Inside the shell of steel and titanium, there lies a small green cylinder. It glows green with energy, the unstable isotopic atoms slowing disintegrating with every second that passes by. Tiny radio waves surge from its inner reaches, scoring the surrounding metal.

One side of the cylinder is revealed to open air. A tube, with two small rotating grooves lays bolted to the top side of the glowing material. It stretches on farther than the cylinder's glow can reach.

A few wires wind around the circumference of the cylinder. The copper tubes have long since merged with their radioactive love interest, and will never fall off. Ever. The wire wraps around the cylinder a few times before climbing up the outside edge of the rifled barrel and into a computer console at its end.

The computer buzzes with action as data flows through its processors. A Geiger counter sits hooked up to the wires, the tiny needle shakingly moving towards the far right. More wires connect the counter to the main console.

At the base of the computer lies the other end of the rifled barrel. A small device is locked over its opening. Made of titanium, and powered by lithium-ion batteries, the device sits primed to shoot something down the barrel and into the glowing metal can at the other side.

A hatch is opened, and gloved hands reach inside the device. They carefully inspect the computer console. Solid sheets of titanium prevent the radiation from leaking out, but the technician working on the device is clad in heavy hazmat gear. Her hands slide over the machine, testing the wires and reconnecting a few that fell out. A bead of sweat falls from her brown hair and splats on her foggy visor. Snapping the last wire into place, the technician closes the metal hatch, and leaves to take her decontamination shower. Her footsteps pound on the metal floor.

Time passes, and the Geiger counter seeps into the yellow zone. A lack of a time-keeping mechanism prevents the computer from knowing how much time has passed. All it knows is that the material at the end of the pipe is getting more and more unstable.

Another technician opens the hatch, letting the laboratory's light peer into the dark confines of the device. He grips the handle of a metal cart with his other hand. On the cart are several pieces of machinery, and a small plastic bucket labeled: "WARNING: HIGHLY DANGEROUS". He reaches for the bucket, picking it up by the handle. Letting the hatch stand for a moment, the technician opens the bucket, revealing a small red hemisphere. He picks up a pair of prongs from the cart, and grasps the cap with them. Carefully he reaches inside the machine, and fits the cap onto the tiny device at the pipe's opening.

He presses a red button on the side of the computer console. The dark inside of the device is lit with a crimson light as the internal timer turns on.

01:00...

The technician smiles at the device before pressing the button again. The interior of the device grows dark again as the timer shuts off. He grabs the open hatch and closes it, then walks away. His boots clack against the metal floor.

His fingers slide over a light switch, engulfing the room in darkness. Just before the lamps sleep, however, they illuminate silver letters on the side of the metal tube.

The sleek steel carriage the bomb sits on stands still on the polished metal floor.

The cars rev up their engines outside. The scientists and technicians look forward to their evening meal as the sun dips below the horizon, and the world is developed the darkness. The street lights sparkle on as, one by one, sedans and minivans leave the compound for the trek home.

There is, however, one white box truck who, instead of driving out the gate, backs up into the loading dock. The guards at their post fail to notice two masked men climb out of the cabin and duck into the rectangular white building.

Their M4s point towards the ground as smoke trails hover up into the starry sky.

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