 
Ghosts of a Forgotten Battle

Ghosts of a Forgotten Battle

By Altan Khanzadeh

Copyright 2011 Altan Khanzadeh

Published by Justin Harris on behalf of Altan Khanzadeh

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Prologue

A chill wind blew through the room, as though it was an omen of the ill will of its occupants. This room was completely empty, save for a large table and few chairs, watched over by a lone light.

"Mr. President, welcome to you and your wife." greeted a man with a quiet, mouse-like voice. "Are you sure you want to go through with this, once you do, there will be no turning back."

"Yes, I am sure." a deep-voiced man replied. "The people in my country seem to react negatively to the ideals of my colleagues, despite that it is best for them."

"And you, madam?" asked the quieter man.

"I told you already, yes." Responded a slightly subdued woman's voice. "My husband has been too kind in his words about the people of our country... Of course, we would not have gotten as far as we have without you, Mr. Slansky."

"It is nothing at all, madam, I would gladly spend my vast fortune help you both. Provided you both hold up your end, and dethrone my former people from their position, just like was done at Warsaw, Belslen, and many other places throughout Europe in my youth." A soft, almost sinister voice replied. Upon closer inspection, the voice's owner, Gordon Slansky, was a small elderly man, whose glasses made his eyes appear too large for his head. "And you, President Mat Assad Li, it has a nice ring to it, don't you agree?"

"Hahaha, all in due time, my friend," He replied. The light accentuated Li's kindly, Malay visage as he leaned forward.

"Nothing will go wrong dear." The woman's voice replied.

"I have spent decades studying the tactics of our forbearers and mob psychology, we will not lose." Tabitha Li informed her husband. "Isn't that right?" she questioned leaning forward, revealing the similar Asian facial structure of her husband, save for her lighter skin.

"Oh yes, of course." The man with the mouse-like voice replied.

renunciations, I assume you know the penalty for apostasy from Islam is death?"

"It hasn't changed anything." The senator answered.

"Excellent. Oh, look at the time! Good luck to you, Senator."

"Luck won't be a problem, I guarantee it." Mat Li responded with a mischievous smile.

The clock radio's blaring alarm was more than enough to wake him up, although Seth Casey preferred the sun that was on his face by far. "I have really got to get a new one of those," He muttered as wiped the matted brown hair out of his eyes.

After showering and dressing, Seth switched on the kitchen television and began to tune out its drone, especially due to the speech by the man who should not have been in the campaign for president, Mathir Assad Li.

Seth just did not trust him for some reason. Maybe it was the fact that he had no problem associating with shady characters, the fact that his wife

Tabitha had been deeply involved in his political career since day one and constantly insulted the American people, or maybe it was just that his supporters treated him as some sort of figure immune from any criticism. Many would actually find the skepticisms of one so young (Twenty-seven) quite strange.

Unwilling to ponder these matters any longer, Seth put his camera and file folder into his case, and started on the walk to work. Strolling through the dilapidated neighborhoods, he gave a glance to the buildings, many of which used to be quite nice apparently.

" _How could this happen to such a beautiful city in such a short time?"_ Seth thought. If you spoke to anyone who grew up in the 1950's, they would agree that Chicago, Illinois was quite a nice city.

For him the hour's walk seemed to take no time at all as he was already at the sliver of a building where he worked.

Sitting down at his corner desk, Seth swept the photos across the surface.

"Nice pictures you got there, Casey" a sort of sardonic woman's voice said.

"Ms. Dawson. I didn't notice you there." Seth replied slightly surprised.

A tall, blonde woman, Abigail Dawson could actually look the 5 foot 10 Seth directly in the eye.

"Did you get the photographs from the Li rally?" Dawson asked.

"Yes, and it was...disturbing to say the least." Seth responded.

"The adoring, almost spellbound crowds, the personality cult, it's kind of a bad omen, don't you think?"

"Yeah, well I've seen creepier events, and keep in mind I'm thirty eigh...twenty five. Anyway, go review your files again." She finished quickly before walking off.

"That here, that film there..." Seth muttered to himself.

"Hey Seth, can you help me find the development chemicals?" a somewhat curious voice inquired.

"Don't tell me you lost them again, Cole." Sighed Seth, as he reached into one of his desk drawers and laid two bottles on it. "Seriously, keep your things in better order. You've been working here three months."

The tall, lanky Cole Bayer gave off the air of a particularly energetic person, if not for his mated black hair, one might have thought him Seth's younger brother.

"Yes mother." Cole huffed as he uncharacteristically sulked off.

Glancing through a book for photography techniques, Seth began to notice how blindingly bright the overhead light was, and it was only noon. _"I'll just close my eyes for a second, nobody will notice."_ (On its busiest days, the studio had about twenty people working) Of course, by the time he opened his eyes again, it was four-thirty.

" _How convenient"_ thought Seth before throwing on his jacket and heading home.

Walking for about forty-five minutes, a rather calm voice called out; "Hello Seth how was work?"

"Awful, Dr. Flynn." Seth called back "So how have you been?

"Oh, just perfect, my wife notified me of a pig's corpse left on our doorstep," The doctor replied with a smile "Come in, come in!"

The hospitable Dr. Flynn, a bespectacled, heavily bearded of small stature, somehow gave off an air of serenity.

"So doctor, did your vandals make many statements praising Mat Li?" Seth (half) jokingly inquired as he sat down

"Very funny, Seth." The doctor chuckled, "but in all seriousness Seth, some of the rhetoric from his supporters is... frightening to say the least,"

"How frightening?" Questioned Seth

"Let's just say, I wouldn't want to get on their bad sides any more than I already have.

Flynn answered dourly.

Seth let out a hearty laugh. "Doctor, I respect you, but here's why you're wrong, one: Li is corrupt, even by this city's standards, two: he's more red than that tomato soup I ate for lunch, the election results come in tomorrow morning, I guarantee you he'll lose. Six already, I've got to get home."

"Just be careful out there Seth." The doctor advised the departing Seth.

I

Cole didn't think much of Seth's absence from the gym that morning. _"He probably worked out for two hours already today._

_And it's only 9:15!"_ he thought.

While trying his hand at the free weights, a tall slightly muscled figure entered the gym.

"Hey, Seth. Can you help me out with these? Show me what I'm doing wrong." He called.

Unresponsive, Seth began working with one the weight benches.

"Seth, I have a tip for you." Cole said

"And what might that be, Cole?" Seth grumbled

"It's been three months, Li won...Again. Stop sulking and accept it."

"Yeah, you're right, I've never been one to complain." said an upright Seth. "Still, it's kind of strange, in all his years as a politician, Jack Gibson never directed one cent back to his district. And yet he was allegedly the master of some grand conspiracy to rig the election."

"Stranger things have happened." rambled Cole "Like I heard of an incident where-"

Getting the hint to leave before getting caught in one of his acquaintance's long winded, "Sorry I can't stay, but I have to finish this project for work that I keep putting off" Seth lied poorly, while heading for the door.

He had only been president for two months, but Mat Li began to feel very comfortable in his new office. It was almost as though he felt it his birthright to be here. His wife was particularly fond of the red coat of paint for the Oval Office.

"Tabitha, this is about as far as we can get. I don't think we should push for any more power." Li said calmly

"It was a gamble using these methods in the first place."

"Nonsense!" his wife reacted "Mathir, you remember, 'By any means necessary', right?"

"What of the Congress?" Mr. Li asked, "The masses will start to notice that there's something wrong after a while."

His wife/coconspirator had to stifle a fit of laughter.

"Don't count on that. You would be surprised what 'persuasion' can do. But you are right; some unflattering information to this administration might get out sooner or later."

"What do you propose, First Lady?" Questioned Li

"Something the sheep won't object to." She replied

"Seth, did you hear someone tried to assassinate Mat Li?"

Cole asked him nonchalantly.

"No, I did not." Seth replied sleepily. "Couldn't this wait until morning? Ah come in anyway."

"He said that he, "Hated everything" Li stands for. I've got a bad feeling about the next few months, Seth. Don't believe me; he's speaking in a little while. Combining that with the car bomb they the found in front of Congress..."

Seth halfheartedly motioned his excitable friend over to the couch, turned on the television, and as promised, was the kindly face of Mathir Li.

" _Citizens of America, as you no doubt have heard there was an attempt on my life by a murderous extremist. This is a grave insult not just to this country, but to the principles of our nation._

Extremists like him do not act alone; they must have been influenced by purveyors of hatred and disunity. They Are no better than common fascists. These are not the imaginary threat their apologists and fellow travelers would like you to believe. These neo-Nazis are teaching at your children's schools, in your churches, some you even call friend and neighbor. These are the same creatures that left truck bombs at ten shopping centers nationwide with the aim to take as much innocent life as possible.

So that is why the congress has unanimously passed, and I have approved, a series of anti-fascist laws, to root out these extremists wherever they may lurk. In doing this, we can make America a model nation, a shining example for the world to follow, in the paths of great nations like Sweden or Holland.

I would like to announce the creation of a special security corps to aid in this task.

The only kind of person who would wish to destroy the progress we as a nation have made in these past few weeks could be called be called truly evil. I call upon the American people to make these small sacrifices to destroy this threat in our midst.

Thank you and good night.

"That had to be this single most vacuous thing I have ever heard." Said Seth dismissively.

The next few weeks would become a trying if not confusing time for Seth. The following Wednesday, the photography studio was paid a visit by two agents the new Security Committee

"Look at her Seth." Cole said dreamily. "They're kind of intimidating actually, but she's not backing down at all."

Granted, Seth thought Dawson was an attractive woman, but he had a great deal of trouble seeing her as anything more than an authority figure.

"You, there, Seth Casey, right?" one of the black-clad figures called"

"Yes, I am." Seth replied cheerfully

"Have you seen any strange or seditious activity lately?"

"No, not really." Seth answered again, as though he was trying to antagonize him.

The guardsman shot Seth an annoyed glance, and left with his partner.

When the next Sunday when he went to church, he noticed the normally upbeat pastor Madison troubled by something.

"Are you alright pastor?" Seth asked gingerly

"I'm just fine, Seth" he lied. "The Department of Anti-Fascism wants to see me tomorrow. Nothing too concerned about I'm certain." Interestingly enough, this would be the last time he spoke to the pastor.

Around the middle of February, Seth had begun to notice that there was something wrong. One morning, he went onto his usual news websites to find that nearly all of them were shut down, the stated reason being "seditious" or "hateful".

"It's almost as though Li is to cowardly too take any criticism!" Ivy Franklin told Seth. "Most of what he's claiming as 'hateful', doesn't't even come close to actual hatred. And I know would know that when I hear it."

Middle age had in no way fatigued Ivy Franklin, known to have more energy than most women half her age; her bright red hair was perhaps an indication of this vitality.

"I know! It seems like I have those CS agents at my door every other day!" Seth complained rather uncharacteristically "What do they want from me anyway?!"

"I think we'll see that soon enough, I hope I'm wrong however." Eric Franklin responded.

Laid-back, dark-haired Eric was quite a contrast from his energetic wife Ivy; in fact, many were surprised to learn the two were spouses.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Seth

"You'll see if it happens." Eric replied darkly

Upon arriving at work the next Monday, as opposed to undisturbed as usual, he found the studio boarded up and his employer arguing with a few CS agents.

"And just what is your justification is for closing my business?"

An irritated Dawson inquired.

The guard sifted through his clipboard. "Ms. Abby Dawson, correct. Your place of business has been shut down due to your ties with neo-fascist individuals. Whether you can be prosecuted for this is currently under investigation."

"Can I at least get the possessions I left here?" a noticeably angry Ms. Dawson asked.

"No, you cannot, unless you want to make obstruction of justice one of the charges against you."

Dawson looked angry enough to attack the man, so apparently she took that as her cue to get into her car and leave.

Seeking new employment, Seth began to half-heartedly sift through a newspaper, evidenced by the fact that he knocked Dr. Flynn and the box he was carrying over.

"Oh, sorry about that doctor." Apologized Seth as he replaced the box's content "I'm just looking for a... You moving, doctor?"

Flynn gave a quick, nervous glance around. "Yes I am." He whispered "And I would advise you to do the same."

"Why is that?" questioned Seth

"Because you associate with me. I would advise that you do the same. Eric and Ivy Franklin and many others have compiled a report of... unflattering facts about Mathir and Tabitha Li. And I, being a scholar of religions provided them with a good deal of information."

Seth was slightly puzzled by this. Li just struck him as a typical politician, as opposed to one physically dangerous to his opponents.

"Why would this endanger you or your family?" wondered Seth

"Figure it out, Seth." Huffed the doctor " Your employer's studio recently shut down for "subversive activities" and "fascistic" connections? And Abby Dawson was a prominent critic of the Li family before the elections. Look, my children are grown, my wife and I are leaving for Calgary tonight. There are only eight copies of the report in existence; I want you to have this one. Read it. Memorize it. And destroy it when you're finished with it"

"Er... thanks. Do you need any help with these boxes?"

"Just take the report and go home Seth. Who knows, maybe you could come visit sometime."

Preparim Prifti had a stride about his step most of the day.

Years of bribing, blackmailing, and kissing up to party leaders had finally paid off, his reward: a comfortable government job. His beady, black eyes glowing with pride, though it was unusual that Mat Li would call him to his office.

"You called me, Mr. President?" Prifti asked with a self-satisfied grin.

"Yes I did, Mr. Prifti."Li confirmed. "There are dangerous forces at work against us.

Everything we have accomplished, they wish to destroy. Therefore, I wish to offer you something offer you a promotion in our security force, Standard Leader. You are now in command of training the CS 'summer camps'. Any questions."

"Not at all, sir! By the way our enemies... How would you like them dealt with?"

"However you see fit." Li answered malevolently "Go on! Leave! Our enemies would exterminate all of us."

"Yes sir!"

"Why on earth did you choose a moron like him as one of your commanders?" Tabitha asked.

Her husband chuckled "For that very reason, my dear. Preparim Prifti is a parasite with delusions of grandeur and power, therefore, give him these things and he will be easy to motivate."

"You really have learned well about controlling stupid people."

"I know, I know. No need to remind me."

"And speaking of parasites..."

"Yes. This is how I had envisioned America. I just wish to discuss the deals you made..." Congratulated Slansky "After all, we are only half-way through...

"You see, the thing about that is, Mr. Slansky" the Leader began "While we are grateful for all your help..."

"We feel that you have outlived your usefulness."

Li gave a slight grin as he watched the conversation. He knew that Slansky would not be a problem any longer. His scheming was interrupted by the sounds of gunshots and the sight of Slansky's corpse.

Mathir was had always been alarmed by his wife's proficiency with 6P9 pistol, the even more discomforting to him was that the gun never left her side.

"Dead weight." His wife muttered, putting away the revolver.

For some reason, Seth just could not shake the feeling of being watched.

Perhaps it was the arrogant attitude of Mathir Li's most steadfast supporters, or the reports of posters and murals throughout the nation celebrating his "revolutionary" accomplishments.

"What are they commemorating?! It's only been four of the worst years we've ever had! " complained Cole to an apathetic Seth, who was still sifting through the want ads.

"Let's go down this street." Seth requested

"Why?! This is leads to one of the worst neighborhoods in the city."

"I'm sick of looking at Li's face, alright."

The dilapidated nature of the area did not alarm Seth, so much as the youths in the SC uniforms that were tailing them.

"Well, what do you to think you're doing here? _Your kind_ isn't really welcome around here." The oldest (no more than sixteen) asked

"None of your damn business." Cole snapped

"You should know better than to screw with me." Their leader threatened, his cohorts glaring malevolently "Things are different now. People like you are being watched, and if you put a toe out of line, you can forget about living outside a cell. Have a nice day..."

"Don't antagonize him, it's not worth the trouble." Warned Seth

"Who do those punks think they are!?" Cole whispered angrily "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't't have told him to screw off!"

"They were wearing the SC uniform." Seth answered "And you can stop whispering, we're long gone."

