Maximantics Corp.

[Asunara Wisdom]

MOD - DOCTOR BRAEDEN GREYSON

"Doctor. What kind of help is needed?"

The Doctor thought a whiles, looking at the man who had asked.

"I believe you could be of help. What I'd like you to do, if you choose to accept, is to go upstairs. Yes, that is where the bomb had perhaps exploded, but it is essential that you go up there, essential to the survival of Sir Bondevik here. I don't feel at peace of mind to send someone up there alone... talk to me again when you find one more person to help you with the task." he said to Feliks.

{ OBJECTIVES FOR FELIKS

- Find a partner for the task at hand. (preferably an Agent)

- Obtain a gun. You'll need it. }

{ OBJECTIVES
- Find Lukas some Aconril (must talk to Greyson to proceed with this objective)
- Evacuate everyone from the building
- Tend to the injured
- Find the cause of the explosion if possible

Good luck }

[Deleted]

Eirik was...

Eirik was confused, he didn't what was up or what was down. Actually he hardly knew if there was an up or a down, everything seemed to be spinning. His stomach churned uncomfortably and let out a little lurch, everything seemed to be spinning in a wild whirlwind of colors and sounds. Were those shouts? Screams? He just wanted to crawl into a hole and curl up like a rabbit among the other kits. Baby rabbits were called kits right?

The tips of his fingers trembled as he pressed them to the floor, frail arms straining to push himself up into a sitting position. A constant ringing muddled his thoughts, and he bit his lip in an attempt not to join into the ruckus. Maybe he had hit his head, maybe he had been tossed off into space and time, maybe he had even been pulled into a book. He just wanted to be back home, tucked in deep under his blankets with Mr. Puffin reading him a story.

He had been the one to protest going, he had been running a fever that very morning and likely still had it. Yet his father thought otherwise, he wanted both of his children to be present and just had the nurse give him a few new pills to hold it at bay for a little while. They had made him feel dazed, the boy unable to focus and standing with his puffin in a secluded corner of the party as to not feel any more overwhelmed than he already did.

All the while he idly fussed with the antique brabant lace that peaked out under the cuff of his suit jacket. It was the only thing he could really do to distract himself from the uncomfortable chafing whenever he moved his neck of the tie pulled tight around his neck. Whenever he moved to loosen it just a little a few moments later without fail one of the employees would pop out of nowhere and scurry over to fix it and tuck some stray hairs back behind his ear. By the sixth or seventh time he had grown irritated at the obvious conspiracy against his ability to breathe comfortably. His father couldn't even see him, how he knew each time was far beyond him.

Lukas was the heir not him, his father should have been far more worried about the state of his brother rather than the state of his other son's discomfort. Yet he caved in to his wants and started picked at the hors d'oeuvres that that servants carried around, the puffin pointing out precisely which ones he was allowed to have. It was precisely the same as any old stuffy function that he was jostled into showing face at for pleasantries. And then the building shook like a tornado had enveloped it and they were all off to Oz, and then... It explained why he was lying on his back on the cold floor.

Gently two arms hooked under his armpits and pulled him up so he could find his feet, one shifting to wrap around his chest and a soft wing holding his hand reassuringly. It was Mr. Puffin, the bird hadn't forsaken him in another one of his times of need. He was led over to a chair, the large bird helping him down into a sitting position and reaching down it's beak to produce two pills. He took them dry without question and leaned back, letting his eyes slip shut. It was worse like that, if he his hair had not been lying limply around his face he would have been convinced that he was spinning out in all directions.

"...Ah...uh...huh..." his breathing hitched, but his lips still formed the slew of words that he was trying to convey to his loyal companion. Where was Lukas? He didn't know how to ask without sounding worried, to be quite frank he didn't know how to do much of anything at that moment. He was simply stunned into silent submission, still unsure as to what had happened. It all lay out clearly on his face, violet eyes wide and trembling with fear once he reopened them, dry lips pursed with his teeth digging into the bottom lip. All the while the puffin stood loyally at his side, making sure that he was alright.

Something though was horribly amiss, among the ruckus that had slowly started to clear into sense his father's grow for authority was missing. At a crisis he would have assumed that the man would have stepped up immediately to take charge of the situation, yet there was no sign of him nor sound. "...Where...is the..." the boy sputtered once he had regained control of his voice, trying to figure out what was the most appropriate course of action. "Evacuate?" he asked the air uncertainly, sparing a few more moments of thought before giving a nod. "Mr. Puffin...people should evacuate. Can you tell the staff to start helping people outside and have the proper authorities summoned?"

There was some grumbling on the puffin's part, but he did what the little prince asked without question. The bird herding the staff around him and starting to instruct them to take the course of action chosen by the boy. All the while Eirik did his best to save face and not heave the contents of his stomach onto the pristine floor, his face turning a delightful shade of green.

