two friends. Henry and Monique nod silently. Fifteen seconds later, Dylan is standing beside his former colleague. He’s genuinely impressed that Stephen was able to successfully penetrate the thick metal door.
“Well done. Wow! You did it.”
“Let’s not celebrate quite yet,” Stephen cautions. “Where is the door handle located?”
“Right here.” He points to the area just above the hole. Stephen pulls the wire out, bends it at a 90-degree angle, and flattens it a little so it can fit back inside. Once he reinserts the wire, he twists it so the hook can access the handle. He fumbles with it for several seconds, which seem like several minutes. When he latches on to it, Stephen nearly jumps out of his skin.
“I got it!” Stephen declares. Dylan declines to congratulate him on this accomplishment.
Stephen grips the end of the wire with both hands and pulls down as hard as he can. It is at this moment that he hears the greatest sound that he could possibly experience.
CLICK.
Dylan’s heart skips a beat. He’s done it. After several hours (and multiple dead bodies) of attempting to do it, it’s finally happened. Stephen, still gripping the wire contraption with his left hand, reaches for the small wheel handle, twists it, and opens the safe.
There isn’t a chorus of angels singing to the heavens, but there might as well be. Stephen and Dylan back up as they swing the door fully open together. It’s been a long time since Dylan last walked into it. He vaguely remembers what it looks like on the inside. Stephen’s eyes get as wide as dinner plates when he regards the treasure hidden inside. Dylan kindly turns on a light so both men could properly see what’s in front of them.
“Here it is. Right here in front of me,” Stephen mumbles. His trance-like state amuses Dylan. He’s acting like a holy priest who just walked through a sacred temple. “All our life’s work, Dylan boy.”
Stephen stares at the mountain load of books, manuscripts, DVDs, CDs, hard drives, thumb drives, laptops, blueprints, sketches, and diaries arranged in neat piles. The vault is about as large as a standard bathroom. The 10 x 15-foot room wouldn’t be described as “roomy,” but it fits the bill for storing a considerable number of valuable items. Dylan stands back as Stephen enters the vault. He picks up an old diary of his, blows the dust off it, and opens a random page. Stephen smiles as he regards a crude sketch of a pair of agile combat boots that can monitor distance traveled and adapt to weather conditions while remaining comfortable to wear for long periods of time. He flips to another page of a diary entry where he wrote down his thoughts after meeting with the chairman of the Armed Services Committee.
“September 22, 2013: The Senate will not approve of our smart armor tech after going through FCC review. The feds need to know how data will be shared, synthesized, and disseminated. Note: Speak to DT about contributing to Senator Willis’s reelection campaign if he plays ball.”
“Holy shit, Dylan baby.” Stephen closes the book and returns it to where he found it. “We were so fucking corrupt back then. Bribing senators to approve of our tech. Paying off Federal Communications Commission officials to rubberstamp our proposals. Damn. We were bad boys back in the day. It’s no wonder why we were cast out of polite society. We deserved it.”
“You mean you deserved it,” Dylan fires back. “I’m not the one holding innocent people hostage. You are the one doing that, in case you’ve forgotten.” Stephen turns around to face Dylan. Instead of responding with anger, he responds with logic.
“I’m the bad guy here? Me? You’re right that I’m no angel. I committed many sins here tonight. You may have committed sins of the flesh, but I’m guilty as hell of wrath, vengeance, envy, and greed. But you’re not so innocent yourself. You let innocent Arabs die. You let innocent Africans die. You let corrupt Interpol agents torture people just as badly as the Mexican cartels that they were supposed to combat. Sorry, Dylan boy. But you’re just as guilty as me. Even if you’re not the one who’s going to jail this morning.” Stephen, satisfied with his moralizing lecture, stares at his former boss with a combination of smugness and rage. All he needs to do is persuade Dylan that his sins haven’t been washed away yet…and that this scheme is the one thing that will fully redeem him. Those casualties of war can’t be brought back. They’re dead and will always remain dead. His friends, however, can still be saved from certain doom. And Stephen’s deal to split the proceeds and break him out of prison will guarantee their safety. Will Dylan accept this deal? Or will he refuse out of principal?
Dylan blinks several times. He’s finally coming to realize that the bloody warzone that has broken out inside his own home is not dissimilar to the horrifying experiences of people living in actual warzones. Those Iraqis who died in drone strikes are no different than Henry, Melanie, Peggy, and Monique being taken hostage by armed thugs. They’re people caught up in a terrifying situation beyond their control. They’re victims of circumstances that they had no say in. They’re victims of Dylan Tanaka’s inability to see that foreign policy decisions have consequences – both foreseen and unforeseen. Technology can be a force of good, but it also comes with collateral damage. Dylan’s biggest sin – perhaps his most unforgivable sin – is refusing to recognize that fact.