"Sorry, about that earlier. I just can't stand people like him."

"Is what he said true? That we can just be put away for no real reason."

"Damned if I know, but something is clear. Something is seriously wrong in this country."

With those words, Seth's thoughts turned to the report his friends had complied about the Li family. The report that he had for weeks neglected to read.

"I have to go do something."

"What!?" Cole called back

"I'll tell you when I'm finished."

II

"Yes this is good, isn't it?" Mr. Li asked his wife "Honestly, how stupid is the average American not to see this coming? Not to question my vision for their futures, for the world's future!"

"You are quite right. I never for a second that they would just hand you over the keys to the most powerful office in the world, with (almost) no coercion! For God's sake, the depth of the average voter's thought was "He seems nice, let's give him a try." Pathetic, yet so very useful."

"Mr. President, a man calling himself Sayyid al Seif bin Ahmed claims to have an appointment with you." The intern on the intercom informed.

"Fine, send him in.," replied an irritated Li

"You see Tabitha my dear," continued Li "The average American doesn't't give a damn about their rights, so long as they have a decent standard of living and mindless drivel to keep their tiny little brains occupied. This assumption is foolproof, because the sheep love me!

If I told half of them to get on boxcars bound for work camps, they would believe I'm doing it for "our own good"! The last polls show that 43% of Americans are worried about "fascists" in their midst! As if any of these morons ever even studied what the word means!

I told them time and time again what my vision was for them, but they never listened.

I will remind you once again my darling, everything must be different."

"May I enter?" croaked an elderly voice

"Good manners never stopped you from sticking your nose where it doesn't't belong, bin Ahmed." An aggravated Li answered

Elderly, (apparently) frail, and limping, the Grand Mufti of Saudi Arabia, Sayyid al Seif bin Ahmed nonetheless radiated a disturbing vitality.

"I would advise you treat me with respect, boy. I would be justified in killing you right here in this office of yours. I can only imagine how humiliating that would be."

"I know you're not just here to antagonize me." The leader said angrily.

"Not at all. I am just here to remind you whom you owe your status to. Whose associates was it that financed many of your early campaigns? Who was it that funneled hundreds of millions into you and your political allies' races? Who was it that bought shares in media corporations in your country, influencing policy so that they would demonize the opposing party constantly and members of your own party who got out of line? Who was it that-"

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT ALREADY!" roared Li

"It's not what I want; it's what I'm willing to give you. A disturbing percentage of your fellow citizens treat you as a god, correct? What would you say if I could have not millions of Americans worship you, but billions the world over?"

"I would be willing to give my right arm if you could deliver on that promise."

"Excellent!" said the mufti descending into the chair "I only ask for a few favors in return."

"Such as?" The leader wondered

"I have watched your security forces train, they are quite competent. Firstly, I request you send a few of your officers to train and arm the aspiring _mujahadeen_ in the slums of Europe.

Secondly, import more believers into your country and pressure the European powers to do the same."

"Anything else?"

"As a matter of fact yes. Strive for closer relations with _dar al-Islam_ , while adopting a far harsher policy towards the Zionist entity. With that, I take my leave of you"

Tabitha Li waited until she was sure the elderly man was out of earshot.

"I never liked or trusted that man. I still don't."

"How dangerous can that old buzzard really be, Tabitha? After all, he doesn't't have millions who would fight and die for him; He doesn't't hold the power of life and death in his hands does he?"

Alan Lucas was feeling unusually energetic this day. In his twenty-five years teaching, he had never had a class as dedicated as this. Perhaps it was possible to get twelve and thirteen-year olds to listen? Nothing could damage his good spirits right now, not even the melted snow his socks had absorbed. Still he had to wonder why Fitzgerald had called this assembly.

The blonde girl turned to face him.

"Mr. Lucas, what did the principal want?" she asked

"I'm not exactly sure, Amy."

The raucous youth turned dead silent as the sight of a fat, balding man ascending the auditorium stage and reaching the podium. He then glanced at his watch and cleared his throat.

"Children, faculty, I take time out of your day, to inform you all, that despite what you may have heard from your friends, families, or parents., We have nothing to fear from the fascists, as long as we stay vigilant. I ask you, if you see or hear anything suspicious or subversive, to tell someone you trust like-"

The stout principal was interrupted by the sound of gunfire and his own sudden death.

Around nine masked men emerged from behind the stage. Two proceeded to barricade the auditorium exits, four others began to patrol the aisles, and the final two remained on stage.

"Hands on your head!" their (apparent) leader shouted, then discharging several rounds from his assault rifle to quell the chaos. "Shut up! Try to escape and we kill you all!"

"What do you think you're doing!" Lucas yelled "Who are you!?"

Their leader leered around the crowd.

"Your parents let that... _thing_ into the White House, and we're not going to stand for it!

That mongrel Li will destroy this nation, so we will destroy him, and anyone who supports him! And don't even _think_ about leaving."

The young crowd sat rapt with a mixture of fear and loathing.

Unsure what to do, should they try to flee, losing many of the students?

Or wait for help to come?

"Come here, you stupid whore!" one of the guards spat at the one of the teachers.

She complied, and was promptly executed on the stage for her trouble. The leader of the thugs quelled the screams with another burst from his weapon.

"Mr. Lucas, what do we do!?" Amy whispered

"I don't know." He whispered back, "Maybe we should just-"

"STEVEN, NO!" a girl shrieked

A tall, wiry boy had leapt onto one of the guards necks, apparently attempting to strangle him. The man threw his young assailant to the ground and opened fire.

"That could be the rest of you!" the leader roared "Now, all the sub-humans and mongrels on the stage!"

Seth jerked himself awake once again. Those around him had remarked that he seemed to be in worse spirits than usual. Maybe it was the fact that he always seemed very tired, or the fact that he hadn't been able to find a job for the past several weeks. Nonetheless, dozing off in someone else's house was quite unlike him.

Ashley Franklin was slightly small for her age, (shorter than Seth by about a foot) but what made her stand out was the flaming red hair she shared with her mother.

"I still don't see why Mom and Eric won't let me stay home by myself. I mean, I'm almost fourteen. Seth, you agree with me right?"

"I know it probably doesn't't make sense to you now." Seth answered tiredly, "But your mom's just looking out for you. After all, her work as become kind of dangerous lately."

If there were people more harassed by the Security Committee then Seth, they were Ivy and Eric Franklin.

The federal agents, for the time being had simply been content to stalk him around town and tamper with his mail. But they had apparently taking a liking to following their children, making strange phone calls at odd hours, and sometimes issuing veiled threats.

In spite of all this, they had still managed to keep him informed of the events in the world.

In light of these developments, they had decided to relocate, explaining the very empty house.

"Hey Jake, do you need any help with these suitcases."

"No, I don't." he said coldly

Jacob Franklin was slightly taller than his sister, but his dark hair and with a perpetual scowl left him devoid of the warmth in his sibling's face.

"You don't need to be here Seth; we can take care of ourselves."

"Listen." Said Seth firmly "Your mom and step dad told me to look after you.

If the SC breaks down the door, kills you, and rapes your sister, than that's my business."

Jacob gave a sarcastic sort of chuckle

"I bet Eric would like that. He'd have mom all to himself then."

"Maybe if you weren't such a little-"

Seth was interrupted by the door creaking open.

"Do you want a lift home, Seth?" Mrs. Franklin asked, sweeping the snow from her hair.

"It is pretty cold out."

"No thanks," said Seth "I need the exercise"

"If you say so." Eric interjected "We'll contact you once we get to our destination."

"Where are you going anyway?"

"I tell you when we get there."

Seth said goodbye to the Franklins and set off for home. Granted, there were just some parts of Chicago that one does not enter alone at night, (or at all) but it was early February and still pretty cold, so Seth felt his chances of getting into trouble were pretty slim.

During his walk, he noticed a poster at least twenty feet high of Mathir Li gazing pompously at the street below.

" _How creepy is that?"_ thought Seth as he entered his apartment.

Sitting down on his bed, Seth looked over the report. It was at least fifteen pages long.

He began to review the document.

" _Mathir and Tabitha Li, the past, present, and vision for the future"_ the introduction page read

III

"Prifti, you're sure we can make this look right?" a nervous voice asked

Prepraim Prifti gave a mirthless chuckle.

"How many times do I have to tell you Agent? Appearance of legitimacy means very little. At least not any more."

Charles Sherman's eyes too large for his head and short stature gave him a perpetually paranoid look.

"But Sir, won't the public get sort of suspicious if we implement these measures?"

"You know, Sherman." Prifti said, tapping something on his belt "I get the feeling that you aren't't completely committed. You know how lucky you are that I'm not Costa. If I was, you would most likely be dead right now."

"Were you gents wondering about me?"

A strangely feminine voice asked

With an appearance to match his voice, Ariel Costa was rather short and thin.

His long black hair and matching eyelashes further accentuated this.

"Agent Costa, what brings you here?" said Prifti shortly.

"Oh nothing" replied Costa in his nasty sing-song voice "Just the fact that my underlings found out something that Mr. Li would be _very_ pleased to find out about."

"What is it already?"

"Just a report containing some _very_ unflattering information about the President and his wife. Potentially damning information to the both of them in the possession of one Seth Casey."

Prifti found himself half wishing that his handgun would "accidentally" discharge with the barrel at his superior.

"But what do _we_ get out of this?"

Costa let out a shrill laugh.

"Who said WE were getting anything out of it" he said while dialing a number on his cellular phone.

Mathir Li gingerly set the phone down on the receiver, looking pale.

"Tabitha, does the name Seth Casey hold any meaning for you.

Mrs. Li screwed her face into a look of pure loathing.

"Yes...it...does...."

"Apparently he is in possession of a report that could prove damaging to us." The leader replied, face still pale and fearful

For a second, Tabitha Li shared the same pallid, nervous expression with her husband, before regaining her color and wearing a resolute look.

"Well, after tonight, he and many others like him will no longer be a problem. Your predecessors weren't't _completely_ useless after all."

Mr. Li's face broke into a twisted smile at these words.

Seth finally laid the report down. His eyes, bloodshot and heavy, but his mind much more knowledgeable. Some things in the report did not surprise him at all, (his being an excellent politician or his associations with many questionable figures) others downright shocking. (Records from around twenty-five years of Li's life being either unavailable or destroyed)

The moment Seth set his head on the pillow; rapid tapping on the door interrupted his attempted sleep.

Who was so desperate to see to see him at 10:28 at night, anyway?

"What do you want-"

Fearful looking Cole, clutching what appeared to be a computer bag, met Seth.

"Your apartment seems smaller. What's wrong with it?" he asked quickly.

"I sold off most of the furniture and electronics,"

Seth said "In case you hadn't noticed, I haven't had a job in about two months."

"That's not important right now. I need to use your computer."

"Why not tomorrow?"

"Because this can't wait!" Cole snapped, placing a Ruger SR9 on the desk.

Seth looked over the handgun:

"How did you get this, now?"

"That's not important," said Cole in the same irritable tone "After that run-in with those SC punks a couple of weeks ago, I'm not taking any chances."

Cole's internet navigation quickly bought up a live feed from Mathir Li's current speech:

Citizens of America, three days ago, the unthinkable happened. The fascists held students hostage for twenty-four hours, immediately executing the minority students, and then opening fire on the local, state, and federal law enforcement once they arrived on the scene.

By the time our brave men and women in uniform eliminated the threat, half of the school's three-hundred and twenty five occupants were killed, many more gravely injured.

Our problem with the fascists is even more severe than I, or any other of my advisers had predicted. So it is with a heavy heart that I introduce the following methods to crush the fascists once and for all:

The following agencies will now disbanded and their duties incorporated into the Security Committee:

The Federal Bureau of Investigation, The Department of Homeland security, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, the Secret Service and the Internal Revenue Service.

Finally, I have given the Security Committee the authority to dispose of any fascists they may encounter by any method they deem necessary.

"So what?" said Seth "This just sounds like more political posturing to me. Li can talk all he wants, but nothing will get done."

"I'm getting to that," Cole said, inserting a flash drive into the computer.

"I managed to get my hands on the security footage from the 'fascist' attack."

Cole paused the video, and isolated their weapons."

"What do these weapons all have in common?"

Seth shrugged.

"They're all using Fabrique Nationale weapons. Now, one can modify semi-automatic replica of assault rifles to serve the same purpose.

The full-auto versions aren't't available for the public to purchase."

He turned the focus to the leader's weapon."

"Their leader's using a SCAR Mark 17 Light, not cheap at all."

Cole shifted the focus to his bodyguards' rifles:

"F2000's, not cheap either. This means _someone very wealthy_ paid for these weapons."

Seth took a moment to process all this.

He was never one for conspiracy theories, but the idea that a ragtag group could afford brand new weapons and be this wasteful with their ammunition seemed less likely by the second.

"Seth," Cole continued "did you notice that almost all of Li's critics in the government have ended up having strange, fatal accidents, becoming seriously ill, or injured, or just resigned or gone missing? "

"But what do the Executive Orders have to do with anything?" said Seth in an irritated tone

Cole chuckled darkly:

"Seth, they have to do with _everything_.

Think about it, in over the past couple of days, you've seen the SC agents on street corners carrying weapons, right?

The 'fascists' were carrying them in the exact same manner and using the same crowd control tactics!

"Is it at all possible that this attack was staged by the SC?" Cole continued, ignoring the increasingly anxious expression on Seth's face

"Why in God's name would he stage something that horrible?" said Seth

"To justify giving himself dictatorial powers! Why else?

The Executive Orders Li signed give him the authority to take over transportation power, communications, health and education, and control over most of the economy. Essentially, this allows him to rule as a dictator, putting us in a permanent state of martial law.

You and I both know that there's no such thing as a 'fascist' movement in America.

The 'fascists' are just a phantom internal enemy. In fact, I wouldn't't be surprised if Li was collaborating with our actual enemies."

Seth felt his insides freeze at his realization. He trusted his friend not to joke or lie about something this potentially serious. Only two types of people would willingly take on dictatorial power: The very greedy and the very arrogant, if the report was to be believed, (which he did) Mathir Li was both of these things. If Li were to rule as a despot, he would send the SC after any who publicly opposed him.

If that were so, millions were in grave danger. That meant his friends, his remaining family, and most of all _him_.

Seth suddenly found himself regretting the fact that he had misplaced his father's revolver.

"So, what is he going to do with us?"

"What do you think, Seth. What do you think?"

Seth glanced at the handgun Cole was placing in his bag with his belongings.

"Where did you get that?" he asked

"I bought it off some guy." His friend replied. "By the way, didn't't you have one of your dad's old guns?"

"Yeah, what of it."

"Keep it on you, I mean all the time.

My fellow criminal."

Cole departed the apartment, his words slightly unnerving Seth.

Laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, Seth began to review the information. Did Mathir Li really seem like the kind of person to eliminate his political adversaries? Who would go along with the purges? Seth knew the answer to both of these questions.

Li was exactly that kind of person and the SC were loyal exclusively to him.

Could this just be baseless speculation and conspiracy mongering? This possibility calmed him down a great deal.

" _But what if Cole was right?"_ Seth thought. He couldn't't spend the rest of his life running from the government, if they wanted to get him badly enough, they would. Without bothering to undress or even turn the lights out, Seth slowly drifted into an uneasy sleep

A sudden vomiting sensation abruptly woke Seth. He felt as though his skin would burn from his body.

He attempted to escape the bedroom, the power outage hindering his movement.

As he stumbled to the ground, Seth noticed a low-lying mist. The fact that fog did not form indoors without the aid of a machine bought him to a realization.

" _This is gas,"_ thought Seth.

His friend's prediction fresh in his mind, Seth instinctively picked up his jacket and wallet and bolted for the door, bumping into it before exiting the apartment.

He continued his flight down the hallway to the stairs, when voice shouting orders started coming into focus. Closer and closer they came, Seth in their peripheral vision.

Struggling with the lock for a moment, Seth darted down the alleyway, knocking down anything that might impede his pursuers.

