Snippet #1363270

He casually strode, equipped with a backpack in his unassuming form avoiding contact as he made his way through the underbelly of the building that most people never see, only its employees. The walls were lined with pipes and insulated wires; the veins of the building. His face grew a familiar devilish smile as he slinked into a restricted area, two men in staff uniform were there, and when they noticed him they were taken aback by the presence of non-personnel.

One opened his mouth to state the obvious, “Um sir you’re not supposed to be-” In less time then they could perceive and react Cronos unveiled a silenced pistol, not his weapon of choice mind you, but he was here for business first and pleasure later. He smacked his lips in a rhythm one would recognize as “Shave and a Haircut” and proceeded into the restricted chamber. There another staff member was there and of course at the sight of the man he uttered “What-” before a bullet penetrated his lower left leg.

He predictably howled in agony and attempted to reach for his radio, but Cronos was quick to remove it from him and destroy it. The madman unsheathed his knife and grasped the face of the staff member as he mumbled in fear and disbelief under his hand. Cronos made shushing sounds at him as if it would comfort him, “Don’t worry I won’t be cruel, I’d just like to get to know you. Tell me, what is your name?” His voice was honeyed and almost affectionate, but when the man was hesitant to answer he venomously shouted, “YOUR NAME!”

Feebly the hostage responded, “D-David Miles Sir.” David had never considered the possibility of a psychopath ever coming into contact with him; this was just a regular day job there was no reason for anyone with any history to be here.

But Cronos didn’t need a reason.

“Tell me David,” his tone was honeyed once more, “what do you fear most, and don’t say it’s me I’ve heard that one a million times.” No exaggeration.

David was still much paralyzed to speak, but not wishing to test his assailant’s patience he managed, “N-Never seeing my wife and daughters again.”

Cronos smiled at him, “Ah yes, another family man, in that case you have little to fear.”
A feeling of relief began to well within David, maybe this man had some sort of decency though warped they may be. But such feelings left him when Cronos raised the knife and said continuing his honeyed tone, “They won’t miss you for long.”

David’s eyes were the size of dinner plates as he faced his mortality, “Wait! Please, my family needs me-” Cronos was deaf to his pleas as he punctured David’s abdomen mercilessly and in repetition, “Please stop…don’t do this…” David’s breath left him as Cronos carved though his flesh, tears pouring from its origin glands as regret for never completing his plans in life settled in his mind, and eventually he simply ceased to move.

Cronos removed the knife from David’s body and did a quick taste of the fluids present on it. Sheathing the weapon, the mad Titan unequipped his backpack and brought out its contents. It wouldn’t take an expert to determine the object as such a device was usually not very subtle considering the size.

An explosive, one of many Cronos had placed all over the city, sure doing it all himself took what many would consider to be forever the Titan did have all of the time in the world. He alone knew of their existence, and he alone possessed the detonator, meaning that at his leisure… that is to say when his Titan brethren were ready.

The city would be engulfed in flames and chaos. All explosives cleverly placed at a great number of response centers and traffic junctions, inhibiting peoples’ ability to fend for themselves. The ensuing panic would be ripe and he could already hear their cries of anguish and despair. The Olympians would have no choice but to respond and in full force on his terms.

Glorious.

After setting the device the Titan took out his phone planning on making a call and “removing the evidence” soon after. As he waited the call to go through he vibrated his lips and hummed, effectively trumpeting a song one would recognize as “Camptown Races”. Growing impatient he muttered, “C’mon Iapetus pickup, pickup pickup.”