“We all have dirty little secrets,” Dylan mutters. “I do. You do. We all do. But what matters is how we redeem ourselves. I’ve chosen to do good. You’ve chosen to do evil.”
“Oh yeah? What good have you done?”
Whoa. Both men pause to think. The stillness in the room is so profound it takes on a life of its own. Dylan’s mind races in all sorts of directions. Stephen believes he’s trapped him for good. Checkmate, old sport. Now I have you exactly where I want you.
Before Dylan can speak up, he can hear Henry, Melanie, and Monique walk into the storage room. Stephen sees them approaching over Dylan’s left shoulder. The large lady with the manly voice has both of her arms behind her back. The chef leads the way. All three stop dead in their tracks when they see the safe has finally been opened.
“Time’s up, fellas. What’s the next move?” Henry asks both men. “Have we come to an agreement yet?”
“We have. He hasn’t said anything yet, but I’m pretty sure he’s agreed to my terms,” Stephen proclaims. “Let’s get on with it.”
Dylan turns to face his friends. He looks solemn. “I can’t stand the thought of anything bad happening to any of you. I couldn’t live with myself if any of you were to get harmed. So yes, I guess you can say I’ve agreed to his proposal. He goes to prison. I sell this stuff to the highest bidder. I secretly pay off the right people to break him out. He goes into exile, where he’s never seen from or heard from again. Then we split the proceeds equally among all of us. Then, that’s the end of it,” Dylan says. Henry, Melanie, and Monique are speechless. They cannot believe Dylan would yield like that.
“So…that’s it?” Monique asks.
“Yes,” Dylan answers.
“Yup! Looks like it. Oh, but before I get hauled off to prison, there’s one thing I’d like to do first. Just so I get my little bit of revenge.” Stephen reaches into his jacket and pulls out a simple revolver not unlike the one Xander brought with him. Before anyone could comprehend what was about to happen, Stephen aims the pistol at Dylan’s right kneecap and fires a single shot. Dylan collapses to the ground as his knee shatters into a thousand fragments. Monique runs to him as he falls onto his back. Stephen steps aside to avoid getting any blood on his shoes. Dylan screams at the top of his lungs as the realization that he’s just been shot sinks in. Henry catches him before his head can slam onto the ground.
Melanie screams. Monique starts to cry. Henry mumbles something encouraging into Dylan’s ear as he winces in pain. Stephen laughs when he sees a river of blood flowing out of Dylan’s leg. The agonizing pain turns to numbness in short order, a testament to the human body’s incredible natural defense mechanism. Still, Dylan knows he’s severely wounded. The surreal feeling that he’s just been shot is something he will remember for the rest of his life. All feeling below his right thigh begins to cut off. It’s his body protecting itself. One cannot survive if they are weighed down by excruciating pain. Melanie, tears of anger and dread streaming down her face, charges at Stephen. She doesn’t know what she plans to do, but she wants nothing more than to tear him limb to limb.
“Whoa there! STOP! Stop right where you are, sweetheart.” Stephen holds up the dirty bomb for all to see. He places his finger on the detonation button threateningly. “Don’t do anything stupid. If you take one more step toward me, we’re all going to meet our maker really soon. None of us will make it out of his alive. Now, I hope our deal is still on. Dylan isn’t going to die. He’ll live. He may live with a limp for the rest of his life, but he’ll make it. So don’t worry about him. Right now, you have to worry about yourselves.”
“F…FUCK YOU!” Dylan shouts with every ounce of energy he has left. “The deal is definitely off! You’re going to prison for the rest of your life. I don’t believe your bullshit story about there being another bomb. Hell, I don’t know if I believe that…that thing you’re holding is even a bomb.”
All the color drains from Stephen’s face. His former boss just called his bluff. Dylan, even after being shot, can still see through his pack of lies. Since this final Hail Mary pass to the endzone just failed, Stephen Callahan only has one thing left to do.
Make this a suicide mission.
“I can assure you that this is a real bomb. A real radioactive device. But you know what? Instead of insisting that it works, I’ll SHOW you that it works!” Stephen enters two minutes into the bomb’s timer. With an attentive audience hanging onto his every move, he clicks another button that initiatives the countdown. Everyone watches the clock tick down.
2:00
1:59
1:58
1:57
“Sorry, everyone. I guess this is it. We’re all going to die. We’re all going down together. And you know what? I’m proud that I get to share these last two minutes with all of you. Look at us. One big, happy, fucked up family,” Stephen smirks. “This is a fitting end to such a memorable evening.”
Before anyone can react, Stephen places the bomb inside the vault and closes the door. He spins the wheel several times. It locks. The definitive CLICK sound confirms it. Everyone’s heart sinks.
This is it. This is our end.
We’re going to die.
