Jason Archer and his friends were in the woods at those exact coordinates he wrote down from that imageboard site. They always felt as though someone was watching them; however, nobody was there to see them. It was the perfect location for a dead drop, free of the prying eyes of both the supes and the police who might catch a glimpse of any wrong doing. Sure, there was the forest rangers, but they were much too spread out to effectively catch them. A couple clicks away, there was a main road where they could take the office supply truck and an additional stolen getaway car, which they need, lest they be arrested for using a vehicle registered to them.
The woods were vacant. Aside from the chirping of birds, nothing could be heard from miles around where they walked. They would come across a stag before it noticed them and bolted off in the opposite direction, but nothing of note other than the oak and birch trees that covered the forests along the dirt road they were trekking to their coordinates. Sometimes they would see a wolf or too, but like the stags before them, would bolt as well, knowing it cannot win a three on one fight with a group of strong, athletically built humans. It was business as usual.
Archer's friend was a man named Oliver McDougal, a hulking man of about six feet, eight inches tall. His face was long and rectangular, with short, red hair cut in a military buzzcut on the sides. He wore green military fatigues with an embroidered swastika he personally added to his outfit. On his arm, there was a long knife in the style of a medieval European dagger strapped there for easy access if he ever got into a self-defense situation. One of his eyes was gone, covered in a dark, leather eye patch ever since he lost in a bar fight with an African American who targeted him for being a straight White male. It was green in color, accentuating his Anglo-Irish heritage.
Another friend, the other operator, was a skinny, short man by the name of Alexi Czervenka, the engineer of the group. What he lacked in size and strength, he made up for it in speed in intellect. Alexi had gray eyes, a narrow, oval-shaped face with high cheekbones, and blonde, wavey hair, done like a rockstar from all the way out in the pacific northwest. Like the rest of the group, he wore green military fatigues with white swastikas embroidered on the shoulders, but instead of a knife like the other two men, he had three blunts in his arm pocket, peeking out. An anxious man, those leveled his mind out under pressure.
There was an office supplies truck before the trio. The truck was from a company called Johannesburg Legal, a law firm based all the way out in South Africa in large bold, orange lettering. It was a bright blue in color, pretty much visible in all of the foliage surrounding the forest. From what Alexi could surmise, the car was perfectly intact, even though it seemingly appeared all the way out in America, halfway across the world. It was almost like it was teleported from here to South Africa.
Next to the truck was a barrel and a whole palate of C4 explosives, more than enough to completely level the UN building and the surrounding city blocks. All of the light brown bricks of C4 were strangely clean despite being found in the woods of New York, free of any dirt that might of accumulated, which means these were all stashed rather recently. The vehicle and the drum full of weapons could not have been in the woods for more than a few hours, let alone a few days, which could only mean one thing.
"It would seem we have a benefactor," noted Alexi in his thick Polish accent.
"Or we're being set up?" guessed Oliver.
"Vought's too stupid to monitor the dark net, and the FBI's full of moronic, slovenly, stupid niggers and hindus. We're fine," reasoned Archer.
"We're fine. Load the weapons onto the truck and let's move out," ordered Jason.
Dutifully, the men loaded their weapons into the back of the office supplies truck. The FN FAL and several cannisters of 7.62x51mm ammunition, totaling a grand total of three rifles, eleven magazines for each, and a whopping four thousand rounds of ammunition was enough for several guerilla operations. That whole cannister was heavy, too, requiring that the trio lift it into the truck, and drag it into the back up four feet into the cargo hold. Oliver McDougal was the one they had assigned for that task, as there was a combined total of eighty pounds worth of munitions inside of that drum.
He casually lifted that large drum over his shoulders like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Commando did in the opening scene where he was chopping down a tree, testosterone radiating from every pour of his body. Jason and Alexi watched on in awe as he lifted what too normal humans struggled to do nonchalantly. The former mainly focused on hauling the C4 explosives inside of the truck, brick by brick, until it was full. It was a rather arduous task, seeing as how they had to haul in upwards of a thousand bricks of C4 explosives to detonate the UN. Then wire it all together to effectively destroy a massive building. Those were all a series of Herculean tasks.
Alexi was the explosives expert of the group, and even he felt rather overwhelmed as he was loading C4 into the cargo hold of the office supplies truck by the brick. C4 was a stable explosive. That was what drew militaries to the concept of plastic explosives to begin with, that they needed igniters to be set off; otherwise, they were duds.
