Joe
Junior
- Aug 4, 2018
- 563
When one goes into the nearest supermarket or superstore and picks up a pressure cooker, a caution tape on it will always read: "WARNING. CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE MAY EXPLODE." After all, why would it not have it? A pressure cooker cooks food by creating steam and trapping it to cook food. However, when that food is replaced with an explosive material... like commercially available black power, the contents of the pressure cooker will go beyond its limit of 212 degrees Fahrenheit. Fill it to the brim with ball bearings, nails, and the resulting fragmentation will explode, sending metal in every possible direction faster than the speed of a bullet.
Chung Kyung-Soo and Tae-Young sat, with their hands folded in their laps out on Union Square, in the gorgeous city of San Francisco, California. Both were Korean nationals and students at the University of San Francisco. They were brothers... and, if all went well, they were to be the next great martyrs for the Canadian nation to the North. Their demonstration was to be a protest of sorts, a show of force against the United States for their involvement in what was an honorable conflict. Kyung-Soo reached into his NorthFace backpack first, twisting the kitchen timer on top of the pressure cooker. Five clicks, five minutes. He shouldered the backpack and stood up, walking off into the center grounds of Union Square.
Saturday afternoon, and it was gorgeous indeed. Union Square was one of the hottest places to be in San Francisco. The expensive shops, Michelin-Starred restaurants, the ice cream parlors, the baristas with their shitty coffee drinks. They were packed with window-shoppers, family members, and the chic, rich socialites of NorCal... or, Northern California for the uneducated. A perfect day. Kyung-Soo lowered his San Francisco Giants baseball cap lower over his eyes, gently pried the backpack off his shoulder, and dropped it onto the ground.
DINK!
In the middle of the crowd of moving people, a crowd surging back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, no one noticed him. In fact, only one person noticed him losing the backpack and attempted to call for him, but Kyung-Soo had already walked off, headed down Post Street towards the Nike store to rendezvous with his little brother. In fact, Tae-Young was already there by the time Kyung-Soo arrived, his backpack was gone as well. He had left it near a trash can on the South side of Union Square, about 150 meters away from Kyung-Soo's spot. With the packed Square being as busy as it was, casualties were expected to be in the high teens... if they were lucky. Together, the two departed from Union Square to return to their apartment in Rincon Hill, to grab the last of their effects and to make the drive to asylum in Canada.
By the time they made their way past the Brooks Brothers on Post Street, they heard the first report. It was as if one had fired off a very large rocket on the Fourth of July. A loud bang. A girl in high heels and shopping bags gasped in front of them, her head turned towards Union Square. Kyung-Soo turned around to look, and a small, grim smile lit up his rather boring facial features. A brown plume of smoke, rising from Union Square. Car alarms were going off and patron shoppers were stepping out of their respective stores to look.
"What's going on?"
"The fuck was that?"
"Was that a bomb?"
"Hey buddy, can you fucking get off the ro-..!"
The second bang, and the second explosion. This time, the report was real. The distant screaming grew and the crowds were starting to run from the square.
"Oh my god, fucking run!"
"Someone call 9-1-1!"
"SFPD, fuck outta the way!" An officer yelled, his hat long forgotten. He had his service weapon drawn and was sprinting down the road, ironically, past Kyung-Soo and Tae-Young. Together, the two departed to return home.
For the first time in it's history, terrorism had struck San Francisco.
Chung Kyung-Soo and Tae-Young sat, with their hands folded in their laps out on Union Square, in the gorgeous city of San Francisco, California. Both were Korean nationals and students at the University of San Francisco. They were brothers... and, if all went well, they were to be the next great martyrs for the Canadian nation to the North. Their demonstration was to be a protest of sorts, a show of force against the United States for their involvement in what was an honorable conflict. Kyung-Soo reached into his NorthFace backpack first, twisting the kitchen timer on top of the pressure cooker. Five clicks, five minutes. He shouldered the backpack and stood up, walking off into the center grounds of Union Square.
Saturday afternoon, and it was gorgeous indeed. Union Square was one of the hottest places to be in San Francisco. The expensive shops, Michelin-Starred restaurants, the ice cream parlors, the baristas with their shitty coffee drinks. They were packed with window-shoppers, family members, and the chic, rich socialites of NorCal... or, Northern California for the uneducated. A perfect day. Kyung-Soo lowered his San Francisco Giants baseball cap lower over his eyes, gently pried the backpack off his shoulder, and dropped it onto the ground.
DINK!
In the middle of the crowd of moving people, a crowd surging back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, no one noticed him. In fact, only one person noticed him losing the backpack and attempted to call for him, but Kyung-Soo had already walked off, headed down Post Street towards the Nike store to rendezvous with his little brother. In fact, Tae-Young was already there by the time Kyung-Soo arrived, his backpack was gone as well. He had left it near a trash can on the South side of Union Square, about 150 meters away from Kyung-Soo's spot. With the packed Square being as busy as it was, casualties were expected to be in the high teens... if they were lucky. Together, the two departed from Union Square to return to their apartment in Rincon Hill, to grab the last of their effects and to make the drive to asylum in Canada.
By the time they made their way past the Brooks Brothers on Post Street, they heard the first report. It was as if one had fired off a very large rocket on the Fourth of July. A loud bang. A girl in high heels and shopping bags gasped in front of them, her head turned towards Union Square. Kyung-Soo turned around to look, and a small, grim smile lit up his rather boring facial features. A brown plume of smoke, rising from Union Square. Car alarms were going off and patron shoppers were stepping out of their respective stores to look.
"What's going on?"
"The fuck was that?"
"Was that a bomb?"
"Hey buddy, can you fucking get off the ro-..!"
The second bang, and the second explosion. This time, the report was real. The distant screaming grew and the crowds were starting to run from the square.
"Oh my god, fucking run!"
"Someone call 9-1-1!"
"SFPD, fuck outta the way!" An officer yelled, his hat long forgotten. He had his service weapon drawn and was sprinting down the road, ironically, past Kyung-Soo and Tae-Young. Together, the two departed to return home.
For the first time in it's history, terrorism had struck San Francisco.
