Crude but unmistakably lethal, blocks of what looked like C-4 explosive, maybe two kilograms worth, strapped across his torso with silver duct tape and black electrical wiring. The wires ran in chaotic tangles, some professional, some clearly amateur, all leading to a central detonator box positioned at his solar plexus.
On the detonator, a digital timer glowed an ominous, pulsing red.
The numbers were frozen at 3:00, waiting.
The lobby erupted.
Screams pierced the air as the crowd scattered like startled birds, people shoving each other in their desperation to get away. A wheelchair toppled over with a crash. Someone's coffee cup shattered against the tile, hot liquid splashing across the floor.
"NOBODY MOVE!" the man bellowed, his voice cracking with hysteria and fury. Spittle flew from his lips. "Nobody fucking move or I blow us all straight to hell!"