Over the piercing winter air, Seth heard a voice magnified to ten times its regular volume:

"Seth Casey," called the voice "You are under arrest! Surrender peacefully and no harm will come to you."

While working on the lock, he had caught a glimpse of their uniforms.

The black uniform identified them as SC agents, and he knew that his compliance would eventually result in his own death.

After frantically navigating several more alleys and back streets, taking extreme care not to be seen, Seth finally stopped for a rest and to consider his options.

Option one was he could turning himself in and telling them what they want.

Option two was to was suicide

Option three was to change his identity and keep his nose clean.

Option four was escape to a nation that had neither an extradition treaty with the United States or one unwilling to deport him.

Options two and three were out, as Seth had grown rather fond of his life and living in general. Option one was a definite no, as he knew full well that his own and his friends' deaths were pretty much certain once the CS acquired

the information they were after.

The only option the posed no moral or practical dilemma for him was four.

But where would he go?

He had almost no family inside the country, never mind abroad.

What work would be available to a man who only had an expired passport?

He only had about three hundred dollars in his wallet and he couldn't't risk showing his face in a bank (or anywhere with even light security)

And this was assuming that he even escaped the SC at all.

Even the weather seemed to be against him, as rumblings of thunder were approaching him. Despite the coming storm, Seth continued on his trek to an unknown destination.

"Well Madame Leader, tonight's raid bought good news and bad," Informed the aide.

"The good news?" said Tabitha Li sleepily.

"We have located the suspect and blocked off the city of residence.

"And the bad?..."

"Well... The suspect has escaped, but we do have a rough idea of where he is!"

The Leader's wife dropped the coffee mug she was holding.

"What...do...you...mean?" she growled

"Well um... Like I said madam, we have a rough idea of where he is, he must have fled the apartment! We'll have him by the week's end, we're sure of it," said the messenger fearfully.

"The week's end is not good enough," Mrs. Li said, her voice in a low, dangerous tone. "Do you have any idea how much damage this man can do just with his voice?"

"Yes ma'am! Of course! But he's just one man. A real weirdo by all accounts. Who in their right mind would believe him?"

"Enough. But let me make this clear, you had better hope that someone else gets assigned to your position by the next report, otherwise I will personally see you-"

"Mommy, I had a dream where this man was after me," A girl's voice wept "It was so scary!"

Many commented about the remarkable resemblance Svetlana Li she bore to her mother, Tabitha. The one thing that distinguished the seven-year old was the kindness in her eyes.

"It's alright, sweetie," Li said soothingly

"Hey, I bet that man's gone now, I'll go with you and check for him."

"O..Okay" her daughter said, face beaming in admiration.

The disgruntled Mrs. Li returned some twenty minutes later to the still very on edge messenger.

"Tell me more about the suspect," she said

"Well, the description we put out lists him at about twenty-six years old, five feet- ten inches, short brown hair, and green eyes." answered the messenger.

Tabitha Li's face twisted with revulsion, as though a grotesque memory had just come back to her in vivid detail.

"What is his name?"

"Seth Casey, ma'am."

" _Why on earth does the last name Casey sound this familiar?"_ She thought

Continuing his clandestine journey around the city, soaking clothes and all. Seth began to consider how he would spend the night without being detected.

Staying in any place open to the public was certainly not a wise option, as someone would surely recognize the warnings for him that were out for him.

He could stay with one of his friends, although he felt a twinge of guilt at the fact that his few friends in the country had probably been marked for the same fate as him by the SC.

Leaning on a door to think, he found himself on the floor of a deserted warehouse.

It was dark and drafty, but also inconspicuous and likely not to collapse on him. As far as Seth knew, the SC didn't't put searching abandoned warehouses for "fascists" that high among their priorities.

Leaning on a box, Seth fell quickly off to sleep.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE!"

Seth was awakened by woman's (presumably the owner's) voice. Due to being blonde and about six inches shorter than Abby Dawson, (his former employer) he assumed them sisters for a second. She even shared Dawson's thin nose.

"Look, I'm really sorry about this ma'am," Seth answered quickly "but I-"

Seth suddenly remembered why he was sleeping in a warehouse at three in the morning as opposed to his own bed

"You- I can't stay here!" said Seth quickly, "I'm putting you in danger!"

"Wait, what are you talking about?" She looked over Seth's ragged appearance "What have you been doing, you look horrible." Seth noticed her voice had become considerably kinder.

The woman led Seth into an office-like room and urged Seth on a couch; he complied while she took her seat.

"Ella Hochberg," the woman introduced herself "And you?"

"Seth Casey" he answered

"So Seth, why brings you to this warehouse?"

Seth relayed the tale of the possession of the report about the Li's, Cole's analysis, and his flight from the SC.

Hochberg glanced concernedly around the room.

"I see, so Ivy and Eric did play a role in this.," she muttered.

"Wait, are familiar with a Franklin family in this area?" Seth asked

"Yes, they are good friends of mine. Interestingly, they sometimes made passing mention of a report... Seth, do you have a copy of it?"

Seth reached into his jacket pocket and handed over the crumpled papers.

"The pages are damaged, but it's still readable."

Hochberg scanned the report, spending no more than a minute on each page.

"Wow, I knew Mathir Li was a scumbag, but... Wow..."

"Thanks, but I really can't stay here any-"

Seth was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass, along with the pattering of hurried boots.

"I have to get out of here, if I stay here, they'll probably kill you too!" warned Seth, stuffing the report back into his jacket.

"The emergency exit's in the next room over." said Hochberg quickly "Take this too" she added, throwing a cigarette lighter to Seth.

Careful to make as little noise as possible while not taking too much time, Seth slipped through the fire escape and dashed down another alleyway.

It was an interesting feeling to have narrowly avoided law enforcement twice in one night; the rush was slightly dulled by guilt however. Seth knew that Ella Hochberg would suffer the same fate as him (or worse) if the SC figured out she had even seen him.

Several alleyways and backstreets later, where the sounds of various automobiles were faint, Seth dropped the report into a trashcan and set fire to it. Even if they were coming for him, no one else was going to suffer the same fate. After all, he had memorized the important parts of it.

Many more blocks and around half an hour later, Seth found the entrance to Cole's apartment building. Making sure the only noise was light pattering of his shoes, Seth began to quickly push ring the bell.

"Come on, come on, come on! Where the hell are you?!" Seth whispered angrily into the intercom. He suddenly came to a realization. Of course, Cole was not going to answer,

If the SC were this frantic in their search for him, they surely would put just as much priority on finding his friend who had recovered and analyzed the recording of a "fascist" attack.

Attempting banish these thoughts from his mind, Seth continued to walk quickly and carefully, sticking to the shadows whenever possible.

" _Why couldn't't I just have gotten rid of that report when I had the chance?"_ he thought

Hearing the fait wail of a siren, Seth slipped into an (at first glance) almost invisible door.

The interior was dank, poorly lit, and smelled strongly of liquor, vomit, and occasionally blood. Possibly due to fatigue, he had to take a second glance to tell that this was a (rather badly maintained) bar.

"Hey buddy, closing time's in ten minutes." called a voice impatiently

Upon closer inspection, Seth realized that the voice belonged to a short, balding man with a prominent mustache, presumably the owner.

"Sorry, didn't't notice." said Seth

"Nah, its fine," the bartender replied "By the way, what's a kid like you doing out here at two in the morning?"

"I'm not a kid, and my name's Set- err... Jack."

"Well, Jack, What's on your mind?"

Seth thought about how he could answer this question without sounding overly defensive or giving away his actual identity.

"I'm just wondering, hypothetically of course," lied Seth "What advice would you give to someone who didn't't actually do anything, but had to go on the run from the law?"

The bartender scratched his chin.

"Why do you ask?"

"For a novel I'm writing," he lied again "And let's assume getting a lawyer and a trial aren't't options."

"Well..." said the bartender absentmindedly scrubbing a glass "I would recommend he get a fake id and skip the country. If he really didn't't do anything wrong, it should blow over once they get the real crook."

"Right, thanks." Seth said before heading to the door

"Stay safe, Jack."

Making sure the sounds of vehicles were very faint, Seth resumed walking to his nonexistent destination. Getting fake identification and leaving the country really was not an option for him right now, as going to the airport, even at three in the morning, at least a hundred people would see him, even if he kept a low profile. Probably just as many security cameras would pick him up too.

Noise it would create be damned, he began to kick a trashcan out of frustration.

After the third kick, the (few) lights in the alley suddenly went out.

The almost unnatural darkness for a second convinced him that he had gone blind; this idea was shot down due to the fact that blind cannot see outlines of various objects.

The blackness possessed a sort of odd hold on Seth. His heart was racing, telling him to run as fast as humanly possible, while his mind was telling him to stay and investigate.

Suddenly, the horrible nausea returned to him, along with the horrible skin burning sensation. His body felt unusually heavy and sluggish. He attempted to stagger to the other side of the alley. The unnatural fatigue compelled him to lean against the alley wall, just to catch his breath.

"Here he is!" cried a voice whose owner tackled Seth to the ground, rose and began to kick him in the ribs repeatedly.

The lights had returned and the mist was gone, only to be replaced with four CS agents kicking him in the chest, stomach, and ribs.

"How do you like this, scum!" the first one yelled at him while kneeing him in the chest.

"People like you need to learn their place!" the second agent spat at him before repeatedly smacking Seth's legs with the butt of his rifle.

"Okay, that's enough," called an older voice, presumably belonging to their commander.

"You remember our orders to beat this guy up too badly."

His subordinates complied and dragged the half-conscious Seth several yards before placing him (rather roughly) into what was apparently a seven by three foot crate.

" _Why did I waste so much time listening to that damn bartender?"_ thought Seth before

losing consciousness.

IV

One mid-February morning at breakfast, Tabitha Li's family couldn't' help noticing the normally subdued woman was rather cheerful.

"Mom, I've never seen you smile before. It's nice." Svetlana said

"Why thank you dear." Mrs. Li replied

"What's daddy doing?"

"Daddy's working right now Svetlana. Maybe you can ask him later."

On the other side of the kitchen, Mathir Li was having a hurried phone conversation.

"The old buzzard told me to contact you. Of course, I can reward you for your efforts"

Li's tone was becoming impatient.

"Yes, I'm well aware of the complexities of bureaucratic red tape, Watanabe.

Fine, bye."

Sergeant Major Brian Kemp's day had been among his worst.

The United States Army officers he had spoken with were anticipating massive layoffs of personnel due to the anticipated policies of Mathir Li.

This pessimism combined with the fact that he had been out of bed since four in the morning contributed to the abysmal quality of the day.

Although walking to his car under a sky that foretold rain didn't't help his mood either.

"Sorry about that," he said after bumping into someone.

"Don't worry about it, Kemp," answered the man.

"Reeve, do I sound like I'm in the mood for your crap?"

His Marine Corps counterpart Floyd Reeve, with his leather jacket and graying slicked hair, he gave off the he gave off the air of a man attempting to relive his youth.

"Look, Kemp. I'm not here to give you a hard time.

You and I aren't the same men we were thirty years ago."

"Oh, all right," said Kemp "Old habits, die hard, and all that."

"Yeah, I was a real arrogant SOB back in those days," Reeve said fondly "Anyway, what's got you so down?"

Kemp removed the report from his briefcase, adjusted his glasses, flipped to the tenth page and began to recite from it:

In order to more effectively deal with the threats we face as a nation, the following military installations are to be vacated of all personnel no later than September thirtieth of this year and turned over to the Security Committee:

Elmendorf Air Force Base, Alaska

Eielson Air Force Base, Alaska

Fort Wainwright, Alaska

Fort Chaffee, Arkansas

Pine Bluff Arsenal, Arkansas

Scott Air Force Base, Illinois

Camp Atterbury, Indiana

McConnell Air Force Base, Kansas

Fort Polk, Louisiana

Fort Detrick, Maryland

Otis Air National Guard Base, Massachusetts

Camp Grayling, Michigan

Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri

Malmstrom Air Force Base, Montana

Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada

Joint Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst

Holloman Air Force Base, New Mexico

White Sands Missile Range, New Mexico

Fort Drum, New York

Minot Air Force Base, North Dakota

Tinker Air Force Base, Oklahoma

Charleston Air Force Base, South Carolina

Fort Bliss, Texas

Fort Hood, Texas

Sheppard Air Force Base, Texas

Fort A.P. Hill, Virginia

Reeve's mouth dropped upon the recitation.

"What in God's name?!" he said indignantly "Elmendorf, Pine Bluff, McConnell, Fort Polk, Detrick, Malmstrom, Nellis, Dix, Holloman, White Sands. Are the out of their freaking minds!"

"I don't think its insanity," Kemp said darkly "Think about it. Many of these installations are key to the nation's defense. Why would Congress and the White House demand them be closed and turned over to the SC?"

"You know, I was never one for these conspiracy theories, but I think you have a point there Kemp. Speaking of CS, I met one of their commanders a couple of weeks ago.

Costa or something. A real bastard if I remember correctly, wouldn't' trust him-"

"The point is," interrupted Kemp "These bases all have something in common.

We both have contacts at several bases, use these contacts to ask about these bases, visit them if you can"

Kemp took the clapping of thunder as his cue to get into his car.

"And Reeve, the key word here 'discretion'. Don't tell anyone. I mean anyone."

Reeve gave an affronted look.

"What? You think caution would be a problem with me?"

Kemp responded with a you-should-know-already look before starting his car.

Jenifer Cropper absentmindedly flipped through a book she had consciously been putting off reading. It had been an interesting previous several years for Mrs. Cropper:

After her husband Elliot's term in the White House, she became a successful politician in her own right. And as of now, a scandal-plagued Congresswoman involved in a shady land deal in Oregon.

Cropper looked pensively into the mirror on the wall to her left.

Her reflection showed an older woman who was quite a beauty back in her youth.

The graying flecks in her hair and wrinkles made her appear fifteen years above her actual age.

"I thought I requested a 'Please knock' sign," she snapped at the courier, a boy of around fourteen.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," said the young man "But Costa requested this be bought to you. A 'peace offering' as he put it."

Cropper eyed the youth and his delivery with cautiously. The mere mention of the surname "Costa" made her attempt to crush whatever she was holding.

"Oh, fine." she said, placing the box on the left side of her desk as the young man casually strode out of the office.

Outside the building, the courier stared intently at his watch.

" _It should be,"_ he thought " _About now."_

As though the end of his thought was a particularly volatile trigger, a violent explosion erupted from one of the second floor windows.

The youth casually loitered about, waiting for the panicked hordes to come streaming out, with a self-satisfied grin on his face all the while.

Sifting through a stack of paperwork, Prifiti scarcely noticed his superior, Costa stride into the room.

"What do you want? Just make it quick and get out," groaned Prifti.

"I don't think you should be addressing your superiors in such a way," said Costa, sounding even more arrogant and venomous than usual.

"Two of our dear leader's most dangerous foes no longer a problem.

That wretched Casey man off in some godforsaken corner of the country, and that witch Cropper out of commission as well. Be careful, Preparim, if your youths don't make progress soon, they just might see you as dead weight."

Prifti stabbed several of the papers with his letter opener.

"What...do...you...want?" he said through gritted teeth.

"It's simple. I just wanted to inform you that nothing can possibly stop us now." Costa said, his singsong tone returning. "Of course you noticed our all of our actual opposition in the federal government has been either having strange 'accidents' and any halfhearted opposition has been bought or extorted into silence."

"What ever happened to Coburn anyway?"

Prifti actually had to struggle to remember the name.

Edward Coburn was a normally verbose Senator who ran on the ticket with Li.

Strangely enough, since about the end of January, no one had heard a peep from him.

Costa let out one of his shrill, effeminate laughs.

"Why do you think that Coburn has been traveling so much?

He's scheduled for a 'tragic accident' soon."

"Good riddance as far as I'm concerned. The odds are good that he would let some important detail slip out. Whether to due to carelessness or general stupidity, I'm not sure."

"It matters not."