[Feliks Łukasiewicz]

Upstairs, where the bomb was likely to have been. Where whoever had set it might still be. Where there was almost certainly more destruction.

Well, if that was where he was needed, there was no question that Feliks would go. Lives depended on it—his own being the least of them (not that he had anything against his own survival, but in a situation like this it was necessary that other things be prioritized higher). He didn't even care whose lives, really. He understood from the title “Sir Bondevik” that it was someone of some importance, but that simply didn't register as much as the information that it was critically important to prevent more death. And he needed someone to help him with the mission. It would be best if it were another Agent, since they were there to provide protection rather than to enjoy a party, and therefore would be more likely to be armed and not out of their minds with panic.

Scanning the chaotic room once again, this time seeking out his coworkers, Feliks thought he saw—wait, was that a man in a penguin* suit?

He blinked and shook his head. When he looked again, the mysterious tuxedoed bird was gone. However, he did see a much more welcome sight: Liesel Friedmann, one of his coworkers. The Pole walked quickly in her direction, hoping she would notice him approaching.

Once he thought he was close enough to be heard over all the other noises in the room, he called, “Liesel! I'm going upstairs. There's a Sir Bondevik who's gonna die otherwise. You wanna come with me? Or can you point me at someone who would?”

With his fellow-Agent, his voice slipped back into its normal cadence. They knew each other already; there was no danger that he would make the mission seem unimportant or himself appear too incompetent to work with. The situation itself was enough to prove that this mattered.

*You know, and I know, and Eirík knows, that Feliks is seeing a puffin, not a penguin. However, the two look remarkably alike at a distance in a recently demolished room containing a large number of people, and so hopefully Feliks can be forgiven this misconception.

[Deleted]

Khenan jumped into the first cab that he could flag down. "Forgive me, sir, but I'm afraid I need to commandeer your vehicle." he stated, showing the man his identification. "I need you to take me to the Maximantics Corporation building, immediately." Grumbling, the cabby pulled out into the road. "Faster than that! Don't worry about the police, you're operating on behalf of your government! Step on it, man!" Khenan scolded. The man growled, but pressed down on the accelerator, gunning down the street.

The cab came to a screeching stop at the front of the Maximantics Corp. building and Khenan jumped out of the back. "Tank yuh for yuh service to yuh country!" he said hastily to the cabby, upset that his vehicle had been commandeered by a government agent, but gawking at the bombed building. Flashing his identification to the Metro police, Khenan hurried into the crumbling building, plugging in his ear set on the way. "This is Agent Santiago." he stated in clear Queen's English. "I am entering the building, first floor. I need a Sit. Rep. immediately. All agents, please respond."

There was an elevator, but with the explosion, there was the very real risk that it was either out of order or would snap the moment someone tried to use it, so that idea was right out. Pulling the Glock from his belt, Khenan clicked the safety off and started up the stairs. At least Sadik wasn't here. That one fact gave him some small degree of comfort. It would have complicated things further if his boss was stuck in a building that was being blown apart. "This is Agent Santiago. All agents, be advised, I am advancing through the stairwell, and am armed. Check your fire." he warned. That should, hopefully, eliminate the risk of being shot to death by his own side.

[Deleted]

Not much fazed Kiku and this was no different. Though he was on a different side of the spectrum this time, more a civilian than a secret hand in the war, his instincts drove him back to what he knew best and most.

Parallel to Clara, Kiku slid both hands underneath the chandelier. He didn't have a lot of time. He figured the men could hold the chandelier for maybe two minutes. One of them would almost certainly slip up. Time was of the essence...even if time risked damaging Clara further. Kiku had little doubt that she was injured in the spine and had probably broken more than a few bones. For the first time, he took in the glass that had shattered from the chandelier's fall. It was all around him and underneath him, cutting and pricking at his skin. He'd taken off his jacket for a moment due to the heat and a few shards ran through his skin. Kiku regretted the decision. Clara, in just a dress, must have a hundred scrapes. But he had to drag Clara across the glass. There was no other way.

Kiku reached over and grasped Clara underneath her arms. He had to avoid standing for as long as he could to minimize the amount of damage he might do to her. His upper body strength might be able to bring the upper half of her body out...maybe.

"You'll be okay," Kiku said to Clara. The words were hollow on his tongue, he knew it and he was certain that everyone around him knew it as well. But it gave them something to believe in.

Without saying another word, Kiku began to pull.

For the first excruciating seconds, Kiku pulled purely with his arms. He slid the upper half of Clara's chest out from underneath the chandelier. The seconds seemed, as they always did when time was crucial, unbearably long. She was lighter than other...other bodies he'd dragged out, but the process was hauntingly similar. Then, Kiku began to push against the ground with his feet. His leather shoes slid against the floor and Kiku got to his knees. He couldn't rush the extraction, but he had to get Clara out. As he pulled Clara out, a million thoughts ran through his mind. Would it have been smarter to have gotten help? Surely the police were alerted as well as the MI6, but if he'd gotten chairs, would they be able to get Clara out quicker and easier? Or would people be too panicked to stop and help and by the time Kiku got the second chair there, the chandelier would've fallen...