“Oh God. Oh fuck,” Henry mumbles. Everyone remains still as the countdown continues inside the vault. The powerlessness to stop one’s inevitable doom is the worst feeling imaginable. Stephen looks at the random, eclectic group of people gathered before him. Their fates are now intertwined. There’s no stopping it. It’s hopeless.
1:48
1:47
1:46
1:45
“This is your idea of a fitting end? Not quite. I have something much, much better in mind,” Melanie says. She boldly charges right at Stephen. He raises the gun to shoot her but cannot react fast enough. With her left hand, Melanie smacks the firearm out of his grip. It lands several yards away out of reach. With her right hand, she extends her weapon of choice. Stephen is finally able to see what she brought back with her.
Mr. Jerry.
Peggy Cole’s prized possession, a mammoth 10.5-inch black dildo, was previously revealed to the group during their erotic performance earlier this evening. The world-renowned porn star used it to masturbate and ejaculate for her captivated audience. Melanie, wanting to give Stephen Callahan the undignified death that he deserves, ran all the way up the stairs to the second floor to retrieve it from the cabaret room. Still damp from Peggy’s vaginal juices, Mr. Jerry was sitting near a pile of clothes in the corner of the vast performance space. Melanie knew this had to be the way that Stephen met his well-earned demise.
“What the fuck is that?” Stephen screams.
“You’ll see.”
Melanie punches Stephen in the stomach, forcing him to back up against the wall. Then, Melanie delightfully grabs his hair, pulls his head up, and as forcefully as possible shoves the thick black dildo down his throat as far as it will go. Inch by inch, the enormous sex toy invades Stephen’s mouth and throat like a rude uninvited guest. Melanie refuses to relent. She pushes it in as far as it will go, and then some.
“God DAMN!” Monique shouts. She cannot believe Melanie would go in for the kill quite like that. Dylan, still paralyzed with pain, manages to temporarily stop thinking about his gunshot wound and watch the show unfolding before him. Henry is at a loss for words.
Stephen can only squirm around. He attempts to scream, but the sound he makes resembles a deep-sea diver making their descent to the ocean floor. For good measure, Melanie places the palm of her hand against the base of the dildo and pushes it completely down his throat. The tip tears his vocal cord and punctures the top of his left lung. He is helpless to do anything about it. The group watches with macabre excitement Mr. Callahan writhe around the singed carpet. He tries to pull the dildo out of his mouth but cannot make it budge. It’s snugly in there.
“Speaking of fitting end,” Melanie taunts. “I don’t think that thing really fits down there. Oh well. I guess you’ll just have to deal with it…for now.”
His spasmic movements become less chaotic by the second. His face becomes purple as the oxygen deprivation kicks in. Finally, after several moments of attempting to remove Mr. Jerry from his throat, Stephen Callahan falls to his back. He looks at Dylan Tanaka one final time. They make eye contact briefly. Dylan gives him a devilish smile. Stephen, tears streaming down his face, accepts his fate. He closes his eyes, sensing his consciousness starting to fade rapidly. A couple seconds later, his body becomes lifeless. At long last, Dylan Tanaka’s former colleague, friend, and business partner… is no more.
Nobody speaks for a long time. Meanwhile, the countdown inside the vault continues unabated.
0:58
0:57
0:56
0:55
“Holy shit! The bomb! What do we do about that? Make a run for it? Try to diffuse it?” Henry panics. Melanie comes to her senses. She realizes that her heroism isn’t over yet. She still has one final thing left to do before everyone can call it a night.
“Don’t run. I’ll get that fucking vault open!”
Dylan, Henry, and Monique watch in stunned silence as Melanie digs through Thomas Sellars’ duffle bag. She finds a strong bungie cord that people typically use to tie around cargo on the back of pickup trucks. Knowing time is of the essence, Miss Wright quickly ties a simple knot around the safe’s outer handle. Then, she wraps the other end of the cord around her right hand, wrist, and forearm. She scurries away from the vault far enough so the rope is stretched to its limit. The three onlookers watch her with utter disbelief.
“Melanie, STOP THIS! You can’t possibly pull that door open. It’s impossible. Physically, literally impossible. You can’t do it. Nobody can. Not even you. Come on, let’s get out of here. We can still run away and take our chances,” Dylan pleads. Henry and Monique communicate the exact same sentiment with the looks of desperation they give her.
0:41
“SHUT UP! I can do this! This is a fucking nuclear device. We can’t outrun it. If I don’t try, we’re all going to be incinerated. It’s our only shot. LET ME DO THIS!”
Nobody says anything as Melanie inhales a few deep breaths, grits her teeth, and begins playing the most important game of tug-of-war imaginable.
0:40
0:39
0:38
With every ounce of strength that she has left, Melanie pulls the bungie cord with both hands. Luckily for everyone present to witness this, the acid Stephen poured through the hole dissolved much of the metal around it. Some of the acid dissolved the thick latch bolt that keeps the safe locked. So while that certainly helps, it’s still going to require superhuman strength for Melanie to rip the door open.
