Catalyst Chapter 13: Hypocritic Sanctimony

Read chapter 13 of Catalyst by dumbhd on NovelPedia.

" This just in! We have gotten new information regarding the incident that occurred at Washington D.C Link-Station. We will now cut to our in-person reporter, which is currently reporting from the scene! " A black box appears, which cuts to a reporter, maybe in their 20s, first time reporting. They begin to smile, a delay. " Tell us Percy, how's it looking over there? " The news anchor adjusts her mic. The reporter grips their mic tight, " Well! Here at the station, we're not able to get a good look at the actual place of interest, but we're currently standing at the borders created by the R.C.T. " The camera turns to tents around a wall of concrete, and the occasional guard. " As you can tell, this place is locked tighter than a noose! " The anchor chuckles, " Right! And we're told the reasoning behind these acts are due to a localized gas-pipe leak. And that the surrounding city blocks will be closed for the resulting week! According to multiple R.C.T executives, at least the ones that had agreed to share information regarding this incident. " Somewhere in America, a man sitting in front of his television yells in anger, punching the television and cracking it. " Those fucking scumbags! " He cried out. `` Nothing about the students? NOTHING? `` He paces around his living room, his hands over his head. `` Nothing about… `` On the counter inside his kitchen, his phone lays there. A list of calls. Polly (3 hours ago) No Reply Polly (4 hours ago) No Reply Polly (4 hours Ago) No Reply … He walked into his kitchen, stumbling forward. In his hand was a bottle of whiskey and in his other, a lighter. He stared at his R.C.T poster ,eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing. " And to think I used to trust you people.. ALL of you people! " The floorboards creaked as he stumbled over. He lifts his arm onto the table as a crutch as he leans over onto it. He swings his head back and finishes the bottle, throwing it onto the ground. The bottle shatters, glass covering the ground. Now, its black tint turns orange, the lighter's flame reflecting from the shards of glass. " I'll… " The ember flickers against the flag, his own eyes ignited in metaphorical flames of rage. " I'll fucking burn you people down myself! " He yells, throwing the lighter at the flag. The flag erupts into flames, the lighter exploding. " Fucking scumbags! " He spits onto the charred flag. Small embers floated around in the air, dancing around like leaves, a contrast to the raging flame. Soon, the table began to burn too, the sound of his smoke-detector cutting through the melody of flames. [-/-] The clock ticked down the seconds, Kenneth's finger tapping the table at the same time. His eyebags were emphasized by the glare of the yellow lights under the cabinet. His suit draped casually, a stain of coffee on it. The coffee-maker's side has a small red light that blinks on and off randomly. He stares at the coffee-maker for a few seconds, the talking of a familiar worker behind him. He turns his gaze to his side. " Yeah, mhm.. I'll get to that, don't worry. Yeah. Okay– Bye. " Marcus hangs up, looking up. He sees Kenneth, a sly, corporate smile plastering on his face almost like a reflex. " Kenneth! Shit is hitting the fan– We need you RIGHT now. " Marcus drops a single, simple piece of paper onto the marble table. Kenneth stares at the paper, sighing. He rolls his shoulder and reaches forward, grabbing the paper. Marcus's name-plate reading Office-Executive Officer, OEO, Marcus Carrier. " You look like a dumpster-fire Kenneth. Get that fixed up will you? " Marcus pats his back, the same insincere greedy laugh that he always does. This time he commits to it, " Fuck off.. " Kenneth mutters indistinctly, his voice rough. " Is this about Umbral? " Kenneth reads the bill. 200,550$ - Public-Property Damage (Caused by pursued rogues.) 92,500$ - Public-Property Damage (Caused by pursuers.) 473,000,250$ - Private-Industrial-related Property-Damage (Ground One. VEC-CORP requested.) " W