Recovery/Cleanup
(Attn: Ego, Seahawk)
The night had been interupted by a simple page that had been followed by a hellstorm of calls, conversations and chaos. The Impala screamed through the streets of Las Vegas, the driver nearly strangeling the wheel in rage. The smoke rose from the blackened cauldron that was once the Savannah. Lights flickered on and off every so often as the grey billows covered the sky, almost trying to cover the injured building that lay before it. Police officers, FBI agents, ATF agents, Homeland Security Officers and assorted Veretta Security people were all over the wreckage. Injuries ran most of the list in the early morning hours, but there were two dead that stuck out to Dahl.
Paulie and another character he’d heard about. Frank Tobiasi. A major player in previous years in and around Coldstone, there had been rumor of him picking up speed again. With little contact inside Coldstone, Thomas didn’t know enough to form an idea of what his boss had been doing.
The light and sirens of the Impala came to a stop as Dahl stepped out of his car, pulling his sunglasses off slowly. The Casino looked like hell. Fire’s still burning in and around the area continued to darken the morning sun and injured were being pulled out even now. Slowly, the seasoned NYPD man stepped into the foray. Suddenly, memories began to flood back into the mind of Thomas Dahl. Memories of another day, one of which he could never fully erase from his mind…
New York, a year previous…
It had been a helluva night and it wasn’t stopping in the morning. Two arrests for drunken disordly gone very wrong had sent two officers into the emergency room, with hope they’d be out by midmorning. The idiot who had drunk himself into madness had scrapped up to big officers, resulting in his pummeling moments later by arriving support officers. Now he was laying in a room, out cold and under watch. No one needed this one to go south any more than it already had.
Dahl stepped out of the room and closed it, nodding to the man at the desk. A video screen would keep track of this one. Dahl let his right hand fall to his side, where his NYPD badge rested. The cool hard feeling soothed the man, but also readied him for the next problem or calamity, whichever came first.
The calamity came next. Suddenly the station erupted into screams as a small boom was heard outside and radios began to light up. Sirens began to scream into the night. Officers began to scramble out of the office, the news grim.
Tower One was hit…
Las Vegas, present…
The wreckage reminded him of the things that had fallen from Tower One. Desks, pencils, pens and paper. It was a dark reminder of what had been here just a day before. The morning breeze picked up, shifting the wind towards the roaming ants on the wreckage, engulfing them, and bringin back another moment in time for Dahl…
New York, a year previous…
…as the second tower was struck, sending glass, steel and whatever hell else had been up in the mirrored building. Shouts and screams continued as the appetizer to what was to come. Dahl could only think of those left in the towers, unable to come down. Running was the order he was given, moving injured, trying to discern order from chaos and to keep things running orderly. And to find out when the hell the storm would be over. And when the feeling of spriliraling downwards would slow enough to gain a concrete idea of what was happening in front of him…
Las Vegas, present day…
…as another section of the Savannah fell, creating a plume of dust and debris, Dahl began to climb to where Paulie and Frank would have been. It began to become clear what had happened here. A rocket of some kind had been fired into the building, targeted for where the two powerful men had sat. Now, they were gone in a flash of fire, leaving behind more questions than Dahl wanted to consider. At that moment, the ground shifted…
New York, a year previous…
The rumble had been unmistakble. Something was falling and as Thomas Dahl looked up, fear and dread screamed to his feet as he began to run. Tower falling, tower falling. It was all he could hear over the radio as the noise swarmed his ears. Panic ensued as men and women fell where they ran. Slow motion took over as the world became a dust ruled existance. Breathing became difficult. And then the screaming began once more, only this time, it was more insistant. Like it knew it was far from over…
Las Vegas, present time…
The NYPD man quickly jumped into an office as the floor fell from beneath him. It crashed, bouncing of several things in the process as it echoed into the air as officers and agents scrambled to get out of the way. Dahl himself moved out and found his way down, albiet slowly, feeling the debris as if to hope it didn’t decide to end his life in a avalanche of pain…
New York, a year previous…
He had found his way out of the dark caverns of smoke, dust and pain. But he was come into a world of hurt, need and chaos again. One tower remained, but it was wondered by random if it would stand. Evacuation was the first order, preservation was the second order and getting the hell out was the third order. Some ran to find thier fallen brothers, while others knew it was too late. Death had come to New York and found a playground unlike any other. And it didn’t appear to be tiring of its games either.
And then the rumbling began again.
And the world came to an end. Again.
Dahl ran for all he was worth, until he was knocked into a parked firetruck, sending his world into darkness, of which he faded in and out of for some time before he wrestled his mind into his own control once more.
It was nuclear winter. His towers were gone. Fires burned, lives faded and a odd calm of sound settled into Ground Zero. Few screams were heard, and if any were quickly investigated. Officers and Firemen stood in silence as they looked at what had once been two towers. What had once held heroes had now become thier buriel ground. It would take days to begin to understand the loss. Dahl lost forty fellow officers in the attack. He lost two more as they laid on thier deathbed.
The loss of the men and women he had served with did not weaken the resolve of the NYPD officer. It only fed his rage, his anger and his intensity. It was a dark day in New York and for many weeks the nightmare would play over and over in the minds of Dahl and officers aroun him. Sleepless nights plagued many…
Las Vegas, present time…
Tonight would be a sleepless night again. As Dahl looked over what remained of his place of employment, he caught a glimpse of someone to the side. Someone with very red hair. She slowly approached, several bandages covering her head and arm. No words were spoken as the two regarded each other. Flannery placed a report in the hands of her boss and friend, looking him dead in the eyes. They held that look for a moment before someone walked up to them, handing them both cups of coffee. The red head took her cup and drank it down right quick as Dahl handed her the next cup, as if he’d done it time and time again.
And they both smiled for a moment before turning back to the wreckage as Dahl opened the report and began to get an idea of what it would take to put him back into working order.