Post by Victor Fries on Aug 1, 2015 5:20:47 GMT
The bunker was much quieter than GothCorp ever possibly dreamed of being, of course, that was something Fries expected, and so, too, was the tranquility of the bunker. But often, at night, the silence was almost deafening to Fries. His thoughts were concise, he had to acquire the appropriate resources to save Nora's life. When he was young, he would turn on a record of Moonlight Sonata to fall asleep too. He would return to these habits as a man in his late middle age. It helped him achieve clarity, in order to sleep, and it stopped the maddening silence from consuming him.
Two weeks after the heist which earned him the title “Freeze” from the media, Fries had another heist planned, one which would certainly turn heads, especially in particularly powerful areas. In the early evening, Fries was finishing supper, and has gaze transfixed on the painting—the “Temple of Segesta” by Thomas Cole. The artist painting himself into the pastoral landscape as the ultimate form of a self-portrait. It's as if he's begging the audience to peer at where he's been, revel, and admire where he will go. But Fries cared less about that, and always found himself not transfixed on the temple, but the lone mountain in the background of the painting. The isolation alone was the biggest obstacle, it was a reflection of the tragedy in the story of Fries. The obstacle in curing Nora was isolating the correct DNA strand that caused her affliction. The temple was not the object, but the safe haven in the painting and in the life of Fries. The object was the mountain, isolated in the future, ready to crush him, or to be crushed—frozen in time.
Fries wiped the ends of his lips, leaving the table to ascend into the garage and storage area of the bunker. There he met Otto, who was suited in Kevlar and tactical wear. Otto's men, eight in total, were waiting top-side in an old hunter's cabin restored by Fries after the initial purchase of the property.
“Hello, Otto.” greeted Fries, “Welcome to my cabin in the woods.”
“It's good to see you, Mister Zero. And, ah... nice.. er... digs? I have to say, it is not every day I find myself in a re-purposed army bunker, but nonetheless,” Otto said, “What's the plan?”
Fries reached into an ammo cache box located on the table to his left, and to Otto's right. Inside was a charge of Fries' design.
“You'll be supplied with these charges which can be launched from any portable grenade launcher. Instruct your men to aim it only at cameras and not directly at human targets, the force could still kill them, and I want no deaths during this heist,” said Fries, “is that understood?”
“Absolutely. I see the vehicles we will be using to obtain the cargo, but how are we going to enter the complex?” asked Otto.
“You'll be neutralizing the guards with a tranquilizer gun at the western gate.” Fries said, “Once that station is clear, you'll instruct your men to proceed with the vehicles. I want a man on each truck with a launcher in case any obstacles appear. Which, in my estimation, will happen, just remember not to kill anyone.”
“And once we are in?”
“Once you've gained entry, you will proceed to the southern end of the complex. Four trucks will split into two pairs, and make their way to the two extraction points. It will take fifteen minutes for the process to work to completion. There will be two storage containers at each site, they were just recently replenished, and each truck has two tanks so we should achieve max yield from this heist.”
“I would have to assume that each storage container has a given chemical you need?” Otto asked.
“That is correct.” Fries said, “Once you load to maximum capacity, you will leave the way you entered, and drop is, of course, back here at this location. Are your driver's in place?”
"Yessir, Mister Zero.” Otto said, “Give us the word, and we'll commence.”
Fries peered at his watch, but he already knew the exact time without needing a first glance. It was six o'clock PM, eastern time. It would take the convoy two hours to reach the industrial complex. He turned back to the hatch door which lead him to his laboratory, he geared his head towards Otto, and spoke the words, “Fifteen minutes.”
“Affirmative, Mister Zero.” said Otto.
“And no deaths.” said Fries, “ You can understand that this is going to great a very intense amount of public attention as it is if executed to the very T in perfection.”
“You don't rob Lex Luthor without turning a head or two.”
The LexChem Guardsmen stationed in the western entrance, Phil Bentley was in the midst of a serious Sudoku puzzle. His partner was outside, smoking a cigarette off-camera, his name was Chris, and he had a habit of doing things he should not have been doing. It often drove Phil mad, before smoking was actually banned on the property as a whole, Chris would leave his discarded butts everywhere. Even when smoking was banned, Phil would find ash-trays stashed in closets and other hideaways in the guard station. Even when they were warned, and then fined for Chris' habit, the man would still find an opportunity to shirk the rules for a quick nicotine fix. In Phil's eyes, a germophobic by-the-book borderline hypochondriac, Chris was an absurd fool, but he still considered him a good friend.
Chris had just walked back into the station, accompanied by the smell of fire and smoke, but at least not of the dire variety—moreso the slow burn death march of cancer cells festering in his blackened lungs.
“Mmm, that must be that new Calvin Klein fragrance.” Phil said, “What is it called again?”
“Essence of Marlboro.” Chris quipped.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” said Otto, “And good night, to you, too.”
Two darts, and they were out immediately. Whatever Fries supplied him with was super effective. He gave the signal to his men, and let open the gates. As the truck leading the convoy approached, Otto placed a thumb drive in the security guard station main console, in which allowed him to hack into the surveillance grid. Once into the console, he selectively switched off the camera's in the quadrants they would travel through and acquire their target from. The thumb drive also contained a trojan which in the half an hour it required to complete the heist, would mine a variety of LexChem corporate data ranging from employee information, future projects, financial information, etc. Fries had no plan to sell what Otto hacked from the computer, but rather would stockpile it as if ammunition for a later date.
The trucks made their way through the complex to their objectives, and would begin the loading process. Otto's eight men created perimeters around the respective trucks they were assigned to. The mission was going exactly to plan, up unto the point of which the trucks began pulling up to the western guard post. It was then an anomaly occurred, Chris awoke from the tranquilizer exactly seven hours an thirty-five minutes before he should have. He slammed his hand down on the button controlling the gate mechanisms, his mouth foaming from the madness created by the tranquilizer. On pure instinct, he sounded the alarm before he ran from the guard post, his hand on the butt of his gun as he approached the lead truck.
“Now, just hold the Hell up there, guy.” said Chris.
One of Otto's men jumped from the running board of the semi-truck, and fired three charges at the wild man running directly for them. One of the charges glanced off Chris' shoulder, breaking his collar bone on impact, but the other two charges landed near his feet, freezing them instantly. Unfortunately for Chris, as his momentum carried him forward coupled with the pull of gravity caused his body to shatter into thousands of flesh shards, killing him instantaneously.
Otto, observing from around the corner, yelled at his man, “Go! Get on the truck, and go! We need to go now!”
Otto's man jumped back on the running board of the truck, realizing what he had done, and just how very badly he had compromised the mission. As they left the complex, the Gotham City Police were beginning to respond. Otto, running the tail of the convoy was cut off by two police interceptors as he made his way towards his Jeep.
“This is Gotham City Police! Drop your weapon and put your hands above your head!” A voice shouted over the public address speaker fixed on the interceptor.
Otto fired two charges at the front tires of each vehicle before the officers had a chance to exit them, and draw their weapons. In an second, they were essentially blocks of ice—good for watering down the stiff drink Otto desperately looked forward to after the conclusion of this mission.
Speeding off in the truck, following behind the convoy, he knew their would be more cops on them soon if he didn't do something to create distance. He pressed the button on the door panel which automatically lowered his driver's side window, he began arming charges and throwing them at cars and near people, creating a winter wonderland out of thin air which would create certain havoc for the traction of his pursuers' tires.
Otto knew it would take every ounce of skill both him and his crew possessed in order to make it back unscathed that night. He gulped, and pressed on into the daunting twilight of Gotham.
Swan Lake poured delicately from the speakers installed in the walls and ceiling of Fries' new laboratory located in the bunker via the outskirts of Gotham. He was studying samples of Nora's blood in comparison to his own and the blood of a person afflicted with a severe form of muscle dystrophy, the closest known relative to the rare disease degenerating Nora. He had done it before, perhaps he was beginning to doubt his previous findings. Was he losing it? He took a deep breath, his ears tuning out the doubting voice in his head, and absorbed the swells and bellows of the orchestra.
There was a power in the music, and it told him to press on. The same power exuded from Nora, and drove him to becoming something he never envisioned he would become, but what was only necessary if not consequential due to the dirty dealings of some of the most powerful in Gotham.
It would take him months to make any progress on the cure, and he still had to transfer Nora to his laboratory. At his home, Nora currently was on a machine not unlike chemotherapy which pumped a cryogenic serum that slowed the degeneration, but it was inefficient. Her situation would worsen at any moment, and he had to have a solution in place that would safeguard her life while he developed the cure. The next step would be to submerse her in a liquid stasis, he had the parts necessary to create the chamber, but required the resources pertinent for cryogenic stasis which Otto was in the process of acquiring.
For a momentary lapse, Fries smiled, he had a good feeling.
Two weeks after the heist which earned him the title “Freeze” from the media, Fries had another heist planned, one which would certainly turn heads, especially in particularly powerful areas. In the early evening, Fries was finishing supper, and has gaze transfixed on the painting—the “Temple of Segesta” by Thomas Cole. The artist painting himself into the pastoral landscape as the ultimate form of a self-portrait. It's as if he's begging the audience to peer at where he's been, revel, and admire where he will go. But Fries cared less about that, and always found himself not transfixed on the temple, but the lone mountain in the background of the painting. The isolation alone was the biggest obstacle, it was a reflection of the tragedy in the story of Fries. The obstacle in curing Nora was isolating the correct DNA strand that caused her affliction. The temple was not the object, but the safe haven in the painting and in the life of Fries. The object was the mountain, isolated in the future, ready to crush him, or to be crushed—frozen in time.
Fries wiped the ends of his lips, leaving the table to ascend into the garage and storage area of the bunker. There he met Otto, who was suited in Kevlar and tactical wear. Otto's men, eight in total, were waiting top-side in an old hunter's cabin restored by Fries after the initial purchase of the property.
“Hello, Otto.” greeted Fries, “Welcome to my cabin in the woods.”
“It's good to see you, Mister Zero. And, ah... nice.. er... digs? I have to say, it is not every day I find myself in a re-purposed army bunker, but nonetheless,” Otto said, “What's the plan?”
Fries reached into an ammo cache box located on the table to his left, and to Otto's right. Inside was a charge of Fries' design.
“You'll be supplied with these charges which can be launched from any portable grenade launcher. Instruct your men to aim it only at cameras and not directly at human targets, the force could still kill them, and I want no deaths during this heist,” said Fries, “is that understood?”
“Absolutely. I see the vehicles we will be using to obtain the cargo, but how are we going to enter the complex?” asked Otto.
“You'll be neutralizing the guards with a tranquilizer gun at the western gate.” Fries said, “Once that station is clear, you'll instruct your men to proceed with the vehicles. I want a man on each truck with a launcher in case any obstacles appear. Which, in my estimation, will happen, just remember not to kill anyone.”
“And once we are in?”
“Once you've gained entry, you will proceed to the southern end of the complex. Four trucks will split into two pairs, and make their way to the two extraction points. It will take fifteen minutes for the process to work to completion. There will be two storage containers at each site, they were just recently replenished, and each truck has two tanks so we should achieve max yield from this heist.”
“I would have to assume that each storage container has a given chemical you need?” Otto asked.
“That is correct.” Fries said, “Once you load to maximum capacity, you will leave the way you entered, and drop is, of course, back here at this location. Are your driver's in place?”
"Yessir, Mister Zero.” Otto said, “Give us the word, and we'll commence.”
Fries peered at his watch, but he already knew the exact time without needing a first glance. It was six o'clock PM, eastern time. It would take the convoy two hours to reach the industrial complex. He turned back to the hatch door which lead him to his laboratory, he geared his head towards Otto, and spoke the words, “Fifteen minutes.”
“Affirmative, Mister Zero.” said Otto.
“And no deaths.” said Fries, “ You can understand that this is going to great a very intense amount of public attention as it is if executed to the very T in perfection.”
“You don't rob Lex Luthor without turning a head or two.”
The LexChem Guardsmen stationed in the western entrance, Phil Bentley was in the midst of a serious Sudoku puzzle. His partner was outside, smoking a cigarette off-camera, his name was Chris, and he had a habit of doing things he should not have been doing. It often drove Phil mad, before smoking was actually banned on the property as a whole, Chris would leave his discarded butts everywhere. Even when smoking was banned, Phil would find ash-trays stashed in closets and other hideaways in the guard station. Even when they were warned, and then fined for Chris' habit, the man would still find an opportunity to shirk the rules for a quick nicotine fix. In Phil's eyes, a germophobic by-the-book borderline hypochondriac, Chris was an absurd fool, but he still considered him a good friend.
