--Declaimer--
please dont try any of this at home, while i exaggerated some of the facts about these materials/chemicals, they are all still extremely dangerous to handle outside of a lab.
thanks, stay safe.
The decision made, the internal debate settled on his ever shifting logic, Ethan returned to his task with renewed, albeit apprehensive, focus. The potential rewards – a powerful, homemade primary explosive. This wasn't just experimentation anymore; it was the deliberate creation of a weapon of destruction, tho currently not that impressive, with some adjustments and making it stronger it will eventually become quite lethal if everything goes according to plan.
He retrieved the plastic tub he'd bought for this purpose and the bags of ice, now partially melted but still cold, from his car. He created the ice bath on the flattest section of asphalt he could find, ensuring it was stable.
He meticulously cleaned the beaker used for the black powder and acetone tests, rinsing it multiple times with bottled distilled water he'd thought to include in his acquisitions. Any contamination, any stray speck of sulfur or carbon, could be catastrophic with the chemicals he was about to handle. Once satisfied, he nestled the beaker deep into the ice bath.
Gloves on, respirator mask secured, goggles pressed tight against his face. He measured out the acetone into the chilled beaker, the clear liquid sloshing slightly. Then, with hands that betrayed only the faintest tremor, he measured the higher-percentage hydrogen peroxide into a separate, clean glass cylinder. The silence of the yard was profound, broken only by the distant cry of a hawk circling overhead and the faint drip of melting ice.
This was the point of no return for today's synthesis. He took a deep, filtered breath. Using a glass eyedropper, he began adding the peroxide to the acetone, swirling the beaker gently within the ice bath after each small addition. The liquids combined, remaining clear, deceptively placid.
Next, the catalyst. Muriatic acid. He drew a small, precise amount into a fresh eyedropper. This was where the real danger began. He added the acid to the chilled acetone-peroxide mixture one drop at a time, his entire being focused on the contents of the beaker. Swirl. Wait. Another drop. Swirl. Wait. He watched for any tell-tale signs of an uncontrolled reaction – excessive heat generation (though the ice bath should mitigate that), sudden cloudiness, or the dreaded evolution of gas.
After several tense minutes, and perhaps a quarter of the acid added, the change began. A subtle opalescence appeared in the mixture, a faint milkiness that slowly intensified. Then, like microscopic snowflakes blooming in a winter storm, the first tiny white crystals of triacetone triperoxide began to precipitate out of the solution, swirling gracefully as he continued to gently agitate the beaker. APEX[1].
He continued adding the acid catalyst with painstaking slowness, never rushing, keeping the beaker deeply submerged in the ice, constantly monitoring for any deviation from the expected progression described in his research. The process took nearly an hour, an hour spent in a state of hyper-vigilant concentration, his muscles cramping from his crouched position, his senses strained. Finally, with the last of the catalyst added, he allowed the beaker to sit undisturbed in the ice bath, giving the crystals ample time to fully form and settle. A significant quantity of white, crystalline powder now lay at the bottom of the beaker, a stark white deposit against the clear supernatant liquid.
The next stage, filtering and drying, was fraught with its own perils. APEX was notoriously unstable when dry, sensitive to the slightest friction or impact. He set up a simple filtration apparatus: a glass funnel lined with a double layer of coffee filters, positioned over another clean beaker. With movements that were deliberately slow and fluid, he gently poured the cold slurry of APEX crystals and liquid into the funnel. The clear liquid slowly drained through, leaving behind a glistening, surprisingly dense white mass of crystals in the filter paper.
He washed the captured crystals repeatedly with ice-cold distilled water, carefully pouring it over them to remove any residual acid, which his research stressed could lead to dangerous instability over time. Each gentle splash of water against the crystalline mass felt like disarming a live mine.
Once washed, he carefully lifted the filter paper, heavy with the damp white powder, from the funnel. He unfolded it with extreme delicacy onto a clean, dark-colored ceramic tile he'd brought – the dark color would make the white crystals easier to see and handle. He placed the tile in a spot that caught the direct rays of the waning afternoon sun, angled slightly to also catch the faint breeze that whispered through the abandoned yard. He needed the APEX to dry completely before it could be reliably tested as an initiator.
While the volatile white powder lay sunbathing like a venomous snake, Ethan turned his attention back to the black powder, seizing the opportunity to push its boundaries. Confinement was critical, quantity amplified power. He took one ofr the sturdy steel pipes he'd acquired, about two inches in diameter and six inches long. Using a heavy wrench, he screwed a solid steel end cap onto one end, tightening it until his knuckles were white. This was no cardboard tube; this was designed for serious pressure.
He measured out a much larger charge of his homemade black powder, nearly filling the pipe section. He tamped it down firmly, layer by layer, creating a dense, packed charge. He inserted a length of cannon fuse deep into the powder, ensuring good contact, then screwed the second steel end cap onto the pipe, sealing the charge within. The resulting device felt heavy, solid, undeniably a bomb.
He carried it carefully to a clear patch of asphalt, well away from his car and remaining supplies. He found a thick, discarded steel plate lying amidst the debris of the yard – likely part of some old machinery – and placed the pipe bomb on top of it, hoping the plate might direct some of the blast upwards and offer a crude measure of ground protection. He rolled out a generous length of fuse, lit the end, and then he sprinted, putting the solid brick corner of the crumbling warehouse between himself and the device. He crouched low, peeking around the corner, mouth slightly open to equalize pressure, heart hammering against his ribs.
The fuse seemed to burn for an eternity. Then, the world erupted.
WHOOMPH-BOOM!!
It wasn't the sharp crack of a high explosive, but a deep, resonant, guttural roar that slammed into him even behind the wall, a physical force that buffeted his body and kicked dust into the air. The ground beneath him vibrated distinctly. He heard the violent, ringing CLANG! of the heavy steel plate being hurled through the air, followed by the shower of smaller debris pattering against the warehouse roof. A dense cloud of grey-white smoke, thick with the acrid stink of sulfur, billowed up from the detonation site, momentarily obscuring everything.
When the smoke began to clear, and his ears stopped ringing quite so painfully, he cautiously peeked around the corner. The steel plate was gone from its original position, thrown a good twenty feet and bent into a shallow U-shape. The steel pipe bomb itself had vanished, presumably fragmented into countless small pieces. There was a noticeable depression, a shallow crater, in the asphalt where it had sat. This was a different order of magnitude entirely. This was serious concussive force, genuine destructive potential.
A grim satisfaction settled in him, cold and hard. He had created a functional, powerful explosive device from common materials. He let the smoke dissipate further, then checked on the drying APEX. The sun and breeze had done their work. The glistening, damp crystals had transformed into a dry, slightly clumpy, innocuous-looking white powder. It looked like nothing more than coarse sugar, but he knew it held a vicious, instantaneous power.
Time for the ultimate test, synergy. Could the tiny, hyper-sensitive APEX reliably initiate the more powerful, but less sensitive, black powder charge within the robust steel containment? He prepared another steel pipe bomb, identical in size and charge to the one he'd just detonated. This time, however, instead of a traditional fuse, he meticulously prepared the initiation point. Using the thin wooden splint, he carefully scooped up a minuscule amount of the dried APEX – no more than a few grains, a tiny white speck against the dark wood. With extreme care, he placed this speck deep inside the pipe, directly against the packed black powder, where the electric initiator would make contact.
He didn't use a fuse for this. He ran two long, insulated copper wires into the pipe, positioning the bare ends so they would be separated by, and bridged by, the tiny steel wool filament he'd attach next, right beside the APEX speck. He sealed the pipe bomb tightly. This was the most complex and dangerous assembly yet.
He carried the armed device to the steel plate, even further away this time, near the edge of the switching yard. He unspooled the full length of his electrical wire, giving him well over 15 meters of distance, ensuring the bulk of the warehouse stood between him and the charge. He crouched low again, heart pounding, a strange mixture of scientific detachment and primal fear gripping him. This was it. The culmination. He took one last deep breath of filtered air, then decisively touched the wire ends to the terminals of the 9-volt battery.
There was no delay. No hiss of a fuse. Just an instantaneous, blinding flash, followed by an explosion that dwarfed everything that had come before.
KA-THOOOOMMM!!!
The sound was a physical blow, a brutal hammer strike against his chest that stole his breath, even from that distance and behind cover. The ground jumped beneath him. The air pressure change popped his ears violently. He saw, for a fraction of a second before instinctively ducking lower, the steel plate cartwheel high into the air as if it were made of tin foil, silhouetted against the darkening sky. Debris – metal fragments, dirt, shattered asphalt – rained down over a wide area. The warehouse wall he was hiding behind shuddered alarmingly, loose bricks chattering. The sharp crack of the APEX detonator was utterly consumed by the monstrous roar of the main charge, amplified and accelerated into a true detonation by the primary shockwave.
When the echoes finally subsided, leaving a ringing silence broken only by the distant, startled cries of birds, Ethan slowly rose, his legs unsteady. The air was thick with dust and the pungent, chemical stink of high explosives. He cautiously approached the detonation site. There was no pipe left. No steel plate. Just a jagged, smoking crater in the asphalt, significantly larger and deeper than the one from the black powder alone. The force had been immense.
