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by Copen on Thu Oct 20, 2005 1:10 pm
Isaac’s car relentlessly weaved through traffic in the city, racing towards home.
“Taking pictures of my family…” he muttered under his breath as he accelerated past 160 kilometers per hour, “Think they can threaten me. Visionless morons should know better than to think they can stop the inevitable… Someone would’ve done it if I hadn’t. This way I can see they were created for a good purpose. And the gall! Simply calling them, “a new type of mobile suit” like I’m building some super Leo or something.”
Despite the apparent wandering of his mind, over the years Doctor Walker had become far more efficient with multi-tasking. The way his deadlines ran, he had to. His mind often worked over dozens of calculations while he read a novel and held a conversation. It was a simple task to mull things over and grumble to himself while paying attention to the road at high speeds.
He didn’t care that they had some kind of intelligence on his project. Most of what they knew was probably guesswork anyway; he’d realized that in the middle of their conversation, deciphering the vague hints to realize they were desperate enough to confront him without any true grasp of his concept. They were afraid of some Libra-like doomsday cannon, like everyone else without an imagination. No one could’ve guessed what he was working on. His team consisted of trusted colleagues who were just as committed to and enthusiastic about this idea as he was. With the protection they were assured by Metal Storm’s newest contractor, they all felt safe-guarded against any kind of threat or intimidation.
“Too close…” Isaac said to himself, remembering the photograph he’d seen earlier that night of his son, playing in the living room. Where was his protection now? He’d been assured by his contractor that his family would be looked-after and protected from any threat that may arise as a repercussion of his work. How could they have gotten that close?
Patricia may have been right, perhaps he had chosen poorly in this case. He was a weapons engineer though; it was his job to develop the peacemaking tools of the future. Of course weapons had been used in the past to kill, that’s what they’re made to do, but Isaac had always clung tightly to the ideal that his weapons, while being used to kill, would actually cause less destruction and chaos by defeating the opposition before more blood could be shed. His eyes were finally open to the prospect that his technology could be used for evil, malicious purposes. But surely the new owner of his weapons was responsible enough to use them for the benefit of mankind… Unless they were stolen.
Isaac suddenly felt a sharp pang through his skull. He’d given himself a headache. As soon as he got home he just wanted to collapse on the couch or the bed, depending on Patricia’s mood, and pass out. Today had been such a roller coaster and his mind was finally starting to feel the effects. He was so happy when he came home from work at first, production had finally been completed and the prototype units were ready for field testing. Then came the episode at dinner. He had been a fool to think that Patricia would be as happy and excited as he was. Isaac wasn’t so ignorant that he didn’t think there was some chance of his wife being upset with him, but he was hoping if he presented it well enough, took her out to dinner, got her in a good mood first, that she would appreciate it for the same reasons he did. The fight at the restaurant had really surprised him, no matter how he tried to prepare himself for her response.
And then these asses, telling him to quit his job and destroy what he had been working himself to the bone on for the better-half of the last year, threatening his family. Little did they know it was too late, the weapons were fully-operational and the plant was ready for mass production depending on the results of these units in combat.
Halfway home, in the midst of reflection, Isaac’s car phone rang. Expecting it to be Patricia, he glanced at the steering wheel to check the caller ID. Surprised, he recognized the number for Metal Storm. Quickly, he punched the answer key.
“Doctor Walker here.
“Sir!” replied an urgent voice on the other end. Isaac didn’t recognize it, but he didn’t bother getting to know many of the security personnel, “We tried calling your house already and no one answered. Have you seen the news yet?”
“No, what’s wrong?” Isaac asked, sensing the urgency in the security officer’s voice. Having work call him at this time, especially after everything was finished, was not a good sign.
“An attack sir,” immediately Isaac slammed on the brakes, pulling the car off the road onto the shoulder, “near the plant, Armed soldiers have destroyed a small town and they’re headed this way. One of them has the Tallgeese II!”
“What?”
“Some of the other security officers said I should call you and tell you.”
“They were right to, thank you,” Dr. Walker responded, shifting his brain into emergency mode, he shoved aside the rest of today’s troubles and blocked out his headache, “I need an airplane, maybe some helicopters, and an armed escort. I’m going to be there as soon as I can. Call the rest of my staff and tell them to get somewhere they can hide in safety.”
“Yessir!” the guard answered, driven with a sense of duty by his orders and the tone of Isaac Walker’s voice. Something very, very serious was going on and he’d been put in charge of organizing the response.
Without even bothering to say good-bye, Isaac punched off the phone and whipped the car around, cutting across three other lanes of traffic to turn around and fly toward the plant, where his laboratory held the fruits of his labor.
Ignoring restraint, the doctor’s car swiftly accelerated to speeds much in excess of 220 kilometers per hour, flying around the car’s in front of him. Several times, Isaac passed his fellow motorists on the shoulder, unwilling to wait for a gap to open up within the lanes for him to safely maneuver around them with.
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