There was no time to think and for a moment, Kiku wondered if he'd thought a second too long. But no, it had scarcely been two seconds, perhaps three...

Her torso was completely free of the chandelier now. Kiku's forehead was beaded with sweat. Both of the sleeves of his white dress shirt were spotted with red, but in the moment, the pain did not come. There was blood on the ground. Was it his or Clara's? Most likely hers, though he could not tell. For the first time since he had lain down next to her, Kiku heard the voices. The screaming, the stomps, the grunts of pain. Those who were able had fled the scene already. Those who were not were left to their own devices... It was a game, a game of who you were when no one would help, of whether you ran or you stayed, whether you cared for the man standing next to you or did not care enough but to run into him and fall... It was a game Kiku knew all too well and one he had once played, one that now made him ache, though for what he did not know...

"I'm going to turn her," Kiku said aloud to no one. People needed to know...communication was key so that people did not panic when something happened. He was surrounded by smart men who knew what to do. Still, fear changed people.

Dropping Clara's arms and allowing her to rest briefly, Kiku put a hand underneath Clara's head, and gently used her weight to pull her over onto the other side. He looked at her properly in the face for once before focusing on getting her out. She was still breathing, but her breaths were shallower than before. He didn't notice if she was in shock or not, he couldn't. There wasn't time for that. Gripping her underneath her arms again, Kiku began to pull.

Time shortened a little compared to last time. It didn't matter as much if her legs were broken, but Kiku would rather that not be the case. Slowly, the rest of her body slid out. Inch by inch by inch by...

Her toes slipped out of the chandelier. Kiku glanced around quickly for a spot with less glass, more protection. A spare patch of floor, somehow untouched, lay a few meters away. He looked around. Who was there?

"Clara, listen to me. You have to stay awake, okay? Stay awake." He turned around to the people who had been holding the chandelier. "Keep her breathing. Get her help. Don't move her, but try to stop the bleeding. Get a paramedic. Anyone."

Kiku stood up and looked around. There were other injuries, mostly not as serious as Clara's. No, the bigger problem was upstairs. He started running. Halfway there, he looked back. Then he loosened his tie and continued on.

[Deleted]

CHECK MATE

In that moment, Clara went blind.

Blind, deaf, but not numb. It felt like everything in existence just suddenly went missing, and all that was left was the fire on her. Words – in all the languages she knew – failed her; she could barely string together a comprehensible line of thought and all that consumed her was only pain. Images swam in and out of focus, distorted by tears as noises around her came to be recognised as voices. Her survival instincts began to kick in, geared into a high-strung frenzy as the veil fell and everything just became sharp and distinct; she felt every shallow breath, heard the heartbeats in the hollow of her ears, and saw that nanosecond of darkness every time she blinked.

She had never felt more alive than in that moment – and that terrified her, because Clara didn’t know how much longer she would be.

Voices, voices, screaming. Plural. Voice, talking to her. Singular.

"Can you speak? Where does it hurt?"

Sadik.

She tried to speak, tried to answer - honest, she did. But all that came from her parted lips was a ghost of a breath. His hand found her hair, trying to soothe, trying to comfort, but his words said an order that could not be refuted.

"D-don't cry, girlie."

Oh, how brilliant the government was. Just how proud would they be to see how much they've broken their little pawn? Because even at the point where death is beckoning, she was still ever obedient. They'd taught her, trained her. She could not disobey any order; that was her primary function.

Tears stopped at once and she withdrew with a sharp breath, the agony now multiplying without an outlet. But Sadik realised his mistake, and corrected it with another order: she could cry, it's okay. Her body responded instinctively, letting it out with a whimper and a wail. Her sobs came like hiccups but the rush of oxygen was good for her; the jigsaw puzzles were falling into place as the fog began to clear up in her mind.

And her mind told her to scream.

The weight of the chandelier have shifted, and the momentary relief on her left leg did little to compensate the sudden whiplash of pain on her right. The blood was flowing, rushing, pumping and she could think, so Clara knew she was getting crushed.

"Stop!" She screamed, begged. And it did - dropping the broken, twisted metal back onto her again. Sandwiched between the damaged cage and blanket of shattered glass, it was highly unlikely that Clara did not break something and she knew that; she merely prayed that not too much was broken.

More voices came and circled her, and it was easier this time to tag and identify. Sadik. Ludwig. Michael. Arthur. Johanna. Her superiors, colleagues, friends. Michael came to grasp her forearms with firm but gentle grip, though a thought formed that the gentleness was hardly necessary; it wouldn't quite distract her from the pain present, after all. His smile was charming, but did little to soothe as intended. She tried her hand at one too, to reassure him that she was fine, but the lack of conviction on their faces proved her smile a feeble one.