V

When Seth came to he found himself in the same (unnervingly coffin like) seven-by-three crate.

Sore, bruised, and still a little dizzy, but very much alive.

Judging by the outside noise, the Seth's crate (probably several other's too)

was being transported either by train or semi-trailer.

Massaging his head, Seth caught the middle of a conversation: (presumably between two guards)

"You know," said the first voice "I almost feel sorry for the guys in these crates.

The Okanogan camp is probably the toughest one."

"Don't be," a second, more bored sounding voice said. "They're not even human.

What kind of people think like they do anyway? Exactly, fascists!"

Seth found himself increasingly less tolerant of the use of word "fascist" as an adjective.

"Oh, without a doubt, Sir! By the way, what is our justification for the treatment in store for that guy...Casey or something?"

"We've been over this a hundred times, we don't _need_ a justification. In the report filed, it said Casey was in contact with fascists and their organizations. Not to mention he was in possession of neo-fascist books and music."

It took Seth most of his mental energy to keep from laughing.

Apparently, with Mathir Li in charge, possession of music in German and books on the Second World War was enough to qualify you as a "fascist".

However, in spite of this foolishness, he finally knew exactly what the Security Committee planned to do with him. Seth found the use of the word "camp" disturbing.

The way Seth saw it, one of two outcomes could happen.

One, they would hold (and possibly torture) him at this camp for a period, then dispose of him.

The second option was that when he arrived wherever they were taking him, the SC would just kill him on the spot.

Upon further reflection, Seth realized that they wouldn't't kill him right away, as he was one of the few remaining sources (Dr. Flynn told him before he moved that only eight copies of the report existed) of the damaging information.

This fact slightly undid the knot in his stomach. Seth shut his eyes, attempting to envision

the treatment waiting for him and how to resist a sudden slip of the tongue.

"They really have no idea what they're getting into do they?" said Li, his lanky frame slouched against a wall.

"Not in the least," answered his wife answered. "Waiting in a stadium for a charismatic leader to give speeches denouncing our 'internal enemies', and the unnecessary pageantry of it all. We are truly blessed that our enemies are naïve, and the people are so unfathomably stupid."

Mr. Li glanced at his watch.

"Seven already, well wish me luck."

Tabitha remained silent.

"You're right, I don't need it!"

Mathir Li strode on to the stage. The cheers and roars of the crowd electrified the air.

The admiration of the tens of thousands in the stadium, and the additional tens of millions watching on television and on the internet gave him energy and even life.

He walked to the podium, waving to the masses all the while. He took a drink of water and cleared his throat:

Citizens of America, you have made the greatest decision of this nation's lifetime!

Earlier today, a Congresswoman by the name of Jenifer Cropper was apprehended by the

Security Committee for the crime of meeting with members of the fascist movement, presumably an attempt to give them some sort of legitimacy.

These operations send a clear message to anyone fascist sympathizers:

Regardless of your race, sex, class, or creed, if you are a fascist or a fellow traveler of their's you WILL be brought to justice. I, err...We will no longer let these dangerous and hateful men disseminate their propaganda or work towards the vision for this nation.

We will do so by any means at our disposal. In memory of the three hundred children that the fascists butchered, on this night of February eighteenth, two-thousand nine, I promise you all, we will treat the fascists as the animals that they are!

Li felt himself thriving on the raucous cheers and shouts of "We love you!" like a fish that had been suddenly returned to its rightful habitat. About eighty-five percent of the speech had been complete fabrication.

The talk of Elliot and Jenifer Cropper's apprehension, for all he knew (or cared) they were both dead, the infiltration of "fascists" into key institutions, even the attack on the school in Fairfax, California.

But despite even ordering the several SC agents to murder and rape children, masquerading as "fascists", he was truthful about one thing during the speech:

Those known as branded as fascists were, know less than human as far as the sheeple were concerned.

Several hours later, the truck's rumbling halted,

Shortly afterwards, Seth felt his crate lifted and dropped several feet away.

"Open it up! We don't have all day!" shouted a voice.

The crate was broken open. Seth emerged only to be apprehended by two SC agents.

"All right, let's go, scum!" one them taunted, while his partner tightened his placed Seth's wrists and ankles in shackles. Even if he had wanted to see where they were taking him, he could scarcely make it out. Being suddenly exposed to ten searchlights after two days in a crate was not exactly a pleasant experience. Apparently, the other new arrivals (about fifty others in all, judging by the sheer mass of the facility, he assumed at the very least thousands were bound for this facility) shared this sentiment as they were attempting to get their bearings before being led away by the SC

Eventually, he was led into a room and motioned into a chair.

Apparently, the higher ranked agent had gone ahead to file the required documents.

The subordinate chambered a magazine (behind the trigger strangely enough) while scowling at Seth.

The FN F2000 was a rather strange-looking weapon. It more resembled an elaborate prop for a science fiction film than an assault rifle.

"See this, you rotten son of a bitch," the guard snarled at Seth. "This gun right here means that I, as a member of this country's security forces, have the right to empty this magazine into your head just because I feel like it. Unfortunately, we have orders not to harm your mental function in anyway."

Seth remained silent, internally laughing at the self-importance of the sentry.

"But that doesn't't mean I can't put a few rounds in in your leg or arm if I feel like it."

The mental laughter stopped immediately. As comical as he found the pompous man,

Seth felt it best not to display any signs of amusement.

The office door suddenly slammed shut, signaling the officer's return.

"Okay, Casey. Follow me and don't talk."

Seth complied expressionlessly. The nervous stride in his step due to the FN 2000

At neck level.

After being led down four particularly long hallways, they stopped at a particularly dark dead end.

"In here," the officer grunted, his subordinate urging Seth into the cell, slamming the door shut behind them.

The cell was little more than a seven by four foot room with a cot, toilet, sink, and a solitary light bulb precariously close to going out.

" _This is fine mess you've gotten yourself into,"_ thought Seth angrily, finally lying down on the cot.

" _I wish they'd do something about that stupid, blinking light bulb."_

As though part of an organized conspiracy of man, machine and nature to make an awful night even worse, the few rays of light died.

Apparently, he was right. The SC would not just kill him, just hold him long enough to get the information that they were after and _then_ kill him.

Seth suddenly felt sick as his thoughts turned to his friends.

Could they have caught Dr. Flynn at the border or the Franklins en route to wherever they were going?

Surely if they could catch a man fleeing from them on foot in one of the nation's largest cites, apprehending a family on an international flight?

What if they SC had been ordered not to be so merciful to the other detainees?...

Shutting his eyes tight as humanly possible, Seth attempted to expel the thoughts of possible horrid punishments. The fact that the sleeping on the cot was like sleeping on a rectangular slab of rock helped some.

VI

Seth felt as though his head had just hit the cot before the alarm sounded, followed by a Security Committee agent rapping the cell doors and shouting.

The guard opened the door quickly, shining the flashlight in his eyes.

"Come on! Get up!" the patrolman shouted, before punching him across the cheek.

Seth rose to his feet, only to be reintroduced to the shackles, and being led down the same dark hallway.

Due to the fact that the exact same lights were on when he arrived and the groggy, agitated reactions of the other detainees Seth gathered that it was not yet daylight.

Seth was led though the same route as when he had arrived, save for the right turn made halfway through the second hallway to a room, (that may have been an office at some point) with a sole overhead lamp.

Three other CS agents placed the center links of the shackles on a hook on the wall.

Two of the agents returned to their posts at the sides of the door, while their comrade finished binding his ankles.

A short balding man casually strode into the room.

"Hello there," he said in a would be casual voice.

"I'm not talking," Seth said flatly.

"I'm Albert Holt. You may call me Agent Holt."

"I'm...not...talking," Seth snarled.

Holt chuckled.

"Seth, I'm not a bad man," he said, "I just want to ask you a few questions"

"Was it something that you needed me locked up in here for knowing?"

"You, Seth Casey, are a funny man. I all I want to know is: Does the name Abigail Dawson mean anything to you?"

"Not at all," lied Seth

"How about Eric or Ivy Franklin?"

"Nope,"

"Or a Dr. Flynn"

"No,"

"Tell me, are you familiar with the fascist attack on that school in California?" asked Holt

Seth said nothing, trying not to make eye contact with the CS officer.

Well," continued Holt "We have reason to believe that someone unlawfully accessed the security footage from that date."

An increasingly angry Seth kept quiet still.

"You wouldn't't happen to know anything about that would you?"

"You and your 'security service' would know all about killing kids wouldn't't you?" Seth answered nastily.

"Seth, that really isn't funny," said Holt, his amicable-sounding voice now stern and businesslike. "It would be a crying shame if anymore civilians suffered the same fate as thos-"

Scarcely able to control his temper, Seth swung his bound legs forward, catching the lieutenant directly in his left cheek.

"All right," Holt said crossly, nursing his wound. "I see your intent on making this difficult for us"

Seth felt a sort of grim satisfaction watching the blood stream down his captor's face.

"Call for Sanders," Holt ordered. One of the sentries pushed a button on a panel, while his fellow agent tended to his superior, and the third blindfolded Seth.

The door creaked open once again after about ten minutes of whispering and taunting from the two remaining guards.

"So this is him, right?" a voice (whom Seth assumed to be Sanders) almost too deep to be audible.

"Yeah, this is Casey alright."

"Okay, then..."

Seth suddenly felt as someone had thrown a chair at his stomach

"WHERE ARE THEY!" Sanders roared.

"I told you, I'm not saying anything," Seth repeated.

"WRONG ANSWER!"

This time the force (which Seth realized were a sort of metal, white-hot rods) came to his chest.

"YOU WANT TO TALK NOW!?"

"No, not really," Seth said smartly.

This time the impact came across his left cheek.

Sanders began muttering angrily to himself to himself and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Well we're not getting anywhere today," came Holt's voice "Release him into the yard

with the others."

Upon being relieved from his binds and blindfold, Seth was escorted out of the room by three guards, glaring at him as in the same way one would stare down a wild animal.

Their FN FNC rifles had a distinctly more orthodox appearance for an assault rifle

(For example, the magazine well was located in front of the trigger, as well as a fourteen inch barrel)

Combined with the bayonets and grenade launchers the weapons were equipped with,

Seth felt their rifle configurations were more suited to hunting dangerous game than

supervising a prison facility. But as Seth remembered, the average SC member considered their enemies (especially him) to be sub-human.

Several hallways later, Seth and the sentries emerged to a fenced, outdoor area.

Almost completely covered by the surrounding forest, this was an ideal place to hide a facility and large numbers of people.

After about ten five minutes, they led Seth to a site where ten of his fellow inmates were in the process of digging a trench.

"Take a shovel," said one of the agents scornfully

Seth really didn't't see the point of making him and the other prisoners dig a trench, but the weapons pointed at him were motivation enough to comply.

By around noon, (judging by the sun's position) Seth began to realize that the only point to this work was to wear them down physically and mentally. Even by midday out of the ten people working on the trench, only five (including Seth) four men and one woman of relatively strong build, none of whom Seth dared to approach as four CS agents, though lazing off, were still on duty.

By around three, out of the corner of his eye, Seth saw the unmistakable sight of an elderly man arguing with one of the CS officers.

About ten seconds later, the old man was apprehended by four of his subordinates, who dragged him to the fence about four yards in front of Seth and his trench mates.

The sound of the ensuing gunfire bursts resembled a particularly bad rainstorm against a tin roof. Combined with the solitude of the forest, the shots resonated throughout the facility.

Perhaps it was the fact that the SC rank-and file were laughing hysterically at their kill, watching a man be murdered in cold blood and not being able to even utter a word in protest, or the realization that he was aiding in digging a (one of many, no doubt) mass grave, but the feeling was definitely present that the past few were among the worst days of his life. His trench mates seemed to share this assessment, the corpse of the elderly man in the trench further dampening the mood.

Eventually, the sun's fading light gave way to the harsh, artificial light of the searchlights.

Seth and his companions continued to dig with all of their (fading) strength. He himself was surprised that he was not dead of exhaustion yet.

Judging by the behavior of the on duty SC agents, it was very late.

A loud, ear piercing siren resounded thorough the yard, and the CS members herded the prisoners back to the facility interior, dousing them with several hoses before they reentered.

A very wet, tired, and hungry Seth reflected on the situation.

Apparently, this was a dual-purpose facility, as attested to by the mass graves and cells that made the average ones in a prison resemble a suite.

Seth found it extremely odd that a facility of this size and for this use would fail to attract the attention of the local populace. About five thousand people (and Seth assumed many more en route) were not exactly silent, after all.

Seth also tried to take his mind off the stomach cramps. If the SC were supposed to keep him alive longer than most of the other prisoners, how badly were they going to treat the others? The only water he had seen the guards give any of his fellow inmates was the dousing about half an hour ago. And what of food?

Were they going to feed them as a reward for giving them information?

Or were they just waiting for them to cannibalize each other?

A bowl suddenly slid through a slot that Seth had not noticed before then.

Observing the bowl's contents, Seth found that it contained a grey substance with a very weak consistency. Upon further inspection, he concluded that this was most likely oatmeal.

Seth considered the possibility that this oatmeal, though edible, might be poisoned.

Once again, he told himself that the CS would have to keep him alive for an undetermined period in order to even have a chance at getting the information they were after.

Cursing his hunger, Seth drank the bowl's content's, feeling very sick afterwards.

Struggling to hold his "meal" down, Seth retired to his stone-like cot.

Once again awaked seemingly seconds after lying down by rattling of the cell bars, Seth was greeted by three SC guards, two of them glaring at Seth in their usual fashion one would reserve for a mass murderer or other notorious criminal, the officer with an unusually positive expression on his face.

The three applied the shackles to Seth and led him to the converted office, and sat him down in the chair with a solitary light bulb suspended overhead.

In strode Albert Holt, the stitches across his cheek adding to his serious expression.

"So Mr. Casey," he started" Do you have anything you would like to inform us of?"

"No," said Seth calmly.

"Is that so? Well I'm sorry it's come to this."

The SC agent to Seth's right placed his weapon down, with a malevolent grin while doing so.

About thirty seconds later, Seth felt a horrible burning sensation on his left forearm.

The agent had placed a branding iron in the shape of a small pan and began to slide the iron up and down his arm, causing Seth a great deal of pain.

Eyes almost watering, Seth used all his willpower to keep even a sound from escaping his lips. For the next three minutes, the only sound in the room was the scraping of hot metal against flesh.

"Are you absolutely sure you don't know anything about any fascists?" Holt said casually.

"The only fascist I see around here is you," said Seth through gritted teeth.

Holt laughed once again and turned to the junior SC officer.

"Move on to his back," he whispered

Seth bit his lip as hard as he possibly could, as though pressure on the lip would reduce the terrible scalding in his arm.

If this and hard labor digging mass graves were punishment simply for possessing information unflattering to Mr. and Mrs. Li, Seth felt physically ill thinking about the treatment his friends that had actually unearthed and published the information about them.

VII

Brian Kemp abruptly awoke in a cold sweat, breathing quite audibly.

"What in God's name was that?" he said quite louder than he had intended to.

"Honey, what's the matter," his wife answered sleepily.

The rather small Alene Kemp's flowing brown hair and blue eyes were quite a contrast from her husband's shaved head and pessimistic eyes.

"It's nothing," the Sergeant said, head facing the opposing wall.

"Brian, you're not looking at me. What's the matter?"

Mr. Kemp took a long, exaggerated breath.

"Alright, I had this weird dream. Now I know this doesn't't mean anything, but..."

"But what?"

"It just didn't't seem like a dream. It felt like I was actually in this strangely familiar room."

"What did you see?" asked Mrs. Kemp, finally sitting up and looking very interested.

"Okay, I saw this man, he couldn't't have been any older than thirty or so, being burned on his arm and back by with what I think were thin sheets of metal."

His wife remained silent, still maintaining her interest in the tale, yet looking slightly disturbed.

"The young man being burned seemed to have been especially determined not to let even a sound escape his mouth."

"It just sounds like an extremely strange dream," she replied at last.

"Just try to get back to sleep, its three in the morning."

Attempting to heed his wife's advice, Kemp lie awake for another hour or so.

Perhaps the vision was just a midnight snack (a habit Alene had scolded him for years about) induced dream, but he had never had a dream where he had felt the subjects pain before. Deciding on a walk to purge the image from his mind, he Kemp silently slid out of bed and retrieved his running shoes and jumpsuit.

The small population and scenery first attracted the Kemp family to Clarendon, Vermont,

Brian's fondness for jogging sealing the deal.

About thirty minutes into the run, out of the corner of his eye, the Sergeant noticed what appeared to be a limousine (unusually enough for such a small town) following him.

Kemp hastened stride, the limousine sped up as well.

He slowed to a walking pace; it adjusted its speed accordingly.

After about three minutes of this game, the driver apparently tired and approached the now slightly disturbed Kemp. He half expected to be met with a pistol's barrel once the window rolled down. Instead, he was met with the effeminate, arrogant visage of Ariel Costa.

"Why hello there, Sergeant," said Costa haughtily "What are you doing out this early?"

"With all due respect Agent," Kemp replied flatly "Why is it any of your business?"

Costa laughed his shrill and unusually feminine laugh.

"I just want to remind you that there's going to be some changes in the way things are done in this country."

"Please get to the point, I don't have all morning."

"Unusually cheeky for a man in your position, aren't't you?"

The Sergeant Major found himself literally biting his tongue to keep from saying anything stupid or incriminating. Conversations with the senior CS officer were always unpleasant, this particular one so that Kemp found half wished he was met with the barrel of a pistol. The handgun would at least give him an excuse to leave quickly without another word.

"Listen here if you know what's good for you," Costa said in a low, growling voice quite different from his usual. "Don't go looking into things that don't concern you.

Go looking for trouble and it will find you, I guarantee it."

"Are you threatening me?" asked Kemp coolly.

"Warning or threat, I leave that up to you," Costa said in a tone of mock concern.

The limousine driver seemed to take these words as cue to leave quickly, as the automobile departed at a speed the Kemp had not seen on these streets before.

Kemp decided to cut his jog short and return home, as the visit from the Costa had pretty much made a fair day even worse. Going over the officer's words in his mind, Kemp suddenly felt a knot in his stomach. What did ' _Go looking for trouble_ ' even mean anyway? Did the Security Committee know more than they were letting on about events in recent weeks, especially the base closures and the attack on the school in Marin County?

The knot in his stomach worsened. Was there a chance that the SC had some connection to the closure of facilities (Elmendorf AFB, Fort Polk, and White Sands) essential

to American defense? Kemp's stomach was almost painful by this point.

Wishing and praying that these theories had about as little validity as the prospect of the CIA carrying out 9/11 or Jews secretly ruling the world, Kemp silently unlocked the front door and entered. Retiring to the kitchen, he made himself a cup of coffee before going to the computer. Right before putting the term "Malmstrom Air Force Base" into a search engine, the email application displayed a notice. Recognizing the address as one of Reeve's alternates with the day's date (February 24th), he clicked it quickly:

Hey, given the chance that this message might fall into the wrong hands, I'm using an alternate address. But that's not important right now. What is though is that, after our run-in, I thought about what you said. A few hours later, I went to Scott Air Force Base in Illinois. It was the probably one of the strangest things I've ever seen.

Literally hundreds of moving vans, mass movement of aircraft elsewhere, those Security Committee punks supervising the whole thing (almost all armed, by the way), running checkpoints throughout the base, it was as if they were waiting for some demented mass murderer to show himself.

But the weirdest thing of all was that just south of the base, there was this massive facility. I would have just thought it was an abandoned industrial park or something, except for the fact that abandoned factories don't have almost-new, inward curving barbed wire fences surrounding them. This place was also had a bunch of shady-looking guards, all armed, dressed completely in black patrolling the perimeter. I know for a fact that these guys weren't't Marines or Army, I'm pretty sure I've seen all the SC uniforms before (Besides, the SC grunts had FN FNCs, these guys had an AK of sorts), and they don't waste special forces just sitting around and guarding things.

Given the fact that they were glaring daggers at me already, I thought it wouldn't't be that good an idea to take any pictures.

I went back to the base and asked around about a strange facility south of it.

No one, literally nobody knew what I was talking about. They all assumed it was some factories or something. I even went to Brigadier General Siegel, (The commander) same reaction! Apparently, the guards were with Shadowstrike International, a private military company. This particular PMC saw action in Africa (most notably Somalia and Sudan), Chechnya, Yugoslavia, the Philippines, Sri Lanka, and Kosovo.

Shadowstrike has kind of a sketchy reputation, as they often accept contracts from questionable sources. For example in the Second Chechen War, they trained a good number of the rebels, or in Kosovo, some of their agents even partook in a number of Albanian atrocities.

But this isn't the point. The point is that you were right, something is very wrong in this nation. I just got back from McConnel AFB in Kansas yesterday, exact same sight as Scott, except even more hurried. I'll try to find out more, contact me and document it (For the love of God, not from work!) if you find anything else strange.

Be careful out there.

The knot in Kemp's stomach was literally painful by this point; he re-read the email three more times, taking extreme caution not to overlook anything. He had been praying every night that his instinct was wrong, but there was now little doubt that something was wrong. _"An internal security force with this much power should have been your first clue,"_ the Sergeant internally scolded. Granted, Floyd Reeve had a well-deserved reputation as a joker from his younger years, but when it came to Corps matters, he was all business. Kemp took the base closure report from his briefcase and scanned it anxiously several times again. The question remained: What these did facilities from all branches this far apart have in common? And why did Congress seem to have it in for these Air Force Bases?

He clicked the "reply" button and began to compose a response:

Reeve, you are right. Something fishy is going on here.

I was going for a run this about an hour ago, and Ariel Costa's limo followed me for about five blocks. When his spoke, his exact words were: "Don't go looking into things that don't concern you. Go looking for trouble and I guarantee you'll find it."

You mentioned that the SC was supervising and speeding up the moves of base personnel and their families and running checkpoints. What if there was something on base that no one (Not even the commander and his subordinates) was supposed to know about? And that facility surrounded by barbed wire, why was a PMC contracted to look after it? Are some vacant buildings so valuable that they can't risk someone with any shred of loyalty to this country finding out about?

I have to go to Texas next week. If I can, I'll get to Fort Hood and Fort Bliss.

Be careful out there, and don't say anything to a SC member without thinking it through first.

At around seven over breakfast, Kemp was still studying the closure report intensely, racking his brains to see any similarities between the facilities. The only real pattern was

That half of them were Air Force bases. Not even the scent of his wife's cooking broke his focus.

"Dad, dad. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Jeff. Just some work stuff."

Jeffery Kemp was a tall, clean cut young man with the bearing of an officer (possibly inherited from his father) about him.

"Well, I've got to get to school soon," Jeff said, glancing at his watch.

"You'll be graduating soon," Kemp said wistfully "I'm proud of you son."

"I've still got three months to go," Jeff reminded with a slight smile "High school's been kind of fun, but I'm glad it's going to be over soon, you know?"

He picked up a piece of toast, kissed his mother on the cheek, and headed for the door.

"I still think it's amazing," said Alene pouring herself a cup of coffee ""How ambitious a

young man he is."

"Yeah, ever since he was little, he's wanted to be a soldier like his old man," said the Sergeant "How many people his age can say they'd be willing to sacrifice anything?"

"Mom, Adam's being a lazy bastard once again!" said a very stern voice.

"Julia! I told you not to use that kind of language, especially about your brothers!" Mrs. Kemp scolded.

Dark brown hair styled in a bun in conjunction with horn-rimmed glasses gave Julia Kemp a very serious expression that both of her parents lacked. Her brother Adam often joked that the acted seventy as opposed to seventeen.

"Even if he is?" she said

Mr. Kemp took a large gulp of coffee

"We'll take care of your brother, young lady; now get to school, your brother's outside with one of the cars."

Julia complied, albeit with a scowl.

"Alene, I want to ask you something," the Sergeant said softly, as though trying to conceal the conversation "Does something seem kind of off about those Security Committee guards to you?"

"We're in our own house Brian," she reminded him "You don't have to whisper.

Now that you mention it, yes. I was at the store the other day, and I had this SC agent ask me a bunch of stupid questions."

"Like?"

"Like what I was buying, who were my friends, what were my plans for the rest of the day? And this creep had the nerve to follow me through the store!"

"Alene, I think you need to hear this,"

Kemp proceeded to relay the tale of the base closures, Ariel Costa's "warning" and the Floyd Reeve's findings from his visit to Scott and McConnell Air Force bases.

His wife's expression going from mildly interested to noticeably disturbed.

"Did Reeve say what was behind the fence?" she asked

"Kemp shook his head.

"He didn't get a good look at the buildings, but whatever they were, they're important to somebody."

"Well, what's so important that it would be under twenty-four hour guard that you don't know about?"

"I wish I knew Alene, I wish I knew."

"AW CRAP! IT'S THIS LATE ALREADY!" A voice shouted.

Thirty seconds later, a tall, scraggly-haired, tired looking young man bolted down the stairs, backpack in one hand and comb in the other.

"Adam, how many times do I have to tell you, set your alarm?" Mrs. Kemp scolded.

"Sorry, mom. These things you just kind of forget sometimes," answered Adam hurriedly

Scooping some cereal with his hand.

"And use a bowl, we're not animals!"

Ignoring his mother, Adam glanced at his watch.

"Hey dad.... Can I have a lift to school, I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

"Fine," Mr. Kemp answered exasperatedly.

It was times like these that made him think, if he had not witnessed their births, he would have never believed that the ambitious, organized Jeffery and slacking, vulgar Adam were twin brothers.

After about his two weeks of imprisonment, Seth had settled into a routine of sorts:

Be woken up at about four in the morning or so, interrogations usually involving being smacked with the butt of rifles, cut with blades, sprayed with high powered hoses, and just physical abuse in general for a couple of hours

Heavy manual labor digging the trenches (which were without a doubt, mass graves), until about ten at night, and do it all over again. He had developed a morbid, yet effective way for keeping track of the days passed a streak of his blood against one of the cell walls for each day. It was never hard to find a few drops of blood on his body, given the sadistic tendencies of the guards. (He seemed to be one of their favorite targets for abuse, usually just smacking him with their rifle butts.

One stormy night in early March, digging his section of one of the shallow graves, Seth noticed that the southwestern end of the facility yard had nary a sentry in sight. This was not surprising to Seth, as the SC rank and file were in even better spirits when bad weather rolled around. _"Probably off filling their 'trenches.'_ Seth thought bitterly.

"Excuse me, son," said a timid voice.

Seth turned around to find it belonged to a short, fat, balding man, whose imprisonment seemed to have taken quite a toll on him.

"I've somehow managed to get my shovel stuck in the mud, and I don't want them to think I'm slacking off," he said quickly.

Seth grasped the shovel's handle, effortlessly pulled it from the mud (with his right hand, though the burns not as prominent as earlier in the week, his left arm was still sore), and handed it back to its owner.

"Thanks," he said, beginning to dig once again "I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name son."

"Seth Casey," Seth answered hoarsely.

"Thanks for your help Seth," said the man with relief. "I'm Alex Hall. So tell me, what's a young man like you do to get himself locked up in here?"

Realizing that his current situation couldn't't deteriorate any further, Seth told the story of the report with the damning information about the Li's, his friends part in its compilation, the false flag operation involving the Marin County school attack, and his flight and eventual capture by the SC

"That's quite a tale you've got there," said Hall.

"What are you in for?" asked Seth "I was under the impression that the SC just killed anyone who opposed them and they had no use for."

"Well, I was the CEO of a moderately sized oil company in Texas," replied Hall "Of course, Mr. Li and his cronies have no use for any company that they don't run, so here I am."

"Did they get your friends or family?" asked Seth

"No, just me and my boy, Dan," Hall replied, "He may even be in this facility for all I know. And there was one other guy you may know..."

"Who would that be?"

"Henry Bauer."

Seth was slightly startled to hear the name, but was not exactly surprised to hear that the CS had captured him: Henry Baum was the forty-third president of the United States.

"Yeah," Hall said regretfully "Old Henry was a nice enough guy; he just wasn't cut out for Washington however. Fine governor of Texas though. I'm kind of worried about him however,"

"Why so?"

"He was never that good at talking about uncomfortable truths; in this day and age this runs the risk of getting him, well..."

Hall paused right as the fell rain-on-a-tin-roof sound of the guards Fences sounded, and judging by the length of the bursts, at least three more people were sent to their graves in the space of those five seconds.

"Well, that," said Hall grimly "Sure we should be talking about this sort of thing, though?

"Nah, they can't hear us," Seth said calmly. "In case you didn't notice, it is storming out."

Seth's attention turned to the center of the yard some one-hundred and fifty yards away.

It contained a twelve by twenty foot suspended platform about eight feet above the ground.

"What do you think that platform is for anyway," asked Seth

Hall shrugged "Beats me, something tells me we don't want to know."

"What do you think you're doing old man!?," shouted a previously unseen SC guard.

"I was just..." stuttered Hall

"Shut up!" the guard barked before emptying his FNC's magazine into to Hall's chest.

"And you, Casey! Back to work! "

Seth dragged the elderly man's corpse into the ditch and returned to his morbid work.

Granted, Seth found it quite jarring to watch a man he had been conversing with for the past half-hour killed right in front of him, but he was determined not to give the SC any satisfaction in knowing that their brutality was affecting him.

Another thing running though his mind was, what did it mean that Henry Baum wouldn't't stand up for himself?

Henry Baum flipped listlessly flipped through a magazine left in behind in a converted office room. A week ago, he had been apprehended by the Mathir Li's security force for unspecified crimes. _"How does a kid from a prominent family go from being an awful president to this?"_ Baum continued to stare at the ceiling, reflecting on the past fifteen years of his life. A man of about sixty and in excellent health, Henry Baum, however looked as though the past eight years had aged him fifteen.

"Okay Henry, that's enough," said a frustrated voice "We've been here two days and all you've done is mope! No will you tell me what's on your mind already!?"

The voice belonged to William Clerk, Baum's running mate in 2000, and later his Vice President. Heavily balding, bespectacled William Clerk for some reason gave off a more vital aura than his friend.

Baum sighed.

"Look, Bill, it's not important, we're not getting out of this anyway."

"You know, I've been wondering," Clerk said, his voice considerably softer "What prompted the sudden attitude change with you? Ever since about 2004 election, something's been different about you."

"You wouldn't't understand,"

"Try me, I'm listening."

Baum sighed once again, deeper than the last.

"I actually envy you for not understanding, Bill. Not understanding what it's like to have literally tens of millions of your own countrymen hate you so much that they would wish everything from being splashed by a passing car to having your daughters raped and dismembered in front of your eyes. I tried to work with them, listen to them. I really did, and now look what it's gotten us, locked up in a stadium in God-knows-where, waiting to be publicly executed. And the worst part is, everyone who worked with us is dead too.

Because of me."

Clerk could have sworn he saw a tear in one of his eyes

The former Vice President limped over to his friend and patted him on the shoulder.

"Is that what this is all about?" he said, "You feel guilty because of being hated so much?"

"Well they wouldn't't compare me to Hitler without good reason, now would they?"

"Look Henry, you're a good man from a good family. After 9/11, you could have just blamed Elliot Cropper and continued business as usual, but you bombed those sons of bitches in Afghanistan back to the Stone Age,"

"What about Iraq?"

"That will take some time to sort itself out without question, but at least no one's being fed in to meat grinders anymore. If the last eight years have taught me anything, it was that we were in a cold civil war," explained Clerk "And in war, you dehumanize your enemy."

"So this truly was war..." Baum muttered.

"Yep, really war. Listen, a lot of the claims made about you were just... I don't have any word for them; they were just really, really strange. And don't even get me started on this show trial. 'Collaborating with the ZOG,' What the hell is a ZOG anyway?"

