Crossover Earth '98
Omega: Alpha Steve Stackhouse
Typical.
People really are the same all over. At least the corporate versions of them are. Millions of dollars for management bonuses, popcorn for security.
Which of course translates into me sitting in the file room of the Dallas HQ of Omega Corporation not a week after they announced "added security measures." I'm sure you must've seen it, it was in all the papers and on the national news. They're apparently very concerned with some of their "sensitive research" and are afraid that "certain individuals" just might attempt to get involved in a little corporate espionage.
Translation for the news impaired: They found my bug in New York and got very nervous at what it meant and decided to send a warning out to whomever was responsible for the outrage without sending their stock into a downward spiral. I'm not really sure, but I think the new security measures amounted to a stern lecture on proper coffee drinking techniques to the guards and changing all the locks. If they did anything of actual importance it was pretty lame, since I sure didn't have any difficulty in getting in.
Then again it might simply have been that they didn't think there was anything in here worth protecting, though there were a couple of files I'm certain their rivals would've paid a pretty penny for. But I wasn't here for that. I was looking for Richard's file, which was rather conspicuous by it's absence.
You'd think that a supervillain who goes insane and then gets blown into his component atoms would merit more than casual mention in a project file, especially when he's the main subject of the research, and even more especially when the explosion costs you a few million in insurance premiums. The papers I had found were about as generic as possible and offered little or no information. Furthermore, what information there was was false. I know. I was there. The brainwave modulations were entirely wrong, the hard copy of the blueprint didn't even approach the designs we had been using.
It was almost as if they were trying to hide something.
Imagine that.
Maybe that was the focus of the "added security measures." They'd moved everything of importance to the janitor's office and turned the file room into a recycling center for old memos. Come to think of it, that just might work. Bore the company spies to death and your guards can come in every morning and clean out the dead.
"Freeze!" Speak of the devil, that would be the local version of the cavalry. Two of them in nice crisp uniforms that didn't quite seem to fit perfectly on them. It must have been the youthful gangliness that made them so hard to fit. Neither one of them could have been more than twenty years old. I guess I'll have to take it easy on them, even if they are speaking in movie-ese.
Now the first step in "taking it easy" generally involves the issuing of a warning. It's an animal thing, like a rattlesnake shaking his tail to tell you to back off. My version of that was to drop a fairly obvious explosive device onto the table I was leaning against with a large timer facing the guards. The counter began ticking down from twenty - long enough for them to see what it was, not long enough for them to do much about it. "Good evening boys. Do your mothers know you're out this late?"
I turned around slowly. Maybe it's a personality flaw but I think watching their expressions at this point is better entertainment than anything on America's Funniest Home Videos. Have to give the one on the left credit, though, he caught on really fast as to what was happening. His gun fell to the floor and he went tearing up the stairs. His partner was either a hard case or just a little slow on the uptake, since his eyes just flicked over for the briefest of moments at the sound of feet on the stairs, then turned back to me with only a slight trembling in his gun arm.
Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Alright, I admit it. I like playing with my food. When the timer hit seven I had my eyes closed while the "explosive" went off. Very impressive pyrotechnic display, if I do say so myself. Which I do, since only two people were there. The room began to fill rapidly with smoke and I wasted no time in moving. You never know when one of these gung-ho types will have an itchy trigger finger or three.
Fortunately for him, he didn't. He was clawing at his own eyes by the time I got over to him, trying desperately to get his vision back and waving his gun around to keep me away from him. Needless to say this is like asking me to take the toy away, which I did. Rule number 4: Never let the children play with firearms. Since I don't particularly want it, I just eject the clip and toss the pistol itself into the corner behind a couple of file cabinets.
A quick push sends my friend away from the stairwell and I quickly take my leave. My motorcycle is right outside the emergency door, and the other guards are nowhere to be seen as of yet. You know, I'd pay good money to see the report they file on this one... maybe they'll stick it in the janitor's office.