"This is going to hurt."

"Don't worry, I'm a big girl." Her light tone did little to ease the gravity of the situation. "How much can it hurt?"

Turned out it'd hurt quite a bit.

But something went wrong - her legs were free, but her dress had snagged onto a jagged end of the chandelier and it was already grazing her side. It was like a cage and a bird; the prison did not budge no matter how much the canary wings fluttered. There was a flurry of limbs and movement, but all ignored for the sake of composing herself. Clara could feel the hysteria bubbling within, she could sense the edge approaching ever closer and it was all about to snap if she did not calm down right then.

And it was as if God answered a prayer never spoken, because Kiku appeared then. If there was anyone who could settle the storm in Clara just by his presence, it was Kiku. He was... a friend, yes. A friend, her brain reminded, one that she had never seen lose his composure; it felt like he could make everything alright, maybe even right now.

And then he was right there with her, amidst the shards, trying to do... something. "You'll be okay." He said. And pulled.

Her throat was already hoarse so instead, Clara squeezed her eyes shut, letting the few darn tears escape. She was too tired to scream, too tired to cry. She was simply... too tired. "Why do you all tell me I'm going to be alright just before I'm not?" She coughed. She was shifted and rattled, and no matter how delicately he tried to be, the pain only spread out more with every twinge. Everything was starting to get dimmer, warmer, heavier.

It was only when her legs were dangling in mid-air did it register that she was free. The canary has finally escaped from its cage. Lifted and held close, she felt rather than heard Kiku's distant words.

"Clara, listen to me. You have to stay awake, okay? Stay awake."

Awake? That sounds so tedious, so cold, so tiring. She was tired. Stay awake - was that order? No, Kiku was her equal; it was a mere suggestion, not an order. So it would be fine, right? To ignore a suggestion. It'd be fine.

Warm. Warm. Warmer. Clara was just so tired.

She wondered where she would be when she wakes up.

Who knows?

TAGS: Everyone...
WORDS: 963
NOTES: I'm tired.

coded by DESTINY of BTN

[Deleted]

~* KING ME *~

For once in his life he found himself at a loss for words. A silent fury coursed through his veins and beat in his ear like a war drum. The chandelier groaned and complained as he pushed against it, but it would not budge for the life of him. Momentum. What he needed was a bit of elbow grease and some momentum. He stepped back and charged, trying to tip the scales in his favor, but it was to no avail. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It wasn't enough. Desperation sank into his gut. He had to try harder.

A pair of hands clamped down onto his shoulders and he struggled to shrug them off. Ludwig wedged himself between Sadik and the chandelier. Get out of the way, god dammit. He rocked the chandelier - Clara let out another scream and begged for him to stop. He faltered. Her voice chilled him to the bone. "You have to stop. You can't move this by yourself. I-- we're going to help you, alright? But you have to stop moving this,” Ludwig let go of him and grabbed the other side of the chandelier.

"On my count, pull straight up, okay? You got that?" "One, two, three!"

On three they heaved the behemoth fixture of twisted metal and shattered glass off of her. His prosthetic whirred and the sharp metallic smell of electricity filled the air as he strained against the leaden frame. Suddenly, the chandelier started to droop. Shit. He couldn't afford to lose his grip. Not now. Sadik gripped the rung tightly, his bleeding knuckles turning a ghastly white, and threw his back into it. is skin was stretched painfully taut and his muscles ached and burned from the exertion. He grimaced, clenching his teeth together. He had to push through it. He had to focus on shouldering the burden and nothing else.

It was almost surreal watching them pull her out from underneath the wreckage. After all they had been through he knew that she was a strong girl, but was she strong enough to survive this? He didn't particularly care if the suits bit his head off for letting Clara get 'damaged'. They would treat her like a broken piece of equipment and then what? He'd doubt that they'd throw her away that easily. She was a piece of property to them, but she meant so much more to him.

TAGS: Nonononono
WORDS:
NOTES: Don't you dare stand in my way.

coded by DESTINY of BTN

[Deleted]

"This is Agent Santiago. I am entering the building, first floor. I need a Sit. Rep. immediately. All agents, please respond."

The Jamaican's voice rang clear through her own earpiece. His coherence in such a desperate situation was a relief to hear. "This is Agent Friedmann. The upper floors are in utter disarray. There are many injured people in the ball room alone, I haven't checked any floors above the fiftieth yet, I've only just arrived on the scene." As Feliks moved over to try and greet her she held up her hand to silence him. The background noise of screams, glass, and fire made hearing him difficult as it was. "Any agents still on the ground floor, if you are capable please phone for medical assistance immediately."

"Santiago, please be careful on your way up, especially towards the fiftieth floor. There is a lot of scattered debris and I can't speak for the building's stability." The sooner they got people out of the building, the better. Hopefully they would make it out of this alive.