0:37
0:36
0:35
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!” Melanie screams at the top of lungs as she pulls on the cord. She can feel her hands and wrists start to bleed. Sweat dripping down her face, Melanie knows the time is now. There’s no messing around. If she and her friends are going to die – as well as hundreds of people in the surrounding neighborhood blocks – Melanie Wright wants to go down fighting.
Dylan watches Melanie’s 18-inch biceps flexing hard as she pulls on the rope. Every vein pops out of her gigantic muscles. He’s pretty sure her biceps are now at 19 or 20 inches at this moment, every muscle fiber working overtime to get the job done. For whatever strange reason, despite being shot in the knee and dreading his inevitable radioactive incineration, Dylan feels his penis harden as he watches Melanie Wright’s muscles bulge out of her skin.
0:32
0:31
0:30
0:29
“Do…do you need help, darling?” Monique offers.
“N…NO! I…I CAN HANDLE THIS MYSELF! J…JUST GIVE ME A FEW MORE…SECONDS…”
Henry notices the door start to squeak. Monique hears it too. Dylan is too distracted by Melanie’s muscles flexing to its furthest fullness to pay attention to anything else. The world-class female bodybuilder continues pulling against the rope as brutally as she can. He can see her right bicep practically exploding out of her skin. Several of the blood vessels in her forearm bursts open. Both of her shoulders make a painful popping noise.
0:21
0:20
0:19
0:18
“Come on, come on, come on baby! You can do it,” Dylan encourages her. His erection strains against his underwear. If he’s not careful, he’s going to come. That, it should be noted, would not be the worst final act to do immediately before death.
“FUUUUUCK THIS SHIT!!!” Melanie bellows.
One final tug is all it’ll take, she estimates. Melanie Wright stops, takes a deep breath, and prepares for one final powerful pull. She relaxes her shoulders, shakes her head so no drops of sweat can impede her vision, and pulls the rope one final time.
The safe door flies open as if a tornado were whirling around inside the vault. Melanie feels her right bicep rip off the bone. She falls onto her butt and lands on her side. The pain of tearing and straining multiple muscles on her body is too much for her to bear. She passes out from the pain. Dylan climaxes. The borrowed pair of gym shorts he received from the police will have to be washed thoroughly. Several spurts of hot semen drip down his leg as Monique sprints inside the vault to retrieve the bomb.
0:15
0:14
0:13
“Now what the fuck do we do?” Monique shrieks. She holds the bomb with both hands. Henry goes to her to inspect the device.
“There has to be an off switch somewhere!” Henry screams.
0:07
0:06
0:05
“What about this blue button?” she asks. “That has to be it, right?”
“Well, it’s a better option than the red one!” Henry responds.
“STOP CHATTERING AND DO SOMETHING, FOR GOD’S SAKE!” Dylan yells.
0:04
0:03
0:02
“FUCK IT!” Henry presses the blue button.
0:01
Dylan closes his eyes. Monique looks up to the ceiling, saying a silent prayer inside her head. She prays for forgiveness – for both herself and for everyone else in the room. Henry grits his teeth so hard one of his back molars crack. Nobody says anything or moves a muscle.
0:01
Henry looks down at the dirty bomb. The device has stopped the countdown. He takes it from Monique and gently places it on the floor next to Stephen’s dead body. As gentlemanly as possible, he grabs her hand and pulls her away from the horrible machine that was about to send multiple city blocks back to the Stone Age. Everyone is breathing hard. They were all on Death’s doorstep…until they leaped back into the world of the Living.
0:01
“Wow. One second. One goddamn fucking second. That’s all the time we had left,” Henry announces. Monique goes to Melanie to check on her. She’s still unconscious. “Talk about cutting it close. Holy shit buckets. Can we never do that ever again? DAMN!”
All four living souls remain silent for a few minutes. Nobody can think of anything witty or profound to say. Melanie Wright has dark purple bruises covering almost half of her body. Monique finally realizes just how much pain she is in as well. She faints, landing on top of Melanie’s still unconscious self. Dylan, also in tremendous amount of pain, looks down at his knee. This was a mistake. The bloody mess is enough to make him vomit all over the carpet. Henry backs off to avoid getting anything gross on his feet.
So, this is it. The nightmare is finally over. At the same moment, six miles away, Peggy Cole is undergoing emergency surgery on both of her breasts. She’s gone under from anesthesia, blissfully unaware that a radioactive apocalypse was just averted down the road. When she finds out much later, she’s sure to congratulate everybody for their bravery, sheer toughness, and fortuitous luck.
The storage room is as quiet as a morgue, even though the four lucky survivors inside have given themselves a new outlook on life.
The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi 