Chapter 2: Chapter 2 – The Hidden palace.

(14 minutes before the Nuclear explosion.)

"MOVE IT!" The sergeant screamed, making many of the long line of people run even faster.

"MOVE MOVE!" The facility in Nevada was the only refuge these sinners had now. The children cried as they were separated form their fathers, mothers and families for the priority list. The mothers were prioritized before the fathers, elderly last.

Over four thousand individuals organized themselves under military command, the facility could only fit around five thousand, and thus children and priority targets were taken in first. Doctors. Military Personal, ex or otherwise. Celebrities. Anyone who could be relevant when the time came.

It was enviable for many, and many rioted.

Their panicked screams were ones of hundreds as many tried to force their way through the obviously aggravated military personnel. Their training was the only thing allowing them to keep their composure, yet strays who'd had enough stress often berated and pushed the crowd back.

One stick at a time.

"Agh!" A Vietnamese girl within the crowd was one of these victims. No older than 13, her face had a large blow right above her eye, leading to the blood pouring out of her skin at an extreme speed. Not that anyone here could care. They all had far too much to give up for a measly child. Not even their own.

So she laid on the floor, her hands and arms almost trampled by the several adults above her, who only gave her glances and half-attempts to help her. Rach after reach, hand after hand, foot after foot. She was covered in bruise after bruise, and would barely breath after a foot to her diaphragm. Her spastic, almost pitiable state caught the attention of a senior behind the lines of dressed military soldiers. Only by a glance, the marble among bones decided to act first.

"Stop!" A lieutenant pushed his way through the crowd. Jumping from the backs of the soldiers, he dived downwards to a crawl through the masses as he pulled her hand. Her gaze was wobbly, swooning her body as she tried to walk, she only momentarily saw the blurry face of her savior before falling into a faint. Slowly, she was picked by his arms as some sensible few of the crowd calmed down and made way for him. Cutting the people behind them at the sight of the injured girl.

"Stop it!" He shouted again as his men made way for him, where he rushed to the medical facilities within the building. Not that any civilian was allowed to enter at the moment, but he could do with reprimand than regret. He'd get a punishment from his superiors over allowing a child of all people to die.

The crowd nearest to them, a small portion to the literal thousands of panicked faces, had the decency to relax themselves, even for a moment. Not that the Savagery wouldn't return sooner or later. It was their nature.

Wasn't it.

...

---

(6 Minutes  before - Upper outlook office. General Wain)

In the luxurious office of the appointed, rather, elected general, General Wain sat uncomfortably in his seat, facing the byproduct of governmental disfunction.

His hair, though already white, seemed to be getting whiter as every second passed. And his skin, though fairly pale, seemed paler at the moment. The stress was not something he should be dealing with at the ripe old age of 56, but he made due with the short handed staff and late schedules his supervisors applied.

'Animals' he thought as the crowd ate at each other for a chance to love. many cried, laughed out of dread, or even gave up. Many conflicted faces turned a portrait of agony into a landscape of individuals, turning this entire view into a surreal 'Where's Waldo' image. Akin to the Christian paintings of the ends of time, except they've already reached hell. Most would die today. 

"~Evacuation of California has, for the most part, failed." The Onsight general spoke, it had been a few hours since his arrival, yet everything has already gone to shit. "As of presidential decree, I officially authorize Operation P.I.X.I.E. We shall move into action effective immediately." He spoke, filling another scotch before taking it down in a single swoop. This reminded him of the crowds in Afghanistan. Though his tour there was a fairly short one, in comparison to his tour in Iraq, he remembered the crowds of people begging at the US convos for food, medical help or any otherwise sacred utility. At least they had the decency to keep their composure as they begged, the civilians here were far to egoistic. 

The other person in the room stood at attention behind him, as the former was too busy peering at the jungle of soon-to-become martyrs. Formally dressed in a military outfit, he stood with his hands, white gloved hands, clenched. 

...

He knew exactly what he had to do. It was no easy decision on his plate. With a pained heart, he added another sentence, their sentence.

"Close the gates." He spoke pained, the Major General Obliged.

Major General Breggs, a far younger man than Wain, could only give his own nod, as he followed the General's order without complaint. This was a necessary evil in their eyes, less they opt for the collective death of all Seven thousand within and exterior to the bunker.

With footsteps being the only noise left in the room, Breggs left, leaving the General with too many thoughts on hand.

Turning one more time to his reinforced window, he couldn't help but reveal an odd expression of disappointment. Loathing. Guilt.

'Where the hell did everything go wrong? No, it was all going wrong beneath our noses, one slip and the world is falling apart. Let's guess STRATCOM's budget has been funneling somewhere for them to be this damn slow.' 

One more smell of his glass, his white stach grazing the edge of the cup as he did all he could to relax his shaking hand.

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'I'm too fucking old for this.' He reminisced one more time, reminded of his daughter and grandson, both safe in the confines of DC. They would be the ones to get out of this at least. The ones to thrive after, that was what kept him going; He would do anything to see them once more.

Turning around, he lays his glass on his dark wooden desk, the velvet colors of the room where something to memorize, as he wasn't sure if he'll ever get to see it again.

Walking through the emergency elevator shaft on the side, he methodically swiped his access card, handprints and retinal scan for the biometrics, before he descended to the bottom floor of the facility. Right near their nuclear reactor and the boiler room of hell.

'Eddy. Louis. I won't be joining you two any time soon.' He thought as his gaze fiercened. 

With that...

...

The room was empty.

...

Desolation.

---

(One minute to hell. The city.)

The city, for a single, minute second, was silent.

No screams.

No tears.

Just silence. A silent terror, a quiet inevitability and a single whisper without a voice.

A whistle was all they heard. Falling from so far away that you'd believe one had to be more than simply human to hear it, but the countless, countless children, woman, men, everyone heard the whistling warhead.

It stopped approximately 6000 meters in the air. Maybe even higher, where it, akin to gods wrath, left no chance for interruption. No opportunity for a last second error.

*BOOOOOOOM

Unlike god. Man offered no salvation either, only death in it's wake.

First the air vibrated with the ferocity of a billion suns.

Then the clouds evaporated. The heavens died as all that was left was hellfire. Fission.

Then the buildings evaporated, not simply melting, but turning into proxy glass as they first broke apart by the sheer wind pressure, then melted into the air along with the hundreds of trees, cars, traffic lights, clothing stores, malls, courthouses, police stations, churches, schools, orphanages.

People.

All mixing into the kettle of primordial juice, who instead of birthing, eradicated. The innocent and guilty alike where sentenced equal in the eyes of this weapon, and like its brutality, gave no delay nor sense of comfort as it euthanized the populace.

Terror was never felt. Only anticipation for something already occurring.

The infants were perhaps the worst of the victims, as unlike the children, parents and people of California, they did not anticipate of any form of emotion. They smiled with glee, some cried instinctually, but none had the chance to ever become as cruel as the rest of the world. They lacked suspense, and died without knowing why.

One could tell how dreadful the situation is by looking 80 kilometers away, within the Nevada bunker, as those left behind were meticulously grilled into black, nerves first, bones last.

The titanium dam melted away. Only holding the megatons of radiation for a moment, before the remaining lead and titanium breaches, floors worth of them, could sustain the rest of the radiation; Without the underground water deposits and filtration systems prepared beforehand, the few who descended to a greater level of hell would not be deemed cockroaches in their effort to survive.

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