“Liesel! I'm going upstairs. There's a Sir Bondevik who's gonna die otherwise. You wanna come with me? Or can you point me at someone who would?”

Liesel looked around hissed slightly through her teeth. They were the only two agents here, by the look of things. "Someone needs to stay down here. Once backup arrives I'll meet you up there? We have agents on their way up the stairwells." All of the government officials were on this floor, someone needed to stay and made sure they got the help they needed.

Was that the best decision, though?

"Do you know Bondevik's current situation, Feliks?" Liesel looked around. There was fire and panic, a mass of bodies surrounding a chandelier and the familiar face and hair of her cousin. The poor girl trapped under debris-- her desire to protect and save these people prompted her need to stay on this floor, where people more immediate needed help.

God damn it.

"He'll be here soon. I-- let's go. Quickly. Come on." Agent Santiago would be there soon. She could only hope this wouldn't bite her in the ass.

[Deleted]

"This is Agent Friedmann. The upper floors are in utter disarray. There are many injured people in the ball room alone, I haven't checked any floors above the fiftieth yet, I've only just arrived on the scene."

Khenan was grateful to hear that there was at least one other Agent already on the scene. Though, judging from the screams of sheer agony on her end, it wasn't pretty. He didn't like this. Explosions, fire, screams of pain... It was all too surreal, all too painfully familiar. The Jamaican shook his head vigorously, mentally berating himself. Now was not the time. When this was over, he could deal with flashbacks, but for now, damn it, people were dying and he had a job to do.

"Santiago, please be careful on your way up, especially towards the fiftieth floor. There is a lot of scattered debris and I can't speak for the building's stability."

Well, that was a given, but even then, the feedback was reassuring. At least he had eyes and ears up there. "Acknowledged, Friedmann. Will proceed with caution. Hold your position until I arrive." he responded, glancing at the numbered door he passed. Eleventh floor. Damn it, not fast enough! Friedmann's call for medical responders was acknowledged, but Khenan knew that they couldn't enter the building without a police escort, not when the very real danger that whoever did this was still in the building was hanging over everyone's head. "The regular authorities are already on scene, managing the crowd. Hopefully a team will be sent in soon to sweep for hostiles. Medical personell cannot enter the building until they arrive, so for now, we're on our own." He responded back. Two agents, as far as he knew of. Only two agents. Friedmann and himself. Not enough to properly sweep this huge building, protect the paramedics, and try and save as many lives as they could. This whole situation was FUBAR. Twenty fifth floor. This was taking too damn long! "These fucking skyscrapers!" he hissed. Yes, they were impressive, and yes, they saved building space, but when it came to a situation like these, they were nothing but absolutely worthless! "Only way this whole thing could get worse is if the damned Queen was up there!"

[Deleted]

Kiku was running, running. Running up the stairs, one by one, one by one. They passed in a blur, but his thoughts did not fall away quite as easily.

Clara, his mind whispered. You left her there. The voice was his own, disapproving, disdainful.

Shut up, he wanted to scream. I have to help. It's my job. I have to find out why. This was what I was meant to do. All the training, all the missions, all that time...

That's not your job anymore, Kiku.

Kiku slowed. He'd reached the top of the stairs. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, but the thought pierced him deeper than it had.

Shamefully, it had been two years since Kiku had retired from the MI6 and he missed it more than he cared to say. Kiku wasn't a politician, not really. He was meant to be doing something, something real. He was meant to be moving and in action. He knew what to do, knew what to say, knew where to be and where to go. The bombing only welled up the feeling of regret. His doctor had told him he wasn't fit to continue in the MI6. More than once, he had considered being rechecked or even recklessly ignoring the doctor's warnings. Instinct had driven him to the top of the staircase and he didn't want to go back down as he surveyed the damage.

Wreckage, holes in the floor gaping wide open leading to the chaos below. People running, most of them carrying guns, some of them vaguely familiar faces from the past that Kiku had seen a lifetime ago. There were people, talking on radios, frantically communicating. It was both familiar and foreign to Kiku at once. He'd been in the MI6, but this hadn't been his division. It never had been...it never would.

"Sir!" A random agent rushed up to him. "Civilians must head downstairs." He surveyed Kiku distastefully. Kiku remembered the feeling...civilians interrupting jobs that would move much quicker, much smoother. For a split second, Kiku considered telling the man off, blurting out that he'd been a former agent, that he knew what to do. His mouth even opened with the thought, but...

That wasn't him anymore...

In the next second, Kiku was flying down the stairs. He wasn't part of the MI6 anymore, as much as he craved to return. His job was to be in front, to be with the other civilians, to help them. His job right now was with Clara.

When he reached the conference room again, she was still there, lying in her own blood. Kiku grabbed a tablecloth and ripped it into long, thick strips. "Get a medic, now," he said to someone nearby. He couldn't make out their faces, his mind was busy working out how he could keep Clara alive. "She won't make it if we don't get her to a hospital."

He turned back to the girl on the ground. "Clara? Clara, talk to me." Her eyes were closed, her skin clammy and cold, her pulse beating rapidly. Kiku had seen the signs hundreds of times before, but this time it was personal. Any other person would've broken down, but Kiku's mind went into overdrive.

Clara's shock was almost certainly a result of a spinal injury. While she was bleeding, Kiku's guess was they were mostly superficial wounds. Bleeding would cause other problems, but that wasn't their main concern. Without a proper medical doctor, there was very little to do for her. Kiku knew many things--operating on a woman with a spinal injury was not one of those things.

She was still breathing, but only barely. Kiku checked over her skin, trying to see if there were any serious wounds. There was one on the side, but the position likely hadn't affected any major organs. No, her spine was the key.

"We have to move her." The words had a sour taste on Kiku's tongue. The one thing he didn't want to do was move Clara, but they had no choice. "There could be another explosion at any moment and I don't see paramedics coming up as quickly as I'd like. Someone keep talking to Clara, keep trying to see if she'll wake up. We need to improvise a stretcher."

[Deleted]

Through some miracle he'd manage to break through Sadik's panic and get the man to act rationally, and now Ludwig focused every fiber of his being on lifting the chandelier. Unfortunately the twisted metal wreck was just as heavy as it looked. After lifting it a mere few inches the muscles in Ludwig's arms and back were already aching in protest; he could hear a shrill electric whine from somewhere nearby and when the acrid scent of overworked machinery hit his nose he realized Sadik was working just as hard, if not harder. He could understand that: Clara was Ludwig's good friend, but he knew the girl was like a daughter to his coworker. At this rate, Sadik would wear himself out before Clara had gotten free, even with Michael waiting attentively nearby. Ludwig shut his eyes and kept lifting.

His eyes shot quickly open again when someone slammed hard into him and his grip on the chandelier faltered as he suddenly found himself on the verge of falling.

"No!" he cried out, already watching horrified as the metal bar in his grip began to slide to the very tips of his fingers, he'd drop the chandelier, this wasn't a reflex he could control, if he fell he'd let go of the chandelier anyways so he had to stay up and Clara would be hurt again and he couldn't do anything--

And just as suddenly Arthur was there, bracing against him until he found his balance, and holding tight to the chandelier just long enough for Ludwig to grasp the bar tightly again and heave it upwards. The muscles in his arms screamed in protest but this time Ludwig ignored them easily: the chandelier hadn't fallen and that relief was worth any amount of pain.

Are you sure you don't have magical powers? he would have quipped at a lighter time to his friend. Ten points to Gryffindor. He'd have to thank Arthur properly later, after everyone had gotten out of the building safely. And speaking of safety, Ludwig finally threw a glance at the man who had so recklessly smashed into him. Every single vicious curse word he knew in both English and German sped to the front of his mind as he stared down the human train wreck with wide-eyed fury. His gaze swept briefly over the camera hanging from around the man's neck.

"M-mi dispiace, Mister Beilschmidt!"

Verdammt. The idiot was media. Ludwig had to watch himself. But that didn't mean he couldn't shout. So he took all the anger he'd been building in preparation to unleash verbal hell on the reporter and rerouted it.

"IT'S DANGEROUS IN HERE! Get out of here, go, before anyone else gets hurt!! Move!!" He jerked his head in the direction of the door and then let the reporter slip from his mind. He still had a chandelier to hold and now finally the combined efforts of Sadik, Arthur, and himself had gotten the mess high enough above the ground for Clara to be rescued. And unfortunately the rescue had to happen slowly. As he watched the girl being pulled inch by inch out from under the wreckage, Ludwig didn't even allow himself the thought that her helpers needed to move more quickly. If he had been stronger, holding the chandelier wouldn't have been a problem. He could have helped more. He always could do more.

Clara's legs had clearly been badly hurt: that much Ludwig could see immediately, and the surge of adrenaline from that helped him hang onto the metal bars until her toes had cleared the wreckage. Instantly, Ludwig dropped his side of the chandelier: the massive thing smashed back against the floor with a further crushing of glass and groaning of metal, and Ludwig would have collapsed right on top of it had he not braced himself. He felt ill and exhausted and almost impossibly short of breath, but that was fine: they had freed Clara. She'd be alright. After quick glances at Arthur and Sadik to ensure they hadn't died, Ludwig straightened himself up and began stumbling towards the downed girl; one of her rescuers had already run off, but the politician had effectively run out of energy, even to feel angry at people. The combination of the reporter and the chandelier had left Ludwig feeling utterly burnt out, like the scorched cardboard remains of a firecracker -- nothing left but a shell.