"Alexi, will you be able to wire up all of these explosives. There is more than a thousand bricks of C4. Unless there's some sort of continued detonation, I am not sure we'll be able to kill everyone of the traitors and anti-White elites in that building," ordered Oliver.
"More than enough, comerad. Plastic explosives, while stable, will produce a larger, more powerful explosion if detonated. We have more than enough igniters to trigger the bomb. Once we set it up, we should be able to just drive the truck into the freight bay, get to a safe distance, preferably atop a skyscraper, and click the detonator," Alexi answered, fishing one from the pile of blasting caps."
The detonator was a rather old, finicky one from the 1950s, complete with the hallmark of most 1950s era electronics, vacuum tubes. It was shaped like a brick, with a pistol grip acting as its trigger mechanism underneath it. On top of it was an old, rusted antenna, coiled like one from the 1970s to 80s. It was even jury-rigged to accept double A batteries, with the power source soldered onto the handle, greatly affecting its overall ergonomics. The whole design reminded Alexi of something out of Fallout New Vegas, except used by a Third-World country because they were too poor to get the sleeker more ergonomic detonators America used. Needless to say, Alexi was doubtful if it would even work; however, their benefactor probably made sure of it, he hoped.
"You know what, I am not leaving anything to chance. We're going to use a timed detonation of around four minutes. I'll be getting the alarm clock from Fry's, paid in cash," posited Alexi.
Jason turned to face Alexi coldly, tilting his head to get a better look at the detonator.
"Yeah, the detonator looks like a piece of shit made by niggers. Let's just boost an egg timer from Fry's," responded Jason professionally.
"How are we on a getaway car?" asked Alexi. "I think we should store the weapons cache in it for future operations against the genocidal anti-White system."
"Of course," answered Jason, his voice strained while lifting dozens of pounds of explosives onto a truck at a time.
They could not simply escape on foot after bombing a very major government building. The heat would come down on them like a ton of bricks; thus, the only way to escape in the confusion would be a getaway car located in an alleyway a block down from where they were going to witness the fireworks, a quick sprint, really. Alexi already had a plan for that one. He was going to boost a car from Fry's after stealing the required alarm clock to rig up to the explosives. Car jackings on the outskirts of New York were like traffic jams, as the supes could not effectively police the whole state, outside of New York City. By the time the Seven could respond, they would have been gone several minutes ago, across state lines, into Canada to lie low for a couple of months.
When all of the explosives were loaded into the truck, Jason and Oliver got into the driver and passenger's seats. Alexi closed the cargo hatch of the truck, and began the process of wiring the blasting caps to the C4 explosives. It was two hundred bricks of C4 high, and four hundred bricks across, stretching all the way to the back of the truck. All he had to do was wire the ones at the front, which was about two hundred or so sticks of explosive butter, each one powerful enough to blow up a small building such as a house or an apartment. There was enough inside of the truck already to completely level multiple city blocks from the resultant pressure wave alone. This much C4 was a tactical nuke, minus the irradiated fallout.
Despite being constantly bumped around at the back of the truck by the uneven terrain, he was able to get the top row of C4 explosives wired with blasting caps. To make sure that nobody could disarm the bomb when they were gone, all of the wires were red in color, a smart move on Alexi's part, so that nobody may disarm the explosives. All would-be bomb squads would be able to do would be scootch a few city blocks to the left or be vaporized in a massive explosion. One way or another, this bomb was going to go off. It was an inevitability.
Working top to bottom, he hastily wired the blasting caps to the bottom and middle rows of the explosive payload, continuously getting bumped on uneven terrain. The bomb was almost wired. All he needed at that point was a detonator to trigger the explosion, one as untraceable as a stolen alarm clock would have done. Already, they were on the way to a place that had the final parts they needed, a timer with which to wire to the explosives.
Soon, the truck was on flat roads, and it was easy for Alexi to finish wiring all of the blasting caps even when the truck was in motion. He was quite a solid man, even though he was quite skinny, using a belt to anchor himself and move side to side as he was wiring it. His main worry was the chemical drum full of ammunition and weapons rolling over and smashing his feet to dust; however, his worries were alleviated as Oliver was sure to fasten everything down to pallets inside of the truck.
