“Breaking news: president Ronald Stromm has just been re-elected the office of the president of the United States.” news reporter, Justine Wright stated. “Here we have journalist, Benjamin Pataki. The camera turned to Pataki as he gave his greeting and thanks. During this time, Wright gave a quizzical look to the camera man when she saw the next queue card. It read “Do you think that the assassination attempt on Stromm’s opponent had any effect on the election?” the queue cardholder gave her a forced nod. This was a very touchy subject. Three months before, a man had burst into Stromm’s opponent’s house and threatened to kill him if he did not say the wrong things. This information was released on the eve of the election as a some-what, October surprise. This, apparently, did not effect the election. The year was 1996.

“Breaking news: Ronald Stromm has just been shot. A crazed protester of his supposed workings in the oilrigs of Bolivia drew a concealed weapon and shot the president three times in the chest. The man has just been caught: his name is Mike Morgan; he was a former secret service agent. His vice-president Tony Lucas, will give a press conference later.” An older Justine Wright reported. The year was 1999.

“Breaking news: President Tony Lucas has been re-elected to the office of the president of the United States! Former president Ronald Stromm gave a speech giving his congratulations to Lucas. Lucas took over when Stromm was incapacitated. Here we have journalist, Christopher Hall, and political analyst Laura Thompson here. Well it’s a good thing Morgan played fair.” She giggled. But no one laughed. The year was 2000

The year is 2003

Presidential candidate John Taylor sprang up in his bed in a cold sweat. He had been awoken by a sound of a window breaking. He saw his door was ajar, but he always leaves it closed. He threw his covers aside and planted his feet on the floor. The usually bright room had been swallowed by the darkness. He crept across the floor and quietly shut and locked the door. As he was turning

the lock, he felt a cold, round, metallic object slowly press against the back of

his head. He quickly raised his hands and dropped to his knees. “Get up.” A

gruff voice said. As he rose, he felt the barrel of the gun slowly move away from his head. He slowly turned around and faced the man. “Wh-Who are you with? Oil? Independent? Or-”

“Lucas. It was Lucas. Stromm was never incapacitated; I was the one who shot him. I shot him with a paintball gun filled with red paint.”

In thought, Taylor gradually turned away from the assassin. He had his hand placed upon his chin as he always did when he was in deep thought. “Then why would he--” John stopped and looked around for the assassin, but the window had been thrown open and the assassin escaped.

* * * * *

“We can neither deny nor confirm that this assassin was from Lucas, or if there even was an assassin, at this time.” John Taylor’s spokesperson said. “We also believe that Stromm was hurt and this is just --” 48-year-old Gerald Turner sat in his apartment living room, with a gun in his lap. Gerald was about six-foot, with sandy brown hair and a long face. He had been sent last night to kill John Taylor, the only thing is, that he did not. He had been working for Stromm for years. He knew they would come to kill him. He had no family; he was all alone, except of course for his 25-year-old friend, Brian White. Brian had brown hair and blue eyes. He was his apprentice of sorts. Brian flung open the door and burst in. “I just saw the news! What happened? Why didn’t you kill him? You could have threatened him or something!”

“You know as well as I do that this has to stop.”

Brian paused for a moment.

“…do you have a plan of some kind?”

“ I’ve been planning for three years. All we need is weapons and people.”

“Who?”

“People I’ve served with. S.E.A.L.S. Gulf War. Secret Service…”

“Where are you getting the weapons?”

“From an old friend of mine. He-”

Turner stopped to listen. He heard something on his balcony. Brian gave him a quizzical look, in response Turner gave a quick nod toward the window.

Gerald silently mouthed the word, “Drop.” Gerald moved his hand up and held out three fingers, he counted down: Three. Two. One. Turner jumped at fifty degree angle, grabbed his handgun, landed on his back, and fired four shots into his window. Gerald heard a groan and heard a body fall to the floor with a thud. Gerald rolled over and stood up. His balcony had a door-window with beige curtains in front of it. Gerald pulled back his curtains to find his window shattered, and the body of an assassin on his stone balcony. Brian stood stunned, behind Gerald. “Well…it seems the game has now begun.” Gerald said bluntly. He loaded another clip into his gun.

* * * * *

Brian sat in the front seat of the Sedan, trying desperately to fold and unfold his maps of D.C. “So, how many of your old team lives here?” Brian asked, hoping that there was only a few people here.

“Two.”

Brian gave a slight sigh of relief.

“Who are they?”

“Nickolads Vlachko. He’s a pilot. Just call him, Piggut.”

“…Gut?”

Turner chuckled “Back in `Nam, they made a soup with pig stomach, he was the only one who could eat it, let alone, enjoy it…heh. Still makes the stuff. And the second is Anan Zerbi.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“There was some conflict in a Jamaican colony, and our S.E.A.L.S. team was sent in. Some communists were trying to take over, and he was the only one that resisted. He was about to be shot and I saved his life, he swore, that in the little English that he knew, a life debt to me, and join the Navy. He did, and I requested that he would be in my squad. And he was, became a demolitions specialist. Ah… here we are.”

“Which one is it?”

“Anan.”

Gerald stepped out of the car and shut the door. Brian stepped out and examined the building. It was an old converted factory building. Gerald knocked on the door and stepped back a couple feet. Anan answered the door. Brian eyes widened. Anan was six-foot-eleven. “Gerry? Gerry!” Anan said stunned.

“Hey Anan.” Turner said smugly.

“Gerry!” here Anan embraced Gerald in a giant bear hug.

Brian stood back and smiled. Anan noticed Brian just then and pulled away from Gerald. “Who’s this?” he said with his Jamaican accent.

“Brian White.” Gerald answered for Brian.

“Nice ta meetcha mahn.”

“Good to meet you too.” Brian answered as he shook Anan’s hand.

“So… whatcha doin’ down here?” Anan asked, turning his attention away from Brian.

“Did you here the news recently?”

“Dat was YOU?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“Why didn’t you…”

Gerald explained the conspiracy.

“I’ll help in anyway I can. Are you getting’ anybody else?”

“Piggut, Jordan, Kath, Hawk, and Glitch.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, we got to get Nickolads next.”

“Where are we going to get the weapons?”

“From an old friend.”

* * * * *