People were filtering through the doors into the ruined room, somehow, and briefly Ludwig spied the familiar face of his cousin. Agents, then. Where were the medics, though? They needed first aid kits and stretchers but Ludwig could see none. He turned his gaze to Clara, then back to the door. Clara. The door. Then he took a deep breath and, with effort, refocused himself. One of Clara's rescuers had returned - right. There could be another explosion, and they needed a stretcher - right. Ludwig had done this before. The shattered remains of some of the tables and chairs lay nearby and without a word, he jogged off, retrieving two particularly long shards of wood that hadn't been reached by the slowly spreading fire. Returning, he flung those to the ground, then knelt down and pulled off his suit jacket before sliding the pieces of wood through the sleeves.

"I need another coat," Ludwig thought aloud, glancing around at the assembled helpers. "Arthur," he decided, "give me your jacket. I'll get you a new one for Christmas." Puffs of white dust erupted around the chandelier; slender cracks had started to spread in the ceiling above where the behemoth had hung and Ludwig sincerely hoped the place would hold long enough for them to carry Clara to safety and get out.

[Mihai Chimet]

People, people, people. They just kept coming, didn't they? An irritated hiss escaped through Mihai's gritted teeth. The group that just so happened to be gathering around the chandelier seemed more inclined to send the entire wreck crashing back down on Clara than actually helping her out of it. They'd been lucky that Arthur had managed to catch Ludwig in time, that the journalist (who, Mihai noticed with a spark of distaste, was the one he'd been speaking to earlier) hadn't wrought even more destruction in his wake.

"Don't worry, I'm a big girl," was Clara's forced reply. "How much can it hurt?" His eyes shifted back down to her and his expression softened into a wry half-smile, but he didn't answer. She would know soon enough, and nothing he said could prepare her for it. This was a sight worthy of pity.

It was one of the new arrivals who seemed to piece the situation back together. The man seemed vaguely familiar, a coworker perhaps, though Mihai was at a loss as to his relationship with Clara. Regardless, she seemed to be reassured in his presence, and at the very least she had that when they pulled her, bleeding and tearful, centimeter by painful centimeter, from beneath the wreckage. She was unconscious by the time she was freed, in spite of the other man's demands for her to stay awake.

He sighed in relief (or as much relief as he could muster at the moment), falling backwards into a sitting position. A bead of sweat trailed down his brow and he wiped it away with the hem of his sleeve. His heart was racing in his chest, pumping blood in dull throbs that he could hear echoing in his mind. Panic, anticipation, adrenaline; he didn't have time to rest—there were other places he had to be. (But briefly, before he left, he placed his hand lightly on Clara's head. What was it, exactly? Pity? Praise? He didn't know, and perhaps it didn't matter.)

He stood up and surveyed the area around them. The beginning dredges of the MI6 were starting to show up, or at least it seemed like it. He'd been told some agents were stationed nearby—after all, an event like this was simply too important for the local police forces, wasn't it? Ultimately, it seemed that not even the best security of the entire United Kingdom could stand up to plain old corporate stupidity. Well, what was there to do now? The celebration had been blown to pieces quite literally, casualties and injuries were unaccounted for, Clara (his responsibility) was unconscious, Lukas (his responsibility by extension of Johanna) was likewise out of the running, and security had evacuated almost everyone they could. They would not be coming back up. Anyone still languishing with an injury was left to the compassion of whoever remained, or they entrusted their chances to whatever backup would be coming along. The few members of the MI6 that Mihai could spot should be followed soon by others.

Frustration. It curled his fingers and soured in his veins as he stared at the group around him, all dirty, tired, injured. He was not cut out for this, this show of taking care of other people. They slowed him down and chained him to responsibilities he did not welcome nor felt particularly inclined to obey. The direction he wanted to go was up, up to where the explosions had been ignited, where he might be able to unearth some information about the culprits, and down here he couldn't do anything. Too many orders being shouted, too much panic and confusion, its scent hanging heady in the air and driving everyone's nerves to an end. Including himself. He wanted to get out of there—the debate between responsibility and craving was a short and futile one.

"Take mine, too," he said, undoing the buttons of his suit jacket and flinging it at Ludwig. Next was his tie—it could only be an impediment if he was to be navigating the rubble of the upper floors, and it could serve some purpose in constructing the makeshift stretcher. "I'm going to the upper floors," he informed the group as he slipped the tie from around his neck. "Someone will lead you through the safest route out..." A small pause as he surveyed the two unconscious victims. "There will be medics waiting once you get outside. They will take care of Clara and Bondevik."

Without awaiting protests (of which he was sure there would be some), he strode briskly over to the nearest agent. "These people need to be evacuated now," he ordered, his tone disallowing any attempt at refusal or excuses. "There are two people injured, both severely. They need medical attention as soon as possible. If anything happens to this group, I will have your head." He waited a moment to see if his message had sunk in or not, then spun in the direction of the stairwell. "I will be conducting a sweep of the upper floors." Again, no protests would be heard, and he didn't explain his motives. Why not wait for an official inspection of the Maximantics building? Out of uncertainty of the situation, he would say if questioned. He wanted to ensure that as much evidence as possible could be collected if the building didn't survive long enough for the rest of the MI6 to arrive on scene. Oh, but the entire situation was becoming quickly personal. The taste on his tongue spoke of vengeance, and he wanted to know who they were, what they wanted, and the best way to eliminate them.