The former President cracked a slight smile.

"Look, Henry," continued Clerk "I truly am sorry about what happened to Rose and your girls, no one, especially a father and a husband should have to suffer through that.

But the fact is, by brutalizing then murdering your family, they're trying to break you.

I know it's not easy, hell I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little scared,

But the best thing we can do right now, is go out there with our heads held high."

"You might be right," said Baum "You know the funny thing about this situation?"

"What would that be?" asked Clerk

"It's that I didn't see this coming at all. Those SC fellows supposedly have Mathir Li's approval. I mean, he seemed like a decent enough guy, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but with these things, you never really know."

A few moments later, the door creaked open.

"Ready to die, swine?" said the SC officer, gleeful malice gleaming in his eyes.

His four subordinates proceeded to shackle Baum and Clerk, two guards watching each man. As the party proceeded down the stony corridors, several things caught Henry Baum's attention: the unnatural silence of the ordeal, The stoic, determined look of his friend, and the primordial bloodlust in on the faces of the SC guards, the former president was pretty sure that, if they had permission, He and would have been butchered with his wife and daughters two days ago.

Another interesting the guard's choice of weapon: The Heckler & Koch MP5 was a far cry from the FN2000s their comrades usually possessed. A little over a foot long, the sub-machine gun was apparently designed for close-range engagements, killing fleeing targets was one such example, and judging by the positioning of the CS agent's fingers, it was as though they were hoping he would try and make a run for it.

The roars of the crowd were becoming and the blinding lights of the stadium interior approached with increasing speed, Clerk's face wore a look of resolve, even as he was struggling to keep up with the agents' escalating pace.

Baum only wondered if he could maintain that sort of determination, even though he knew he was going to die.

After about six minutes, Henry Baum, William Clark, and the SC guards emerged into the stadium from the west end. A large twelve by twenty foot platform raised about ten feet in the air stood at the field's center. The general unruliness of the crowd combined with their shouts of "Death to the ZOG!", "Hitler!", "Burn in hell, Chimp!", and various obscenities he had never heard was (almost) literally deafening.

Being led to the platform, Baum noticed the very distinct face (with a rather large nose) of Mathir Li in a box in the eastern stands, looking slightly dismayed. Although his mood seemed to lift at sight of the former president in chains, minutes away from his execution.

As Baum and Clark were led to on to the platform's center, the SC officer produced a QSZ-92 pistol from his holster, pointed it at the former Vice President's neck, and fired two shots, killing him instantly. This act was met with roars joy by the crowd of some eighty thousand. Turning to face the north side of the platform, the four guards and the officer alike put away their weapons, to Ariel Costa in the north box, who then cleared his throat and began to speak:

Henry Wallace Baum! On this day, March eighth, two thousand and nine, you stand accused of all of the following!

One: Directing a conspiracy to steal presidential elections in 2000 and 2004!

Two: Orchestrating the murder of three thousand people on September 11, 2001!

Three: Murdering countless people under the guise of "defending America"

Four: Plotting to turn America into a fascist dictatorship!

Five, and most egregious of all: Collaborating with the Zionist Occupation Government to subvert the will of the people!

How do you plea to these accusations, Mr. Baum?

Baum wasn't exactly sure how to reply to this. For criticism was one thing, but these accusation were laughable (Especially two, four, and five). Obviously, pleas one way or the other would do no good, as their decision was apparently made. What good would appeals do if the gallows were already set up?

Many thoughts swam through the ex-president's head: His sole surviving friend's death just minutes ago, why tens of thousands of his fellow Americans would condone any of

this, but most of all, he thought of his late wife Rose and their two daughters

A feeling of all-encompassing comprehension washed over him, the one thing his friend, wife, and daughters all had in common was that in their final moments, they remained strong: When he returned home that fateful February night, before the "security" forces whisked him away, Baum saw many things: His wedding gift, a Colt Diamondback revolver clutched in her lifeless hand, her shoes stained with the blood of a SC agent, his daughter Jane's corpse with a Winchester Model 1200 and dead operative a yard way, and her sister Tara, clothes torn and her hands awash in the blood of her attempted rapist.

"Well Mr. Baum?" said Costa impatiently "We're waiting for your."

Baum remained silent.

"Send him to meet his 'God' already." Costa sneered.

The two of the sentries led Mr. Baum to the gallows, with each step ascended; the SC agents' grins grew wider.

With the rope placed firmly around his neck, Baum heard the trapdoor fall out from under him. Despite the raucous cheers of the crowd, his executioner later swore Henry Baum wore a smile at his final moment.

VIII

Over the next couple of weeks, the Security Committee agents assigned to Seth's camp were in even better spirits than he had ever seen them. The seemed to take extra pleasure in informing them of the fact that former president Henry Baum was a corpse.

There was no longer any doubt as to what the raised platform in the center of the yard was for, as a gallows now occupied it. As of mid-March, the camp's yard was laden with rocks and their shovels replaced with pickaxes.

One upside to his captivity is that Seth, rather scrawny in his youth, was now probably in the best shape of his life. Seth repeatedly attempted to break the (small boulder-like) rock without much success. He understood that the work served no purpose, but what did they intend to do with all the resulting gravel? he wondered.

The SC sentinel nearest him motioned for Seth, as well as some fifty others around him towards the center of the yard. Not wanting to argue with a man they had seen fire on people for irritating him, Seth and those around him started towards the raised platform.

Seth saw two of the guards dragging a man probably younger than him up onto the makeshift stage, a third placing and holding his head to the ground.

"Come on!," said the young man "I didn't do anything! I was just visiting some relatives in New York, got off the plane, and you guys arrested me!"

"Boo hoo! You should have thought of that before you joined up with the ZOG, hooknose!" said the guard holding down his head.

"Hey do you think he'll shut up if we give him a nickel?" said the second sentry

"I know what will," said the third "Put his mouth on one of the edges."

His friend grinned and moved the prisoner's head about ten inches to the ledge and produced his FN Forty-Nine, held roughly three inches from the slightly confused captive's head.

"All you have to do is bite down on the platform's edge for ten seconds and you're free to go."

The young man complied with this and bit down on the ledge while the third guard sheathed his weapon and grinned malevolently.

The following cracking noise was the most sickening sound Seth had heard in his life. The SC agent had literally stomped with all his might on the back of the man's head, severing his spine at the very top, killing him instantly.

"Back to work, all of you," the guard shouted, kicking his victim's corpse from the platform.

Seth absentmindedly began the walk back to his rock and pickaxe, wanting to vomit from the sight and sound of the young man's death. The SC agent's laughter still ringing in his ears. The "security police", in their attempts to get him to confess to non-existent crimes had done everything from kindly asking him to forcing him to watch men be murdered and their wives raped, but the thing that disturbed him most of all was the sight of the young man's warped, severed spine...

"Absolutely brutal, poor kid," said a man with a New York accent.

"Yeah, who do these bastards think they are, anyway?" Seth said impulsively.

Seth turned around to find that the voice belonged to an elderly, short, thin, bespectacled man.

"So kid, how'd you end up here? I thought people your age didn't care enough to get locked up in a place like this," the man asked.

"My name is Seth," he corrected irritably.

"Sorry, sorry, I should have introduced myself," the New Yorker replied, "I'm Dr. Elijah Damsel,"

"Its fine," Seth replied, "I wouldn't't blame you if you were in an even worse mood."

"No, I'm alright," Amsel said casually "That brings me back to my original question: Why are you here, anyway?"

Seth once again told the tale of how he had come across the forbidden information about the Li family, a feat he was getting quite tired of doing.

"That is interesting," Amsel said finally "You know, I commend you for having the brains to figure even a piece of it out on your own. The young people today, did you notice that the vast majority, without knowing anything about him mind you, went for Li in last year's election?"

"Yeah, I noticed," Seth said bitterly "If you wouldn't't mind telling me Doctor, why did you get thrown in here anyway?"

"Same thing as you, really," Amsel said in a would-be casual voice.

"You mean you got a copy of..."

"Yep,"

After an awed minute's silence, Seth finally spoke:

"So, Ivy and Eric Franklin..."

"Friends of my kids. They spent so much time with us, people sometimes asked if they were my kids as well."

"You know, I'm actually relieved to see a young person in here, it means this country still has a chance,"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you remember? Young people came out in droves to vote for Li."

Shockingly enough to Seth, the doctor effortlessly raised the pickaxe and began to chip away at his rock.

"Listen Seth, you've got to get out of here," he warned "Have you heard the way they talk about you? You know that gallows they're setting up isn't just for show."

Seth thought about this for a second, if he tried to escape, he would almost certainly be shot on sight. And even if he did succeed, the SC would most likely fill the trenches to the brim with corpses.

"But if I leave," Seth said tentatively "Won't they treat everyone here even worse than they already do."

"Look, we'll be fine," Amsel said impatiently "Those of us that survived this long will go on surviving. But these thugs have it in for you. You have a responsibility not only to yourself, but to your friends and family to live!"

These words stuck in Seth's mind thorough the day, inspiring him, yet haunting him as to what treatment the other prisoners would receive.

Seth attempted to purge these thoughts from his mind in vain, as he returned to the menial labor. Disturbingly enough, he swore that he saw vultures out of the corner of his eye, sensing the death to come on an even greater scale.

Albert Holt frightfully inched towards the base commander's room.

Agent Rowe was known to be relatively pleasant to those who followed orders and borderline murderous to those who disobeyed or bungled them.

After several minutes of stalling, Holt lightly rapped the door.

"Enter," said a stern voice.

The fireplace, bookshelves, and three armchairs gave the Agent's room a warmer, classier feeling than the rest of the facility. The facility commander turned his chair to face Holt. Cheng Rowe was a thinning, graying man with a very businesslike air about him.

"Sir, if this is a bad time," stammered Holt "I can come back later."

"Holt, shut up," the senior Agent said finally "Now, what was it that you were on about?"

"As you recall, sir, around a month ago we arrested a Seth Casey. Our orders were very explicit, not to harm his body or mind beyond repair,"

"And what seems to be the problem?"

This question was met with an awkward pause.

"Well he's not talking, at all." said Holt hesitantly "In fact, probably the only talking he does are insults. He seems to expect to be executed if he does tell us anything."

"Is that so," the commander said before rising from his seat.

"The fact of the matter is," Rowe began to explain "This facility is designed to hold the only the most dangerous individuals to this administration. I would assume that there are others here that possess the exact same information as Casey."

"I'm not sure I follow sir," Holt responded.

"It's simple. Casey might have a strong will, but more than a few of our guests would crack under the same pressure. They will talk if he's made an example of.

Holt, inform your subordinates to prepare for an execution two days from now, Casey's execution. Dismissed."

Holt, who had entered the office fearfully, was leaving downright giddy at the prospect of the man who had scarred him for life being killed.

"Ma'am, if there's something you're looking for..." said Holt hesitantly

"Don't," Tabitha Li interrupted coldly "I have to see this for myself."

Holt complied with the order, opening the cell housing the "dangerous" prisoner.

Li advanced on the unconscious Seth in the same manner as a young girl does the shed skin of a snake, her neutral expression morphing into one of twisted satisfaction as she grasped his chin, lowering her face to his.

A few nights later as he returned to his holding cell, Seth once again pondered the moral ramifications of attempting to escape or if it would even be possible to escape from this facility. Suddenly, he heard two unfamiliar voices having a rather gleeful conversation:

"Hear about Baum?"

"Yeah, finally got what he deserved! I hear they botched the hanging so he'd be strangled or die of blood loss to the brain."

"It would have to be strangulation."

"Why's that?"

"Because he didn't have a brain to begin with."

The two guards laughed stupidly. Seth was rather perplexed at why they would take this much pleasure in a politician. He focused once more to pick up their conversation:

"So, how are they offing Casey? Firing squad?"

"Nah, the General wants him made an example of. On the nineteenth, Casey has an appointment with the elevated gallows."

"Dammit, I was hoping they could bring back the guillotine! But I guess beggars can't be choosers."

"Maybe if the pick you to do it, you'll get a promotion."

"No need. Y'know, this is the life isn't it? Spend a few days a month away from home, free college, complete immunity from arrest or prosecution, and all the women you could want."

"Whether they like it or not!"

The pair strode off, laughing their stupid laugh.

After listening to this conversation, Seth felt scared, sick, and angry most of all.

Fearful that he had learned he was two days away from execution, sick at the CS rank and file, and angry because they would get away with all of it. Murder, rape, theft, all excused due to the "fascist menace".

Seth lay so deep in thoughtful anger, that he scarcely noticed the hissing.

"Hey, over here," a voice whispered impatiently, apparently coming from the wall to his left.

Seth moved over to the eastern wall.

"Finally," the voice resumed "I've been trying to get your attention for the past ten minutes, you idiot!"

After thinking it over for a second, Seth realized the voice belonged to Elijah Amsel.

"Wait, if you knew I was here," Seth whispered back "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I just didn't feel like talking," Amsel replied "But that's not important.

Those rat bastards are going to kill you two days from now. Nothing you can do right?"

Seth said nothing.

"Wrong. At the very southwestern corner of the camp, there's a place with no security cameras and a weak section in the fence. About a week ago, I stole one of the SC agent's fence pliers and hid it under some bushes. From about seven to nine at night, the twenty guards assigned to that sector go and get drunk. Use this information however you like."

"But why didn't you escape?"

"Because I'm not as strong as I used to be, but more importantly, there's just something about you. Something that tells me the world needs you on the outside."

Slightly puzzled as to how the elderly doctor could have stolen the tools from a much younger man's belt without being noticed, Seth nonetheless began to review the information mentally. He considered for a second the possibility of a trick, before remembering Amsel hated the SC almost as much as he did.

Questioning the viability of this scheme, Seth still resolved to attempt it.

Retiring to the cot, Seth fell asleep with a sort of apprehensive excitement.

As per usual for the past month, the next morning, Seth was awakened at around four in the morning by the guards, taken to the converted office and subjected to the usual mistreatment, burns now extending to his lower back. Released into the prison yard around sunrise, Seth halfheartedly chipped away at his rock, watching for any of the SC agents. Unusually enough, Seth and about fifteen (nearly all of them slacking off) other guards were the only human beings present for about twenty yards.

Around sundown, with the sun in his eyes, Seth began to scrounge through the bushes for the pliers. Eventually, after about three minutes of blind searching, he eventually located the pliers and pocketed them; silently marveling at how the SC agents stationed in the area did not notice anything unusual.

Darkness set over the facility's yard and the fifteen guards had abandoned their posts for their carousing. Once he had double-checked for their absence, Seth went to work, feeling for the loose fencing. After about five minutes, in the very southwestern corner, Seth found about a yard-long stretch of fence significantly weaker than the remainder.

Seth began to cut at the links. More than a few times, he actually dropped the pliers due to the sweat and blood on his hands.

As the last remnants of light faded from the sky, Seth had cut a hole in the fence some three by two feet. And not a moment too soon either: The loud laughter and reckless discharge of firearms signaled the return of the sentries. Seth crouched into the foliage, concealing himself as much as he could and crawled out through the opening, ignoring the scratches on his arm for the time being.

The urge to rejoice and curse at the top of his lungs at his former captors was overwhelming, but Seth resisted the temptation. The second he emerged from the gap in the fence, Seth got up and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, the branches and wind whipping his face. He half expected to hear the rain-pattering-on-a-tin-roof sound of the FN FNCs, but it didn't come. After about five minutes of frantic dashing, the lights from the facility finally faded into the forest. He had done it; Seth thought he had actually escaped from the Security Committee...

After about another hour of sprinting, hearing no signs of a pursuit, Seth decided to slow his pace. _"This forest is pretty nice,"_ he thought" It _would be nicer if you weren't't still being hunted though,"_ These thoughts prompted him to pick up his previous pace.

Keeping this pace for five more hours left him exhausted, often fighting the temptation to just collapse where he stood. Eventually, the fatigue overtook Seth, and he propped himself against a tree. _"What could it hurt, I'll just close my eyes for a little while,"_ he thought.

