The Cypher's Tale 25
The sun was gone, and the street was lit by lamps and spotlights and a few flickering flames. UAVs filled the air, dousing buildings with insulation that stuck like frost.
Streams of water arced into the broken window that read "Tom's Travel Agency." The top 28 floors were dark and unharmed, but the lowest three were charred and through the front door, it looked like a bomb had gone off. The right corner of the building housed a large elevator that opened to the street. It was blackened by smoke, but still functioning. Cameras jockeyed for airspace with firefighters. One human responder leaned against a streetlight, not looking at the tablet he held. He nodded his head in a rhythm suspiciously similar to the new American Taliban sonata.
Betty rushed into the charred wreckage barefoot. The foyer's rear wall was slightly damaged by a five meter wide blast hole that went back through a broom closet, a conference room, and a combined heat and power unit. They were all black. Glass crunched with each step. The open area was silent and dark, tiled with molten carpet and soot. Across, to the far wall, left down the corridor, now sealed off by a steel vault door that was always open. It was closed. Warmth radiated into her skin, through the rapidly depreciating silky red dress. She found a twisted hunk of chair and hurled it against the steel. The ring rang for a while, until the door slid out and opened.
Moe said, "You are not going to believe what just happened."