That would be satisfaction.

{{The agent Mi's talking to can be anyone who feels up to it. If not it could just be a random agent.

[Asunara Wisdom]

MOD - MISS ANNABELLE MARYLYN INGHAM

She really didn't expect the evening to turn out like this. Many of her fellow society members have dropped their cool aristocratic manners and have proceeded to panicking. This woman, however, will not lose her dignity. Call it pride.

However, she was more than just worried. She was afraid.

She was wise enough to have worn flats tonight. The women taking their high heels off were going to come out of the building with cut feet. She was careful not to run (not like she could with the dress she was wearing at the moment), but she almost reconsidered the reasoning when she heard a ticking coming from a stairwell.

Oh God, our safe form of escape.

She searched for the source of the ticking, and found it on the 25th floor's power box.

There's still time on the clock. But I have no idea how to diffuse a bomb. I'll have to ask someone for help, then.

She walked back into the main ballroom, and with her loudest voice.

"Someone needs to help diffuse this bomb now.  Please come to the back stairwell where the power box is!"

{ OBJECTIVES

- Diffuse the bomb

The bomb explodes in ten posts. If this is not attended to, there will be consequences.

Good luck }

[Deleted]

Khenan froze in mid step as the ticking sound reached his ears. What was that? What was that!? "Tell mi dats no what Mi tink it be." he asked to absolutely no one, starting up the stairs again. Eighteenth floor. Twenty second floor. Twenty fifth floor. "Bumbaclot!" he swore in anger as his fears were confirmed. There was another bomb. No doubt to make sure their unwelcomed party favors finished the job. "Ya batty holes dead when Mi get mi hands on ya dedge badies! Mi gun put ya in a box an drop ya in da ocean and watch ya drown!" he raved furiously. The other agents needed to know about this. This changed everything.

Khenan touched his headset again. "Check it deep, breddas! Dem bandalus left us a buss box!" The Jamaican realized that he was letting his anxiety take control of his grasp of proper English, so he took a deep breath and repeated himself. "Apologies. There is a bomb on the twenty fifth floor. Repeat, there is a bomb on the twenty fifth floor. Change of plans. We can't wait for the regulars to get here, we need to evacuate these people now. I'll see what I can do about the explosive. Over."

Releasing the headset, Khenan cursed again. "And mi no have a cutta! Dis is some bumbaclot ting, mon!" He raved in fury, kicking the wall. He then took a deep breath. "Okay, mon, we gun ta be fit n' frock, yah? Dis be an office building. Dey must have a cutta somewhere, sight?" He assured himself, pushing his way into the floor room proper. He looked around frantically. There had to be something. A knife or a pair of scissors, something! Every second spent looking was a second that bomb got closer to going off!

[Feliks Łukasiewicz]

Liesel asked about Bondevik's current situation. Remembering what he had seen in his brief look around when he had spoken with the doctor, Feliks replied, "He didn't look too good. Very pale, and I think he was unconscious." That was usually a bad sign. If the young Bondevik had passed out, he was probably well into a crisis.

Fortunately, Liesel seemed convinced. She clearly didn't like leaving the situation here, but she just as clearly recognized that this matter was also urgent. That was one hurdle down, and however many more to go. "There's a doctor who can explain more," Feliks added, already walking in the general direction of the doctor in question, who was not too far away.

The air was still thick with dust and the aura of fear. Feliks could see a group working together to extricate a badly injured girl from underneath a chandelier. He could see that the girl was screaming, but he couldn't even tell that which screams were hers amidst the dull echoes of all the pained and frightened noises. As he walked, he lost sight of that group for a few moments. When he caught sight of them again, the girl was out from under the chandelier and one of the men from the group was talking with someone whom Feliks recognized as another agent. Come to think of it, he thought that several of those people looked familiar. Wasn't one of them his official boss for the job he was doing now, or something close to it? Maybe his boss' boss' boss? Of course important government officials would be at a party like this. It occurred to him that that might even be a good thing on some level, since there were so many agents responding now. The people responsible for them might be able to help coordinate a bit.

A renewed cry went up. There was another bomb on the stairs. Feliks wanted to do something about that--more explosions, that would be very bad, especially along the escape route--but he could only do one thing at a time. Another agent would take care of this problem--oh, good, Khenan was on it. Much like Feliks himself, the Jamaican was eccentric but competent. He would surely be able to accomplish what was needed.

The Polish agent put the second bomb out of his mind; he had his own immediately pressing task to deal with. There was someone to save immediately and a higher floor to sweep. He duly approached the doctor.

"Doctor. Here we are. What do we need to do?"