Tord sat at his desk, smoking a cigar while he was filling out paperwork. He had jets carrying chemicals for his future weapons and experiments being shipped today, so he had a headpiece on to keep in contact with the pilots to make sure everything goes smoothly. Suddenly, Tord gets a loud, panicking voice that pierced through his eardrum and straight into his brain. "Red Leader! Red Leader?! There seems to be a malfunction with the plane's engines or something, I've tried everything but nothing is working!" The pilot tried to explain, sounding like he was choking at the fear and panic that was crawling out of him. The static in his mic was starting to get louder, so Tord acted quickly and got up.
"Okay, soldier. The worst thing you can do is panic, take deep breaths. I want you to try and land the plane close to the water, if you can't, ditch the plane and grab the parachutes in the back." Tord ordered, trying to give the instructions as simple as he could. "But, sir, the barrels of chemicals! It'll destroy the jet and I can't-" The pilot tried to deny, getting cut off by Tord. "I don't give a SHIT about the jet! Now follow my orders and do as your told!" He shouted, but it sounded like it too late. The screams of the pilots fill Tord's ear again before the sounds of an explosion and static overcame them.
Tord cursed under his breath and called Paul and Pat, ordering them to find the jet's coordinates as quick as possible. Of course, they follow and eventually find the coordinates. The last coordinates that were recorded from the jet was located somewhere in the Atlantic ocean. Immediately after, Tord announced it on the loud speakers that were all over the base to get to the Navy boats and search the area surrounding the coordinates given to them. Paul unexpectedly opened the door to his office, "Tord, I've discovered something you may not like.." He looked to the side, the cigarette in his mouth moving around. "What do you mean? Speak up, Paul." The Norwegian said, turning to his childhood friend.
"The chemical barrels have a very high chance of bursting and leaking into the ocean, causing it to pollute the water, and possible harm the animals." Paul explained, putting his finger on his hand. Tord just looked at his friend, both of them exchanging looks that said, "Oh shit."
After hours of search, the army concluded that no one had survived due to no bodies being found or recovered. However, they noticed the thick, dark chemicals that the jet was carrying and failed to remove it from the water. The chemical was slippery, slipped out of anything that tried to pick it up, even the nets that were provided in the boat. Eventually, they all gave up and returned to the base.
Tord was off of work, resting on the couch and switching between channels out of boredom. He had his hoodie half on and in shorts. The Norwegian lazily laid on the couch and looking like the complete opposite of how he looks like at work. Usually he'd talk to friends, but it was VERY late and Paul and Pat were bound to be fast asleep. After hours of switching channels, one news channel cause his eye, making him sit up.
Red Army boats and jets were spotted in the Atlantic ocean earlier this afternoon, surrounding a certain area in the water. "The water was discolored in a way." Bystanders said from a distance. Even if they were miles away, it looked like they were surrounding a "big hole" because the water was so dark. More searches are planned tomorrow.
Tord went from lazy and tired to panicked and suddenly energized. He spam called Paul until he picked up, the burned out soldier groggy and tired from working and just wanting to get some sleep. "What is it, Tord?" Paul asked, sounding like he was stretching. "How dangerous are those chemicals?" Tord asked, sounding a bit worried but if being in the army does anything to you, one of those things is letting you change your tone on command, no matter what emotion you feel at the moment. "What? Um, probably enough to poison.. hm.." Paul paused to estimate, "Maybe.. 100 or more people? You wanted over 50 barrels." Paul sounded very concerned, which is understandable. What would you even do with over 50 barrels full of chemicals? "K. Thanks bud, go get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow." Tord sighed, "Thanks Tord, have a good night." Paul muttered before hanging up.
The army leader sighed and went to over to his bathroom to get ready for bed. He found himself staring at the scars and his robotic arm. All of it was his fault. He lost all of them, all because of that giant robot. Tord closed the door and sat on the bathroom floor, tears pricking his eye. It was never supposed to be this way, he never meant for this to happen, to lose some of the only people that loved him, the people he grew up with, the people he loved.
Tord sobbed into his arms, remembering the years of fun he had with the three. He thought about when he was in highschool. When he promised the people that tormented him that he'd rule the world. He's almost had his childhood wish, why didn't it feel as rewarding as he thought it would? Tord got up and wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. This mini breakdown happened every night—and every time he looked at his reflection—,getting ready to go to bed. He wiped his face harshly with the sleeve of his hoodie before walking out of the bathroom and flopping onto the bed, not caring enough to turn off the lights in the house.
As Tord drifted off to sleep, faint TV sounds could be heard in the living room.
Countless reports of strange looking animals are seen walking on land, leaving a trail of an oil-like liquid everywhere they go.
