Desmond sat down at the computer, eyes flicking up at the countdown timer, where the numbers were steadily flipping down to zero. A loud clanging buzzer announced each passing second, and the numbers almost seemed to flip faster as time ran out.
But Desmond wasn't worried. He'd spent the last three years entering the same numbers into the computer every 108 minutes. He'd pretty much perfected it.
His fingers tapped swiftly on the keyboard, entering the numbers 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, and 42. Then his pinky finger reached over and automatically pressed in the "Execute" button.
Done with his work, Desmond stood and made his way to the kitchen area, hearing the numbers spin and reverse themselves, going back to 108.
Desmond sat down at the table with a cup of coffee, and lifted the mug to his lips. He inhailed the warm steam, feeling his mouth whell up with anticipation. But before he could take the first sip, an explosion rocked his world.
Like a startled rabbit, Desmond jumped out of his seat, flinging the mug to the floor, where it shattered.
"Bloody hell," he hissed, shaking the scalding liquid off of his hand. He rushed into the living area where he shut off the music. His wide eyes scanned the room, while his ears strained to listen.
Suddenly he ran, sprinting across the room to where there was a sort of telescope connected to mirrors. He grabbed the telescope and stared into it, and the mirrors placed in various corners of rooms and hallways allowed him to see all the way to the hatch entrance.
When he saw five faces peering down into his home, Desmond gasped. Why weren't they wearing masks? He wondered. What about the sickness?
Desmond grabbed a pistol from a nearby table and pulled a shotgun from the wall in the armory. He shoved the pistol in the back of his pants and slung the shotgun strap over his shoulder. He shut the armory and snuck back over to the telescope, where he took a deep breath.
There was only one way in the hatch, and one way out. Now that that way was blocked, Desmond felt like a caged dog. He could either back up and cower in a corner, or bare his fangs and fight.
He pushed the hair from his eyes and stared fiercely into the telescope, watching his enemies who were so foolishly trying to invade in broad daylight. His hand found the gun strap on his chest, where he fingered the leather fondly. A half-crazy smile twitched on his lips.