Protocol Tron

[1] | [Flop Like A Fish]

"OH SHIT!"

Tron covered his head, shielding himself from the fiery carnage unfolding before him.

"SHIT, SHIT! FUCK ME!"

A shockwave caused him to collapse backwards. Wooden floorboards snapped and heavy metal groaned. Hell wasn't just let loose, it was given equal constitutionalized rights.

The noise was unbearable. Ear-splitting volumes of utter explosive destruction reigned high and supreme as it obliterated his fragile eardrums.

Detached, rotating blades shredded the floor surrounding him. An uncontrollable wreckage of a former machine smashed through the broken walls, scattering chunks of concrete debris in the air.

Tron braced himself, curling up in a ball while the fabrics of his own reality imploded on itself.

The non-functional helicopter he shot down had spun out of control, only to inevitably crash into him.

Of all the places it could have crash landed in, it chose the high-rise hotel he was hiding out in. Not to mention, it was the 47th floor. The same floor he was now trapped in.

The floor beneath him crumbled, causing a significant portion of it to tilt downwards towards the outside world. There was nothing for Tron to hold on to. He slid alongside falling furniture, leading him to his very own demise.

However, hope was not yet lost. Rather than falling a long way down to his horrific death with his face kissing the hard pavement at a hundred miles per hour; he found a crack in the wall beside him.

Acting fast, he reached for the still-intact wall and grabbed the crack. His legs were left dangling in mid-air. With both of his hands clenched on to the wall, he kept himself stable and away from certain death. It wouldn't last very long.

Absolute carnage continued to spread around him as one coffee table collapsed and plummeted past him. Atop the table was a Hustler magazine that fell along with the rubble and wreckage.

Tron watched in utter horror and dismay as the porn magazine was far beyond his reach. "God dammit! Kathy Keeton, no!"

The magazine of the hot chick in the bikini faded from view, adding to the fiery inferno of cataclysmic hell and I'm running out of fancy synonyms; help.

He was only delaying his final moments. There was nowhere for him to go from here. He couldn't even climb back up. This is where he'd be trapped for the rest of his very short life.

♩Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? ♫
♫ SpongeBob SquarePants!♩

His favorite cartoon opening song suddenly played loudly. Tron sighed during the chaos, as he knew exactly what it was.

♩Absorbent and yellow and porous is he? ♫
♫ SpongeBob SquarePants!♩

Tron struggled to lift a foot up and place it on a solid surface. A fire had broken out inside the building, slowly creeping its way towards him.

♩If nautical nonsense be something you wish, ♫
♫ SpongeBob SquarePants!♩

Finally, his left foot reached high enough to hook itself over a loose piece of floorboard. Now able to safely remove one hand from the wall, he reached for his pocket and found his phone.

♩Then drop on the deck and f-

"Hey baby! What's up?" Tron casually spoke on the phone, concealing any panic he previously had.