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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Hob Marshmallowfoot" data-source="post: 4983657" data-attributes="member: 9347">Sgt. James Matthews; 9/32Sergeant James Matthews wakes up, and immediately vomits.   Regaining consciousness face down in detritus composed of concrete chunks, broken glass, and jagged pieces of sheet metal, James props himself on his hands and knees, head swimming, ears ringing, eyes closed, and thinks.  Broken glass… blood.  I wasn’t shot.  Wait… waiting to meet the seller… man… man called…James opens his eyes, and becomes acutely aware of a sharp pain in his left thigh.  Looking down, a deep, jagged gash across his quadriceps proves to be the culprit.  James swears, rolls on to his back and for the first time, takes in the devastation of the warehouse around him.  This was supposed to be the meeting point where Sergeant Matthews, acting undercover, would be able to make his first contact with a seller purportedly able to supply some unspecified quantity of an elusive new designer narcotic being moved through Chicago: a small warehouse that formerly functioned as a brake repair shop, empty except for two vehicle lifts and a hand full of metal containers. Now the structure was in ruins.  The windows and glass skylights in the ceiling had been completely blown out, the shattered remnants strewn across the floor, one vehicle lift had collapsed, missing crushing James by a matter of feet, and both articulated metal doors were completely shredded by the force of some large object.  “That explains the cuts”, James says to himself out loud.  The sound of his own voice surprises him: it sounds muffled, distant.  Like someone else.  What the f*** did this?  Was I set up? Shakily, and with great effort, James stands, suddenly becoming aware of the noise of chaos outside the warehouse.  Limping, he makes his way to the shattered entrance and immediately comes across what is left of his car, upside down, crushed against the outside of the warehouse doors; the object which rent the metal during impact. Leaning against the on of the Altima’s upturned tires, all thoughts of a car bomb slip from his mind as James takes in the scene of horror on the streets and former businesses in front of him: broken glass littering the streets and sidewalks; cars crushed and mangled in every conceivable manner; store front windows belching smoke and gouts of flame; lacerated, crushed, bleeding, and burnt bodies everywhere, and screaming.  And looming over the entire terrible, unthinkable scene, in the distance, is the silhouette of the mushroom cloud over downtown Chicago. “Lara… the kids… oh God…” [sblock=Roll]<a href="http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2307103/" target="_blank">Damage sustained by the blast</a>  32 - (32x0.74) = 9 in bruises, superficial cuts from the glass windows and skylights, and one deep gash on the leg. [/sblock]</blockquote>

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