Sometime later, Seth awoke to the irritating sensation of being poked with an unusually sharp stick. He halfheartedly swatted at the stick and opened his eyes to find a tall, middle-aged man staring at him concernedly.

"Good, I thought you were a corpse," the man said.

"No, I just have tendency to doze off in strange places," replied Seth.

The man chuckled and helped Seth from the ground.

"Bert Anderson," he introduced "You?"

"Seth Casey."

"So, where am I anyway?" asked Seth

"Okanagan County, Washington," Anderson said proudly "I take it you're not from around here."

"Illinois," Seth answered "More specifically the Chicago area."

"Mind telling me how a big city guy like you ends up all the way out here," Anderson asked, picking up his Mossberg 500 and placing it over his shoulder.

"Sure, if you've got about an hour,"

Seth was quite tired of doing so, but obliged him in relaying the story of his experiences over the past three months.

"What!?" Anderson almost shouted "In America?!"

"If you don't believe me, I understand," Seth replied before pulling his sleeve back to reveal the second-degree burns on his arm

"Who did that?!" Anderson asked half awed, half disgusted.

"The Security Committee,"

"You look like you've had those for a while; you should get to a hospital soon."

"Er... No thanks,"

"Well at least let me take you to the nearest town,"

Seth weighed the potential risks and benefits:

If the town had any more than fifty thousand people, the presence of a fair number of SC agents was almost certain, even if the settlement was smaller, there was still no guarantee that the police there wouldn't't turn him in. But then again, the scarring was awfully conspicuous.

"Sure," Seth said.

"Okay, it's not that far from here," said Anderson.

For a slightly out-of-shape, middle-aged man, Bert Anderson could traverse the woods without much effort, even challenging the younger man to keep up.

When he finally slowed down, they came to a collection of homes.

It took Seth a couple of minutes to realize this was a town.

Something equally foreign to Seth, was that when they reached Anderson's home, the door was unlocked.

"Annette, I'm home!," the older man called, presumably to his wife

"Well, Mr. Hunter, catch anything today," asked a small, brown haired woman.

"Just this guy."

"What's his name?"

"Seth," he said, introducing himself

"Welcome Seth," said Mrs. Anderson "I can't help but wonder. Why did you come here?"

"Annette, I don't think we should..."

"No, its fine," Seth interrupted before giving an abridged description of his plight

"Good Lord, that's awful," Mrs. Anderson said sympathetically before returning with a cold towel, placing it on his arm, much to his relief.

"So, you seem to be kind of down on your luck, anything you need?" Mr. Anderson asked.

Seth was suddenly jerked from the euphoria of the burn relief and remembered the fact that he was still a wanted man. Obviously, staying in the country was even less of an option now.

He was in Washington, so getting to Canada might be an option, if not for the fact that he would be apprehended by the border guards.

"I need a ride to the nearest large town," Seth blurted out "And money for a bus ticket!"

"Okay," said Anderson, one eye on his wife "Bur why those specifically?"

"You don't understand," Seth said impatiently "My being here is putting everybody in this town in horrible danger."

"Okay, come to the truck when you're ready."

"Leave the shotgun with your wife."

"Why the shotgun?"

"Just do it!"

Anderson complied, handing the weapon to his wife, and pocketing a Colt M1911.

For the next few hours, Seth became enraptured by the scenery of northern Washington.

Not even Bert Anderson's bad singing and slightly erratic driving could break his focus.

In fact, if it was an option, Seth probably just would have moved out here.

Four hours later, the pair arrived at the center of a city of considerable size.

"Well, thanks for the lift," said Seth, motioning to open the passenger side door.

"Wait, hold on a second," Anderson said, reaching into his jacket pocket, handing Seth five hundred dollars and a Smith & Wesson Model 629.

"Thanks, but I can't accept this,"

"No, I insist. You'll need these a lot more than I will."

"Thanks, Stay safe."

"Oh, and by the way," Anderson said in a lowered voice, while handing Seth a box of accompanying ammunition "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this, as I'm technically not supposed to have ANY of these guns."

"Don't worry," Seth said before exiting the truck "I'm not as stupid as I look."

Normally, it wasn't a priority for Seth to buy new clothes when reaching a new place, but

A strange man wandering around in rags was going to look very odd.

IX

Wasting no time in proceeding to conceal his appearance, Seth went quickly bought a pair of jeans, a fresh t-shirt, a trench coat, and umbrella. This would not look to strange as it had already started to rain. Only now recognizing his stomach's growling, Seth entered a small restaurant, ordered some food, and took a seat near the back of the establishment.

Seth nearly choked on the bit of hamburger he was eating at the sight of two uniformed SC agents entering the eatery and taking a seat about a yard to his right.

Seth quickly wolfed down the remainder of the burger, rising quickly from the seat.

Under any other circumstance, Seth would not have wasted time finishing off the meal due to his life being in mortal danger, but the only thing he had "eaten" for the past month was watery oatmeal.

Resisting the temptation to end the SC grunts particularly lewd solicitations of the servers with his revolver, Seth paid the bill and exited quickly.

Seth found a motel about an hour away from the eatery.

To his relief, the clerk asked no questions, and simply handed him the key in exchange for the rate.

Seth ascended a flight of stairs and walked another two minutes to find the room he paid for: Little more than an old bedroom and accompanying bathroom, still, it was a vast improvement over the cot. He considered turning on the television to break the eerie silence, but after remembering his current situation and a book he read in high school, decided against it

The showerhead's warm water against Seth's body was, even despite his current predicament was, quite relaxing, as the only "bathing" he had for the past month involved a high-powered hose and being knocked to his feet by said hose. As he had considered a month earlier, he could not keep up this act forever. He would have to get out of the country.

Besides, who would believe him anyway? Plenty of people in the country thought of Mather Li as a god. Not to mention that many would not believe what he and (probably) hundreds of thousands had gone through just because it was so terrible.

Seth's potential plans danced a frantic dance in his mind as he left the shower, closed the blinds, and for good measure, unplugged the television before going to sleep.

Normally, Brian Kemp would not have been this secretive in his visit to an Army facility.

However, the SC agents overseeing the move looked hostile enough, so he gave them a wide berth. Armed with his son Adam's digital camera and several large cups of coffee, the Sergeant Major had driven around Fort Hood, Texas since six that night, around five hours of surveying the forced relocation.

It was exactly as Reeve had described. Armed SC agents supervising the moves of Army personnel and their families and coercing the movers to hurry as well.

Kemp drove to the very center of the base to find it completely devoid of any human life.

He drove several more blocks to also find nothing. Right when he was just about to abandon the search for anything strange, Kemp, out of the corner of his eye saw a large facility, with a length and width of at least four city blocks.

Pretending not to notice the surly-looking guards, Kemp drove another three blocks before parking the rented SUV, gingerly opening and shutting the door. As though walking through a minefield, Kemp attempted to get a better look at the inside of the fence. From what he could gather, the particular building nearest him was a facility to house a large number (most likely a couple thousand) of cheaply.

This interested Kemp greatly, as he had seen all of the base's housing in the past.

Putting aside the temptation to investigate further, he snapped a few pictures of the structure.

Kemp returned to his vehicle and drove to the south side of the massive enclosed area.

The building that caught his attention there was apparently another housing unit, luxurious by no means, but a sharp contrast from the cell-like appearance of the previous facility. As per the procedure he had established, he took several more photographs.

The enclosure's west and southwest were almost entirely bare, much to the Sergeant Major's surprise.

Kemp left his vehicle to observe the barren, desert-like field, devoid of any matter, save for a few small boulders and sand. At first glance, this enclosure appeared to be a mining camp, but soon discounted this as, he had never heard of a mining camp with no occupants and under armed guard twenty-four hours a day.

" _Than what is this place,"_ he wondered.

In an attempt to contact the facility's occupants, (if any) Kemp rattled the fencing for a good minute and a half.

"HEY! I HEARD SOMETHING COMING FROM THE SOUTHWEST SIDE!"

Shouted a voice amplified to five times its normal volume

Evidently, disturbing the gate was not one of Kemp's better ideas, as three minutes later; it was met with revving engines and the pattering of boots on the desert floor.

Kemp began to sprint for his vehicle some ten yards away, periodically looking back to try to catch a glimpse of his pursuers. Upon reaching it, he attempted to undo the lock, neither his sweaty hands nor adrenaline helped in this.

Right as Kemp hastily climbed into the vehicle, the distinctive failing engine sound of the Kalashnikov series of rifles rang out behind him, combined with the clanging of colliding metal. One particular sentence from Reeve's email came to mind:

" _These guys had an AK of sorts,"_

Before the hired guns could reload their rifles or tail him, Kemp speed off as fast as the SUV would take him, safety procedures are damned. Once the one of the base came into sight, the assailants desisted in their wild pursuit of the Sergeant Major.

Something was extremely wrong, Kemp thought. The members of the PMC had gone so far as to fire on him (with every intention of killing him, it appeared) for approaching some mysterious facility. However, unlike Reeve, he had photographic evidence of something amiss. As for the car, well it was a rental, he thought with a slight grin.

Seth awoke before even a hint of light was among the sky.

Showering and dressing quickly and silently as possible before (possibly unnecessarily) cleaning the room to remove any hint of his presence.

Seth had a good two hours before his bus was to leave, so he took advantage of the lack of activity at four in the morning to enjoy the sights of the town and relaxing breakfast later.

The bus station was almost as empty as the as the surrounding district, save for a very nervous looking older man and his half-asleep wife. When the bus did arrive, Seth quickly boarded and took a seat at the back. Apparently, the red carpet and dim lighting were supposed to relax the passengers, and that it did combined with the vehicle's soft movements. However, given his current predicament, Seth often had to wake himself up.

Four hours later, the skyline of a large port city came into focus.

That very skyline, (including one very, tall, needle-like building) combined with the Pacific coastline, made the city quite attractive.

Disembarking from the bus about half an hour later, to his horror, at least twenty SC agents, all armed were stationed at various points throughout the station.

Shuffling into a large crowd of people just to his left, Seth struggled to keep in the middle of it as they walked towards the exit. Miraculously, none of the federal agents investigated any of the crowd's members.

What did he expect? Going into a large without expecting to run into his enemy was an error in and of itself. If he stayed outside a crowd for too long, one of the SC agents was sure to spot him. As no one in said crowd seemed to notice (or care) about Seth's presence, he decided to stick with them for a while.

The gaggle eventually came upon a rather large movie theater.

Separating from the group, Seth bought several tickets for several shows, ignoring the bewildered stares of the clerk. He took his tickets and separated from the group.

In the very crowded (not a federal agent in sight thankfully) lobby, Seth scanned the room, before moving to the southwest corner of the lobby, scanning it for a few more minutes, slipping into the nearby show.

Something told Seth that this was not supposed to be that good a movie, as the auditorium was emptier than the bus by which he arrived in the city.

The previews reverberated throughout the room, yet despite the onscreen action, Seth still found himself quite tired. The hypnotic combination of a lighted screen in a dark, empty room did nothing to help either.

"Sir, what's the worst that could happen?" Albert Holt asked his superior, one eye on the sky "I mean, it wasn't technically your fault."

"You're right, it's yours" Rowe snapped back "If you had controlled your men better, Casey wouldn't't have escaped."

"With all due respect, sir, what could I have really done?"

His commanding officer said nothing, his eyes glued to the sky as well.

The men's full attention suddenly shifted to the southwest to the CH-47 Chinook approaching the facility and landing two hundred yards from them.

Mrs. Li disembarked from the helicopter flanked by three guards.

These particularly Security Committee agents possessed, in addition to an even surlier than usual demeanor, a white stripe down the left side of their uniforms and FN SCAR Mark 16s.

When she approached, Holt gave the cross-chest salute, and to his bewilderment, Rowe just gave her an acknowledging look.

"Madame... I can explain," Holt stammered, flustered by his superior's lack of respect

"No need, I just assume you got kicked in the head, because you're making even less sense than usual," Mrs. Li said coldly, not seeming vexed by Rowe's lack of respect.

"Ma'am, about Casey... Entirely my fault," continued Holt.

"You're right," Mrs. Li replied flatly "It is."

The clicking sound of the 6P9 echoing throughout the forest, it seemed as though all went silent at the fell sound.

"Pretty nice shot, Tabitha," said Rowe stepping over his Holt's corpse.

Mrs. Li scoffed, "Just because my father married your mother, doesn't't mean we're actually siblings."

"Fine, Fine."

"So regarding Casey," said Rowe "I'll send some of my best men out to capture him."

"Not capture, kill," his half-sister corrected.

"Tab- er... Ma'am are you sure about that? Because every previous order stated-"

"Are there or are there not people in this exact facility who allegedly possess the exact same knowledge as him?"

"That is true,"

"Than Casey is expendable," explained Mrs. Li, before smirking maliciously "Besides, I think it would send the right message to the other... guests here were Casey to return in a body bag."

Perhaps it was due to the sheer size of the cinema, but for roughly nine hours, Seth had remained undisturbed in his seat at the very northeastern corner.

An extremely tired Seth made his way from the theater into the lobby.

Noticing the lobby was next to deserted, he strode into outside the theatre.

Just outside the theatre, to Seth's horror just across the street stood a SC agent, conversing with his subordinate next to a black van. Taking a large step into a shadowy corner of the theater's exterior, he scanned the area for a possible escape route.

The second the two federal agents turned to marvel at something, Seth bolted for some nearby trees, emerging several yards later and continuing at this frantic pace, dashing down several more blocks before turning right, periodically checking over his shoulder.

Seth checked behind him once again, this time the black van seemed to be tailing him, albeit slowly, as though its driver was waiting for him to do something stupid.

"Taxi!," Seth impulsively called into traffic, heart beating rapidly

Several seconds later, a cab pulled up to the sidewalk, Seth climbed in quickly, once there checking the back window for the van.

"Where to?," grunted the driver

"I don't know, anywhere," said Seth, handing him his last fifty dollars.

Seth disembarked from the cab at what appeared to be an industrial facility, yet one with a particularly sinister feel to it.

Heart still pounding, he kept one hand in his coat pocket on the revolver.

Eyes darting about, Seth began to move from the relative safety of the shadow of one cargo container to the next.

A fair ways into the area, Seth realized that this industrial park was actually a port.

Attempting to rest, Seth's heart began pounding against his chest once again for no apparent reason. Reflexively, he ducked as the rain-on-a-tin-roof sound of the FN FNC's rang out throughout the harbor. Seth's heart beat even faster, apparently the SC agents HAD seen through his disguise.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Seth dropped all pretense of stealth and darted carelessly away from the pattering of their rifles, fruitlessly attempting to navigate the literal maze of cargo containers. Failing to put one foot one the ground, tripped and caught himself.

Seth bought himself to his feet and tried to continue his flight, but his attempts to run resume running were met with a stinging pain in his ankle.

Beginning to drag himself forward, Seth inched towards the edge of the crate, instinctively moving towards the inside of the crate at the sound of a burst of FNC rounds. The gunshots seemed to be accompanied by a strange, jovial voice:

"Oh, come on!" the rifle's owner complained before firing off several more rounds. "We're not going to hurt you! Just kill you!"

A gut feeling told Seth that this particular SC agent was slightly drunk.

His ankle flaring up again, Seth's hair stood on end. If he couldn't't run from this situation, what could he do? It was doubtful that even a drunken federal agent would actually admit that his team's mission was to end Seth's life. But given their previous treatment of him, it would not have surprised him.

Suddenly, through the noise of a large city a night, Seth isolated the sound of the operative removing the magazine. As though possessed, Seth dove from behind the cargo container, removed the revolver from his pocket, pulled the hammer back and opened fire on the agent, three of the rounds hitting him in the arm, two in the chest, and one in the neck. Adrenaline coursing through him like a particularly powerful drug, Seth considered taking the now-deceased agent's FNC and finishing off his comrades, but after assessing the situation and remembering his disadvantage, decided against it.