A cold, almost euphoric sense of power surged through him, momentarily eclipsing the guilt, the grief, the despair. He had done it. He had synthesized a primary explosive. He had built a stable secondary charge. And he had successfully combined them into a potent, two-stage improvised explosive device. He had weaponized chemistry. He had forged a tool capable of immense, instantaneous destruction.
The cleanup was meticulous, almost reverent in its care, especially when handling the small remaining quantity of the terrifyingly potent APEX. He packed the tools and wiring away. But then he paused, looking at the remaining synthesized black powder – a significant amount – and the small, carefully cushioned container holding the rest of the dried APEX crystals. A thought, reckless and powerful, bloomed in his mind. He had tested the principle. Now, he wanted to understand the scale.
The sun had long set, and the abandoned switching yard was plunged into a deep, moonless darkness, the only illumination coming from the faint ambient glow of the distant city bleeding into the sky and the stark beam of the flashlight he now held. It was well past 8:00 PM. He knew, intellectually, that Clara was already dead, somewhere in the city. Just thinking about her death made his blood boil. After taking a deep breath, he calmed down.
He took the largest remaining section of steel pipe – nearly a foot long and three inches in diameter – and both end caps. Working by flashlight, his earlier euphoria replaced by a grim, almost feverish intensity, he began to construct his final device for Loop 16.
He poured all the remaining black powder into the pipe, packing it down as densely as he dared. It filled nearly the entire volume. Then, with extreme caution, using the wooden splint, he transferred all the remaining dried APEX crystals. It was a far larger quantity of the primary explosive than he'd used in any previous test, a small, volatile mound nestled against the black powder. He carefully inserted his longest, most reliable electric initiator wires, ensuring the steel wool filament was perfectly positioned against the APEX. He screwed on the final end cap, wrenching it tight with all his strength. The completed device was heavy, dense, exuding a palpable sense of contained menace even in the darkness.
He didn't place this one on a steel plate. He carried it, with utmost care, to the center of the widest, most open area of the switching yard, a vast expanse of cracked asphalt far from any remaining structures. He wanted an unobstructed view of its full potential.
He unspooled his entire length of wire, nearly two hundred feet this time, backing away slowly, keeping the flashlight beam trained on the ominous black pipe. He reached his car, got in, and started the engine. He didn't drive far, just another hundred meters or so down the derelict service road, putting a slight rise in the terrain and the bulk of his vehicle between himself and the charge. He left the engine idling, headlights off, windows down.
He sat there for a moment in the quiet darkness, the 9-volt battery and the bare wire ends in his hand. This was it. The culmination of today's dangerous learning. He took a steadying breath, the cool night air sharp in his lungs.
He softly mouthed, "Yes Rico, Kaboom".
Then, with a firm, decisive movement, he touched the wires to the battery terminals.
The world went white.
Even from that distance, the flash was blinding, a silent, instantaneous sear across his retinas, followed a microsecond later by the KRA-THOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!! that wasn't just heard, but felt. It was a physical blow that slammed into the car, rocking it violently on its suspension. The ground beneath the vehicle leaped and shuddered as if struck by an earthquake. The air pressure wave hit like an invisible wall, making his ears feel like they were going to explode from the inside out, leaving him momentarily deafened, gasping.
A colossal fireball, brilliant orange and shot through with incandescent white, mushroomed into the night sky where the pipe had been, briefly illuminating the entire switching yard in stark, dancing shadows, before collapsing inwards and being replaced by a towering column of roiling black smoke and debris. Smaller secondary explosions, likely from burning fragments, crackled within the smoke.
Ethan stared, stunned, through the windshield, his ears ringing deafeningly, the afterimage of the fireball burned into his vision. The sheer, unadulterated power was beyond anything he had anticipated. This wasn't just a bigger bang, this was propper weapon of destruction.
The echoes rolled across the desolate landscape for what seemed like minutes. He could feel the vibrations slowly dying away in the chassis of the car. He slowly lowered the battery and wires, his hands trembling slightly now, not from fear, but from the sheer adrenal backlash of witnessing such raw, unleashed force.
He had done it. He had created, and successfully detonated, a powerful improvised explosive device. The knowledge was terrifying, exhilarating, and profoundly sobering all at once.
He didn't drive closer to inspect the crater; he knew it would be significant, and considering the possible fumes from the APEX that might have remained in the air there, he wasn't too sure if his musk could block them. He didn't need to go there though. The message was clear. He had the means. Now, he needed the plan.
He put the car in gear and began the slow, thoughtful drive back towards the city, towards the silent, empty apartment. The ringing in his ears slowly subsided, replaced by the low hum of the engine and the even lower hum of furious calculation in his mind.
[1] this is a nickname for a chemical thats usually used for cleaning and degreasing, but its extremely toxic and corrosive when it comes in contact with skin of when inhaled.