The truck soon came to a complete stop, which meant only one thing: they were already at Fry's electronics store. Once there, they put mask, gloves, and plate carriers they ordered from Online Suppliers, and went into the store, armed with their FAL assault rifles. While using tactical gear ordered off of online stores was a stupid idea, they had a plan for it. They were going to place it into their stolen getaway car and torch it with gasoline, removing all of the evidence. Cops were utter morons. There would be suspicion on them, but the fact that all evidence against them would destroyed or buried underground in the woods means that nothing would hold up in court, unless they had a telepath working for the police.
On their way out with the timer they hastily stole, Oliver jacked a car from an African American family, holding them at gun point with his FAL assault rifle. When they ran away, the wife went down as two slugs cut through each of her lungs, the massive tissue damage caused by the massive rounds blew out her heart into a fine, red mist as well. The husband dropped to the ground when a large caliber round tore through his head, blasting it into a fine mist as the round shattered all of the cranial bones into powder. One round went through the fleeing teenager's spine, leaving him on the ground, screaming and paralyzed.
"I can't feel muh legs," cried the teenager.
"Look on the bright side, nigger. You might get to meet Oprah," laughed Oliver.
Having said that, Oliver got into the car, hastily hot-wired it, and left, along with the office supplies truck straight to the United Nation's headquarters. Oliver stashed the car in an alleyway, waiting for the other two to commence the bombing of the UN building.
At the UN Building freight bay, Alexi and Jason were in a sort of conundrum. Two guards stood watch at the UN building, armed with M16A4 assault rifles, ready to gun them down if they managed to get the truck inside of the freight bay. Jason's rifle was a scoped variant, with a trusty eight times zoom on it for precision shooting.
The first guard went down when an FMJ round perforated his head. The other went down clutching a bleeding wound on his neck, gurgling for a few seconds then going limp.
With the two guards swiftly and professionally taken care of with Jason's marksmanship, they drove the truck into the freight bay, rigged the timer for five minutes, and beat feet straight back to Oliver's position a few blocks north of the UN building.
A loud thundering clap shattered all of the windows and knocked down the trio before they could get into the car that day. They looked up above to see a large, looming cloud of smoke like something out of a small nuclear explosion. Before them, several buildings were reduced to rubble. The UN was but a large, smoldering crater, including the parking lot that once stood there, with the charred mutilated bodies of its occupants raining down from the sky, splattering against the asphalt and concrete sidewalks below.
Some people were walking around in the streets, blind, deaf, and missing their arms. One woman Alexi saw, Caucasian by the looks of her, was missing a part of her face, her jaw ripped off by a piece of shrapnel from the ragged, uneven nature of the wound. Two bloody holes were her eyes. She blindly stumbled into a car, gurgling blood and saliva as if trying to scream out in pain and horror. He could only tell her ethnicity by her blonde hair, dirty in color, not bleached, as the explosion had also took her nose and upper lip, too.
Oliver gently put his hand Alexi's shoulder as if trying to comfort him.
"One of the uglier parts of revolutions is that sacrifices need to be made so that we can save our civilization," stated Oliver.
While at Jason's house, they watched the television set. Of course, Vought News Network was the media corporation reporting on it. A total of two thousand people have died in that explosion, most of them government officials from all over the world, crippling even the US government. Tens of thousands of people were maimed in the explosion, as the group had so plainly witnessed. It was like that seen out of Obasan with the atomic bomb flashback. They hated being forced by their English teacher to read that book. Most of the people were not Europeans, so they did not care about the maimed. They cared a bit about the collateral damage from the explosion.
There was not even a building in that video footage. There was only a sixty-foot-deep crater flooded full of New York's sewage. Trains crashed into the crater as it extended deep into the ground like a nuclear warhead almost. The UN was erased, with the only trace of it even existing was that deep crater in the ground where the equivalent of fourteen tons of TNT went off. Even trains from New York's underground metro were crashing into the crater, killing hundreds of more people that day, as seen on the TV. Train cars piled into the quagmire of Human piss, shit, and city waste water.
From the looks of it, it not only took out the UN, it also had the desired effect of disrupting New York and by extension, the world's economy for months to come until that massive crater was filled and the metro tunnels rebuilt. Months was a little too optimistic. It was going to take years, given the crippling bureaucracy when it comes to city building permits. Still, what happened was a decisive victory to the terrorist cell that day.
"According to posts on 4Chan, ISIS terrorists have claimed responsibility for the attack, blaming the US support for Israel and White Supremacy as their justification," announced Cameron Coleman somberly.
"Fucking braindead as usual," laughed Oliver.
"Well boys, that means one thing. We got away with it, as I predicted. Pizzas are on me," announced Jason Archer confidently.
"What toppings do you want on your pizzas, boys?" asked Jason.
The military base the Seven were sent in to check out was a smoldering graveyard. Everywhere they looked, there was the charred, mutilated corpses of South African soldiers, cut in half, hands included, and cooked to a crisp by what seemed consistent with two high energy plasma beams the width of Human eyes. Even the vehicles, the one in the hangar and the other in the garage, were reduced to molten piles of slag. The only reason why they could even tell they were once vehicles was the fact the melted pile resembled metal with its sheen.
On the runway, there was a trail of gore leading all the way to the hangar, bits of Human organs reduced to ground beef. Crows were flying down, picking at the bits of flesh that was not burnt to a crisp with their beaks. Already, the evidence would have been completely and utterly degraded if this were a crime scene investigation, which it was. They were mainly here to clear the name of the captain of the Seven, Homelander, of the crime of the attack on this military base and making off with several assault rifles and explosives.
One of the technicians, a tall, lanky nerdy fellow by the name of Dennis Hedry. He was carrying an attache case full of lab equipment to take samples of the corpses and of the message that was burned into the runway of the hangar with the words "Homelander was here!" burnt into the concrete, still smoking several hours later. An unremarkable man, he wore thick glasses, had a broad square face, and was covered in so many pimples his face may as well have been a pizza.
"I, Vought, and the United States Government know that you are innocent based on the timestamped surveillance tapes at Seven Tower. We're mainly here to clear up some things with the South African Government," clarified Hedry to the team.
Homelander and the rest of the Seven collectively nodded in agreement at what the lab geek was saying and waited for him to give them his analysis of the message. He walked over to the message and already he collapsed to the ground, blood coming out of his mouth. Hedry's skin quickly turned a reddish hue followed by large blisters that formed and popped almost immediately, covering the ground next to the message. The air around the message glowed a bit, like small little auroras formed in the poles at various times in the night sky. It was that same blue glow seen in nuclear reactors.
Maeve and Starlight wanted to walk over there and save them, but Homelander frantically blocked them from walking near that with his arm.
"Stop. That message is completely irradiated," warned Homelander.
"Yeah, we're not sure what radiation would actually do to a supe," added Stormfront. "Our resistance to ionizing radiation was not something that was really tested for, and I do not want my DNA ruined over some idiot who did not wear the proper personal protective equipment."
Before long, Dennis's skin was beginning to char as a result of the thermodynamic strain the radiation was having on his body. His skin turned a black color with smoke rising from his body. Sometimes his skin would pop open to reveal his muscles and tendons, already white in color, cooked. Steamy blood shot out of his eyes, followed by flames. From the inside out, Dennis burst into flames once all of the water in his body had become steam.
When the flames finally cleared, only a pile of ash and carbonized bone remained of Dennis. He was pretty much dead before he hit the ground, cooked from the inside out as a result of the immense radiation in that small area.
Based on what happened to Hedry alone, Homelander smiled knowing that his reputation as a supe and his freedom were secured. His eye beams, while capable of blinding people with their sheer bright light or maiming people with a glancing blow, were not capable of irradiating a local area. His beams were focused, high energy x rays, not high energy, ionized particles colliding into surfaces, causing molecular destabilization.
"Well, Dennis Hedry's death as a result of radiation exposure proved that I am completely innocent. Ashley, inform the South African Government to position a sarcophagus over this irradiated piece of childish graffiti, please," announced Homelander
Ashley was quite obviously very nervous about something else.
"Uhm, we have more pressing matters than some third-world kids wondering here and growing a few tumors, okay," shouted Ashley nervously. "The UN, along with most of the world leaders, had been blown up. That means Vought's stock is cratering into the dirt. That means we're out of jobs and onto the streets of New York."
"What the fuck are you blubbering about," scowled Stormfront in a confused manner.
"We're going to be on the street turning tricks. The UN was destroyed. Know where the UN's located? That's right, New York. That means, according to the FUCKING media, the UN got destroyed ON OUR FUCKING WATCH," yelled Ashley Barret nervously.