Chris had just walked back into the station, accompanied by the smell of fire and smoke, but at least not of the dire variety—moreso the slow burn death march of cancer cells festering in his blackened lungs.
“Mmm, that must be that new Calvin Klein fragrance.” Phil said, “What is it called again?”
“Essence of Marlboro.” Chris quipped.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” said Otto, “And good night, to you, too.”
Two darts, and they were out immediately. Whatever Fries supplied him with was super effective. He gave the signal to his men, and let open the gates. As the truck leading the convoy approached, Otto placed a thumb drive in the security guard station main console, in which allowed him to hack into the surveillance grid. Once into the console, he selectively switched off the camera's in the quadrants they would travel through and acquire their target from. The thumb drive also contained a trojan which in the half an hour it required to complete the heist, would mine a variety of LexChem corporate data ranging from employee information, future projects, financial information, etc. Fries had no plan to sell what Otto hacked from the computer, but rather would stockpile it as if ammunition for a later date.
The trucks made their way through the complex to their objectives, and would begin the loading process. Otto's eight men created perimeters around the respective trucks they were assigned to. The mission was going exactly to plan, up unto the point of which the trucks began pulling up to the western guard post. It was then an anomaly occurred, Chris awoke from the tranquilizer exactly seven hours an thirty-five minutes before he should have. He slammed his hand down on the button controlling the gate mechanisms, his mouth foaming from the madness created by the tranquilizer. On pure instinct, he sounded the alarm before he ran from the guard post, his hand on the butt of his gun as he approached the lead truck.
“Now, just hold the Hell up there, guy.” said Chris.
One of Otto's men jumped from the running board of the semi-truck, and fired three charges at the wild man running directly for them. One of the charges glanced off Chris' shoulder, breaking his collar bone on impact, but the other two charges landed near his feet, freezing them instantly. Unfortunately for Chris, as his momentum carried him forward coupled with the pull of gravity caused his body to shatter into thousands of flesh shards, killing him instantaneously.
Otto, observing from around the corner, yelled at his man, “Go! Get on the truck, and go! We need to go now!”
Otto's man jumped back on the running board of the truck, realizing what he had done, and just how very badly he had compromised the mission. As they left the complex, the Gotham City Police were beginning to respond. Otto, running the tail of the convoy was cut off by two police interceptors as he made his way towards his Jeep.
“This is Gotham City Police! Drop your weapon and put your hands above your head!” A voice shouted over the public address speaker fixed on the interceptor.
Otto fired two charges at the front tires of each vehicle before the officers had a chance to exit them, and draw their weapons. In an second, they were essentially blocks of ice—good for watering down the stiff drink Otto desperately looked forward to after the conclusion of this mission.
Speeding off in the truck, following behind the convoy, he knew their would be more cops on them soon if he didn't do something to create distance. He pressed the button on the door panel which automatically lowered his driver's side window, he began arming charges and throwing them at cars and near people, creating a winter wonderland out of thin air which would create certain havoc for the traction of his pursuers' tires.
Otto knew it would take every ounce of skill both him and his crew possessed in order to make it back unscathed that night. He gulped, and pressed on into the daunting twilight of Gotham.
Swan Lake poured delicately from the speakers installed in the walls and ceiling of Fries' new laboratory located in the bunker via the outskirts of Gotham. He was studying samples of Nora's blood in comparison to his own and the blood of a person afflicted with a severe form of muscle dystrophy, the closest known relative to the rare disease degenerating Nora. He had done it before, perhaps he was beginning to doubt his previous findings. Was he losing it? He took a deep breath, his ears tuning out the doubting voice in his head, and absorbed the swells and bellows of the orchestra.
There was a power in the music, and it told him to press on. The same power exuded from Nora, and drove him to becoming something he never envisioned he would become, but what was only necessary if not consequential due to the dirty dealings of some of the most powerful in Gotham.
It would take him months to make any progress on the cure, and he still had to transfer Nora to his laboratory. At his home, Nora currently was on a machine not unlike chemotherapy which pumped a cryogenic serum that slowed the degeneration, but it was inefficient. Her situation would worsen at any moment, and he had to have a solution in place that would safeguard her life while he developed the cure. The next step would be to submerse her in a liquid stasis, he had the parts necessary to create the chamber, but required the resources pertinent for cryogenic stasis which Otto was in the process of acquiring.
For a momentary lapse, Fries smiled, he had a good feeling.