Who. Amelia Graves. What. Boom goes the Camelot building, and all its inhabitants with it. Happy New Year! When. Early Friday morning. Where. The Los Angeles Camelot building. Warnings. Violence, death, madness -- you know, the usual.
At even the youngest of ages, Amelia found herself to be quite the fan of destruction. There was always something thrilling about watching a tower of blocks fall, or ripping a piece of paper into the smallest of shreds with just your bare hands. To have that much control in your every day life was like a rare treat sent to you to prove that not everything falls into downward spirals of monotony and the dreaded cycle of what is usual.
Nowadays, at the age of twenty-five, Amelia still believes in exactly this.
She limited herself to a time of twenty minutes. In twenty good minutes, the Los Angeles Camelot building would fall, and she would be gone. As The Doctor would exit from the scene of all his trifling and grandiose life-changing, so would she: without a trace, invisible, never to be found.
It took nothing to get hold of the time bombs from Mr. Paulson, her current employer. She kept each of them wrapped up in the recyclable bag she had purchased from Wal-Mart many months before. (Finally, she decided there was a good use for the thing) With only so much time on her hands, and only so many hours before each step could be taken, Amelia and The Master both knew there would be no room for mistakes.
Everything had to be perfect.
The sun had not yet started to rise by the time Amelia had arrived at the building. She knew few people remained inside, but the idea was one she refused to dwell on. Not due to shame, or fear, but because they were only distractions, pawns - they were going to a very good cause, after all. What was the problem?
To this day, Amelia was still astounded by the uses of The Master's laser screwdriver. She kept it with her during every waking hour, using it for the silliest of tasks, but it was not until now that the device had come to play a crucial role in her production. With a shoulder-length black wig brought over her short, brown pile of hair, and a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles kept on her eyes, she set straight to work the moment she arrived. It didn't take long to short-circuit the alarm systems with the screwdriver. With the twist of a few settings, Amelia quickly brought the entirety of the visuals to a pause by inserting it against one of the camera's lenses.
Placing the screwdriver into her back pocket, Amelia carefully strolled around the building to stick the time bombs flat against each side. One bomb for each wall. Mr. Paulson wanted fire? Then fire he would get. She knew she was no specialist, but there was something about her work that brought a thrill to her gut. Removing the screwdriver one more time, she twisted the settings this way, then that way, and each bomb lit up for countdown.
Twenty.
"Excuse me -" came a commanding voice from behind her. Amelia squeezed the screwdriver tightly, the timer on the bomb still ticking downwards. "Turn around slowly, keep your hands in the air." She did as the man asked. "Who the hell are - shit!" He had noticed the bomb. Amelia gasped dramatically; a turn of events! A twist! The guard quickly groped for his ear piece. "I need back-up, I need -" there was nothing but a loud hiss of static. The ear piece was tossed to the ground and he pointed what appeared to be a gun in her direction. "What the hell have you done?!"
"Well, if you'd let me answer, then perhaps I could be of some assistan-"
Nineteen.
"You'd better find some way to stop this right the fuck now!" Amelia cringed at the man's vulgarity. For someone guarding something so supposedly prestigious, she couldn't help but notice the man wasn't very eloquent. Instead of responding, she simply tilted her head, watching the man with large, curious eyes. "What is that?! Put it down! Put it down now, I swear to God, I'll shoot-"
"Oh! You wouldn't shoot an innocent girl with a little screwdriver, would you? Imagine what they'll say about you at your funeral. Here lies Bob, he shot a girl with a toy. Poor old Bob, if only he knew-"
By this time, the security guard she dubbed as Bob had moved towards the bomb. He seemed stressed beyond all reasoning. His hands were splayed directly over it, but he knew better than to touch it. Well done, Bob. "Ah, yes, see, I wouldn't do that if I were you, Bob." Bob had placed his gun back in its hilt. Amelia was no longer his main priority. After all, she was just a girl, wasn't she?
"Shit," he muttered, pushing his hands through his hair.
Eighteen.
"Cursing won't get you anywhere, you'll find." Amelia reached down to pick up the ear piece. She moved it through her hand and placed it on her own ear. Bob was still caught up in trying to play hero. Good. She grinned, mouth curling up towards her ears.
"You need to get the hell out of here, kid! You need to call the police!"
But it was Amelia's turn not to listen. She lifted the laser screwdriver at the guard's back as if it were nothing more than a beam of aiding light and with a deafening, ear-piercing whine, Bob was no more. "I do, don't I? But why would I do all that when this is so much more fun?"
Seventeen.
Taking a few more steps backwards, Amelia placed a finger to the ear piece, no longer emitting plain, white noise. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen of the Los Angeles Camelot faction. This is your Lord and Master speaking. I'm afraid we're running on rather a tight schedule tonight, so I thought I would make this quick. I've murdered your night guard. He really was very nice, that Bob." She took a moment to frown at the deceased guard's body. "But!" Amelia waved her screwdriver in the air jauntily. "There's no need to fear. Luckily for you all, none of you will be forced to find his body, all cold and mangled out here on the wall. For, in, oh, just a few short moments, you'll be joining dear old Bob. Don't panic. Don't call the police. You'll find you can't." Amelia giggled, "My fault! Whoops. Sorry about that. Well, kids, it's been fun, but I'm afraid the time has come for you to, you know, ...die. Toodles!"
Sixteen.
Amelia tossed the piece to the ground and trampled on it with the heel of her shoes. She threw the (now empty) recyclable bag over her shoulder, snorting at the position Bob somehow managed to fall down dead in. He truly was useless, wasn't he?
She started away, stepping up towards the top of a nearby hill. The only sign of motion seemed to be a few birds fluttering by overhead. Amelia stood, waiting with her hands on her hips. Why weren't they running?! Why was there no panic? Surely there had been someone in the building! A janitor, maybe a nice delivery man?
Her eyes darted down at her watch. She prodded it with the head of the laser screwdriver. Amelia had never been very good at patience.
Fifteen.
Inhaling deeply, Amelia released all that air in a huff. "Oh, sod it!" She hissed to herself. She pointed the screwdriver to the sky, and with a sharp series of crackling pops, the bombs began to erupt, one after the other. Four. Three. Two. One. Her arms waved around, and she looked as if she was conducting it all like some demented, musical masterpiece. Wall by wall, the building started to collapse. Debris and flames flew into the air, smoke leaving no room for seconds to pass.
Screams echoed through the crashing and Amelia laughed. She threw both her arms towards the sky. Her feet danced around against the hill, and the destruction only grew. "Oh, beautiful! Beautiful. Oh, look at you! This is Christmas. Ugh!" Suddenly, all her movements came to a halt as sirens sounded in the far-off distance.
"My people!" She raised her hands as if addressing an audience. "You're too kind. Truly. It has been an honor, but I'm afraid that's all we have for you tonight. Thank you! You've been a wonderful crowd! Goodnight!" Amelia cupped her stomach and bowed towards the burning rubble left in her wake. With a turn of her heel, she started off, running with no sign of stopping as the sun started to rise overhead.
Everything had to be perfect. And it was.
Except for the fact that her transmission had only been picked up by a deaf homeless man with an AM radio somewhere across the lake.