Link to article: In the End: Europe.
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[[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] "It's almost time." Allen kept his hand on the button, and his eyes glued to the monitor. He was alone in the booth, the same as an unknown number of compatriots. The system had been designed so that no one could tell what booth was in control of what, or how many there were. "All eyes are locked on target," the voice to his left commented. Due to the effects of the radio, it was dull, monotone, and even the gender didn't come across. Allen knew his voice would be the same on their end. He would never know what booth was talking. He flicked his left hand across the prep buttons, nodding, even though he couldn't be seen. "Guns are armed. We've got..." His eyes dropped to the number on his screen before jumping back up to the monitor. "Approximately seventy four weapons of various types trained on target. One of them should do something." He hoped. Under the sound of their voices, he could still hear the count down. It was getting closer. Soon, all their preparation would be worth it. "All booths are online," claimed the voice to his right. Allen was slightly relieved that someone could tell. All alone in this booth, knowing what was to come, a small part of his mind insisted that he was the only one. That no one of the outside took this seriously. But no, the booths were all- "Strike that. We just lost a booth. Attempting to reconnect... connection lost. All booths, be aware, one booth has gone dark." He leaned forward, taking his eyes reluctantly from the screen to check his board. Three weapons had just been shunted to his control. Acid sprayer, flame thrower, and armor piercing bullets in a Gatling gun. He knew there were backups on backups, but still... He flicked the buttons, readying his new weapons. The countdown hit thirty seconds, and he was ready to do his job. "Two more booths just went dark. Attention, all booths, we have lost three booths. It is possible we are looking at enem- Five, we have lost five booths." Allen's hands were a blur, readying more weapons systems. The numbers moved steadily downwards, as the dull voice spoke of more booths lost, and the importance of every remaining booth staying active and alert. At the five second mark, even that voice stopped. Allen knew in his heart that he was alone. He was the last one. At the four second mark, something pounded on the side of his booth. His finger hovered above the button. Three seconds, he could hear something ripping into the wall behind him. Two seconds, and he felt a breeze against the back of his skull. The doors were supposed to be proof against that! One second, and something touched his back, trying to pull him away. With the last ounce of his strength, as the timer reached zero, Allen pushed the button. He almost thought he heard a human voice. The monitor that showed that god damn box blanked out in the flare of weaponry. > To all units: > > Arctic Base Theta has gone white. No response from any systems. All teams on site are believed dead. Automatic systems have activated onsite nuke. Our teams didn't make it in time to prevent detonation, those paranoid bastards actually did it. > Withdraw all units from the area, we don't have time to deal with the fallout. > Special Agent Joshua Kent ------------ [[=]] **<< Splinter: [[[intheendelite|In the End: Elite]]] | [[[Competitive Eschatology Hub|Canon Hub]]] | Splinter: [[[intheendrawhide|In the End: Rawhide]]] >>** [[/=]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]