Tension still thick in the air, Seth spotted a freighter some fifty yards away and sprinted for it, injured ankle notwithstanding. After running about thirty-five of those yards,

Seth heard the angered orders of the SC officer:

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! HE'S RIGHT THERE, SHOOT HIM!"

Seth broke into a sort of crouching, zigzagging run, the rounds above him striking the nearby ship's hull, before turning behind a nearby crate.

"Did we get him?," asked one of the grunts.

"Of course not you, moron!," growled the officer "You two, go check behind that crate!"

"Yes sir."

" _Congratulations, you idiot,"_ Seth thought. But realistically, there was next to no chance of Seth leaving this situation alive. Surely, they would have noticed their deceased friend by now. _"Unless..."_

Seth began to sidle along the massive crate until he was within half a meter of its edge, reloading the revolver while doing so. Reaching into his pocket, Seth threw one of the rounds in the shadow of the crate to his right. Apparently, the two underlings had noticed the cartridge hitting the ground:

"Hey what was that?"

"It sounded like something hitting the ground. It's probably nothing."

"I don't like it."

"Fine. You go left, I'll go right."

Seth inched into the large container's shadow, pulling the 629's hammer back and breathing silently as possible. He then spotted the cowardly agent turn the corner, oblivious to the fugitive's presence. Morbidly amused at the turn of events, Seth took his chance and fired two revolver rounds into the man's head, killing him instantly.

Seth then took the FN FNC off the agent's corpse, crouched down and peppered the other agent's general area with bursts of gunfire. Said operative now presumably dead if his lack of return fire was any indication.

Grasping the scavenged rifle in his right hand, Seth began to run for the ships boarding ramp, for the time being ignoring the officer's curses and firing on him.

Upon reaching the ship's deck, Seth ducked behind the hull's wall for cover from the enraged SC officer. Hands covered in sweat, (and a little blood) Seth felt around the rifle in an attempt to familiarize himself with it. The second the commander halted to reload, Seth rose from his position, his fallen enemy's rifle spitting a continuous stream of lead-ridden death at the officer. Shocked at his capacity for brutality, relieved at his survival, and feeling something of vindicated at the sight of the thugs' (officer included) corpses. At the sound of footsteps ascending stairs, Seth reflexively tossed the rifle into the sea and turned into the door to his right, closing it quietly behind him.

From the stairwell, Seth could hear the occupants of the freighter conversing in some unknown language, presumably wondering about the firefight that had just transpired.

It was a strange feeling: Seth was quite glad that he had ended the lives of four members of an organization that had made his and so many others lives' hell, on the other hand, he had just taken four human lives in a something of underhanded manner.

Weighing his options, Seth was certain that staying anywhere that had an extradition treaty with the United States was a death sentence, and if the boat's occupants noticed him trespassing, there was a good chance that they would turn him over to the local authorities, in effect, sending him right back into the grasp the Security Committee.

Not wanting to be around when they figured out that he was stowing away, Seth descended further into the hold.

When Seth reached the hold itself, he found a massive, dimly lit room that smelled of some alcoholic beverage. From the myriad of crates lining the hold floor, he gathered that this cargo freighter shipped goods of some sort. What exactly said goods were, he didn't really want to know.

Near the very back of the room, Seth found an open crate filled with a plush substance.

Not surprisingly, he had developed a healthy skepticism of anything conveniently located.

However, even a box full of coats of rat hair would be an improvement over the stone-like cot or the forest floor. He climbed into the crate regardless, noticing the sensation was much like sleeping on a bed made of pillows.

For the about the next week, Seth occupied himself by listening to the ship's occupants drunkenly laughing and arguing with each other in the mystery (He was fairly certain by now that it was Eastern European) language. Another pastime of his became searching through the crates: He found everything from a replacement for his damaged watch, various scriptures that he skimmed uninterestedly, and even a crate filled to the brim with what looked like the skins of some rare animal.

On his second day, when he stretched out in the crate, Seth bumped the back of his head against what appeared to be a larger crate. Upon further inspection, this crate turned out to be someone's refrigerator, (an indication that the sailors spent a considerable amount of time down here) containing copious amounts of liquor, water, and various soups.

Reminding himself that this ship did not belong to the Security Committee, Seth took a bottle of water and a sort of meat soup and drank them both down quickly. Aside from sleeping and sifting through the crates, there was little else to do down in the hold.

He had taken up running (which he was quite good at already) in place in order to tire himself out as well as keep his edge.

On the (according to Seth's new watch) eighth day, the chatter and ruckus from the levels above the hold halted. No music, shouting, or shattering objects.

Halfway expecting some horrible disease to have wiped out the entire crew, Seth loaded his revolver and pulled back the hammer, and began to ascend the stairs to the deck.

At the very door he had entered the hull a little more than a week ago, still nothing.

Seth pulled back the door to find the deck just as devoid of life as the rest of the ship.

X

Seth scanned the horizon for any familiar sights: He was certain that this was not the port city with the container maze, as this one was far larger and more active even at night.

Making sure that he was truly alone on the ship, as quietly as possible, Seth stepped off the loading ramp.

The thing that Seth first noticed about the city was the grim atmosphere: Many of the buildings seemed to be in disrepair, the relative cold did little to improve that image.

After walking westward for about half an hour, cold catching up to him, Seth walked into the next public building he passed.

The bar seemed even more depressing than the city itself: Tobacco smoke hung in the air, two steely-faced men were playing a card game in the corner, several bottles of liquor on the table, and four sailors in the opposite corner seemed to be arguing about something.

Wondering why he seemed to gravitate towards bars, (yet never drank) Seth took a seat at the counter next to a semi-conscious sailor.

"Feeling alright?" said the bartender in a British accent.

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Seth "By the way, where am I anyway?"

The bartender chuckled slightly, "Why you're in Primorsky Krai, Russia. Vladivostok to be precise."

Seth felt as though he had been doused with a bucket of cold water.

He was in a foreign country with an extremely difficult language, had his wallet but no money, and probably a bounty out for him.

"What brings you here?" the bartender asked casually "Most of my regulars are the seafaring kind."

Seth said nothing for about half a minute before finally speaking: "I think the better question is why you're here in Russia"

"Long story. It's fine if you don't want to talk. Anything you could tell me would pale in comparison to the tales I've heard here."

Not wanting to press the issue any further, Seth rose from the stool.

"Well, thanks anyway,"

Upon his exit, Seth began to loiter outside the bar and absentmindedly gaze at the stars.

Apparently, he had gotten what he had wished for: An escape from the Mather Li and his secret police, in Russia interestingly enough. But the fact remained that he had literally no money and the only things of value he possessed were a watch and a Smith and Wesson Model 629, the latter he wasn't even sure was legal to carry here.

Did Russia even offer visas for victims of political persecutions?

Wouldn't' an American man who speaks no Russian attempting to sell a firearm arouse suspicion?

An angry voice shouted something at Seth in Russian. Turning around, he realized it was one of the sailors from the bar. Of course, Seth didn't speak a word of their language, but the fact that the drunken man and his four friends possessed between them: a chain, pipe, and two knives made their intentions clear enough.

Hand on the revolver and ready to draw, Seth reflexively crouched as down the sound of rapid gunfire rang out, the intoxicated seaman dropping dead in front of him and his friends scattering before another one of their number was cut down.

"You alright," asked a Russian accented voice

"Yeah, thanks," Seth answered.

A woman emerged from the shadows about three yards from the northeast of Seth.

Red hair down to her back and sparkling green eyes, Seth felt as though a goddess had saved his life. Strangely enough, she seemed to be comfortable in a black jumpsuit.

"Don't you know this area is dangerous?"

"Now anyway,"

"Well, thanks for saving me Miss...,"

The woman gave a slight giggle before speaking: "So formal. I am Ursula Romanov Filipe. You however, may call me Ursula," she said in her playful, sultry voice.

"Well, I'm Seth Casey. You can call me Seth," he introduced.

"Ha ha, I like you, Seth," Ursula said "But that being said, we should get out of here.

I was just about to go to the airport. Do you need a lift?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Okay then. I parked about a kilometer away. You don't mind walking, do you?"

"Not at all."

Seth felt a twinge of guilt at the fact that, while this beautiful woman had saved his life, his eyes tended throughout their conversation, to gravitate towards her breasts.

He had a similar problem in trailing her, as his eyes were drawn to her behind.

In the end, he just decided to walk alongside her.

When they finally reached Ursula's car, Seth was a little surprised at the modern, sleek, silvery look to it. Most of the cars he had seen in Russia seemed to have originated from the eighties. When they did enter the automobile, Seth was not really shocked by Ursula placing the Ots-02 Kippers in her handbag. He was more intrigued by the clean, solid black of the interior.

"So Seth, do you mind telling me what brings you out here?" asked Ursula

Seth had become understandably tired of repeating the tale of his experiences over the past month. But Ursula had saved his life, so he obliged her.

"Oh, God... That's awful," Ursula, said sadly "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"No, its fine," Seth replied, "I'm alive, aren't't I?"

"I suppose that's one way to look at it. How did something like this even happen in America?"

"I wish I knew. However, something tells me I don't really want to know."

Seth was quite surprised at the aggressive, reckless tendencies of the drivers:

Quite often, he saw motorists speeding and cutting each other off.

Even more surprising to him was the fact that Ursula seemed to have no problems with their disregard for the other drivers.

He felt a great deal of relief when Ursula returned the car to the rental agency. Seth wasn't that concerned that at the notion of walking through a strange city and riding an uncomfortable bus at night anymore, as they were both armed.

At the airport itself, Seth informed Ursula of the fact that he had literally no money

"Don't worry about it," she said coolly.

When the pair approached the ticket counter, Ursula strode up to the booth:

" _Dva bilyeta dlya myenya i moyego drooga,"_

The ticket master looked at Ursula with a terrified gaze befitting of the Devil's wife:

" _Pochyemoo konyechno mem!,"_ he replied before handing her the two tickets with astonishing speed.

Ursula continued:

" _Kak dolgo ya tyebya?"_

" _Pochyemoo voobshshye nichyego nye miss! Doomaytye o nyem, kak podarok!"_

Naturally, Seth didn't get a word of this conversation, but the man did seem to be quite relived at the transaction's speed.

"How did you...?" asked Seth, mouth slightly agape.

"Not important," Ursula answered "Besides, our flight leaves at midnight, that's half an hour from now."

The Vladivostok International Airport had a much more modern feel to it than its namesake city. However, the foot traffic in the airport was just as crowded as the road traffic in the city itself. Seth sometimes had trouble keeping track of Ursula, who wasn't exactly easy to miss.

When the pair boarded the plane itself, Seth's expectations for an aging, 70's aircraft were quickly demolished. On the contrary, it was comparable to most American commercial jets. Seth instinctively took a window seat in the center of the rows, Ursula taking the neighboring seat.

"So, have you flown before?" Ursula asked

"A few times," Seth answered "Truth is, I wasn't expecting it to be this nice."

"Ha ha, you'd be surprised. Eighties leftovers in this country aren't't as prevalent as you might think."

"No, I believe you. Its just I had always pictured Russia as a dark, grim sort of place."

"Sometimes, and sometimes not."

After close to an hour of chatter in various (Russian, Ukrainian, and, Chinese most common) languages from the many other passengers, Seth felt as though an invisible giants hand was pushing him forward as the engine roared. After another minute, he felt the sensation of becoming lighter as the plane rose from the earth.

Seth would have been watching the in-flight movie, save for the fact that the movie itself was in Russian, and the subtitles Mandarin. Turning to a magazine in the pocket on the seat in front of him, he flipped through it for a minute or two before putting it away.

He didn't see it as worth it to bother Ursula requesting a translation, who was doing some sort of number puzzle indecipherable to Seth.

The past couple of months had been literally miraculous in terms of his survival:

He had escaped certain death in the Security Committee camp, defeated four SC operatives with just a revolver to start with, and last, (but certainly not least) this goddess next to him had driven off five drunken sailors. But probably the most satisfying this was that Mathir Li, his wife, and his secret police couldn't't touch him now.

"What...do...you...mean...he...escaped," Mahathir Li said, his normally deep, kind voice quivering with rage, his wife in the corner looking at the courier with a sadistic smirk.

"Sir...," the CS messenger stuttered "It is only around six, if this is a bad time..."

"OF COURSE IT'S A BAD TIME!" Li roared "WITH THIS INFORMATION, ANYTIME IS A BAD TIME YOU GODDAMN MORON!"

"But Mr. President, he's just one man... What can he really do?"

The leader exhaled exaggeratedly:

"Okay, tell the networks to cancel everything, I want to make a speech at eight this morning."

"Yes, sir..."

After the messenger almost ran out of the room, Mrs. Li was almost in tears of laughter:

"Well, that was amusing,"

"Shut up."

Considerably calmed down, Mathir Li attempted to smooth any remaining creases in his suit. He wasn't exactly sure why he reacted so badly to the news of Casey's escape.

What was he worried about anyway? Who were the people going to believe: The President of the United States or some cowardly lunatic who fled the country?

"Sir, you're on in ten seconds," the intern informed.

At the seven-second mark, Li cleared his throat, took a drink of water and prepared to speak:

Citizens of the United States of America. I regret to inform you that a brutal fascist named Seth Casey escaped from federal custody earlier this week.

This demented man murdered four brave Security Committee agents before disappearing without a trace. He is a threat to our friends, families, and our very way of life.

Casey has no conscience or morals; he is a sociopath, a person who can take countless lives than laugh about it later. Casey is extremely dangerous, if you should see him; do not attempt to apprehend him yourself.

How a young man like him could be warped so by the ideology of the fascists is a testament to how pervasive their poison is in our society. Schools, churches, synagogues, and many financial institutions throughout this great nation of ours.

I implore you, if you witness any fascist or fascist-sympathizing activity; please report it to the proper authorities.

There are millions of individuals out there just as Casey who would love to destroy the very principles this nation was founded upon. America, all we have to do to defeat the fascists is to communicate to them that their message has no place in America, or any civilized nation. Thank you.

Ida Sokolof sat in her hotel room, analyzing every word of Li's speech.

Regardless or not if the description of Casey was true, taking down four SC agents on his own would indicate an unusual combat prowess. And nowhere in the speech did the "President" mention that he had served in the military.

" _I think he just might work,"_ she thought before reaching for the prepaid cellular phone.

"Hello, yes I saw the speech. Apparently, he took down four of them in the space of a few minutes. Is ability like that even possible to just inherit? If it is, I hear that some people aren't't going with the SC quietly...

Yes, my husband is Russian... Very good, I look forward to working with you again,"

"Seth, Seth, wake up," Ursula said shaking him awake.

"What's wrong," Seth answered sleepily.

"Nothing, I just thought this would interest you. Look out the window."

Seth turned to face the window: His eyes were met with rolling green plains, and rivers cutting through them. It was as though God had made the land his masterpiece, taking millions of years to carefully carved each field, plain, and peak

"Just thought you might be interested," Ursula said softly.

Forty-five minutes later, the aircraft began to descend, and along with it, the horrible sensation of being pushed downward. Seth actually found himself regretting the fact that the flight was not a little longer, not least due to the amazing scenery.

Their flight getting in at about three that afternoon, for some reason, the passengers were not allowed to leave the plane for another half hour. While she said nothing, Seth got the impression that this irked Ursula.

When they reached the terminal, Seth was surprised to find that Domdeodovo International Airport was larger and even exceeded the quality of some of the airports he had seen in America: Restaurants, stores, and hundreds of thousands people conversing in countless languages. He almost tempted to remain behind and watch the crowds before

Remembering that Ursula would be even harder to find if he lost her than in Vladivostok.

Keeping track of his companion in a crowd would not have normally been this difficult:

Seth was about two inches taller than her and bright red hair is not exactly hard to miss, even in a crowd. However, this was complicated by Seth's focus on the airport and the crowd itself.

After another hour of (unintentional) wandering, Seth located an exit leading to an enormous parking lot, easily one of the largest he had seen, made even more intimidating by the fact that darkness began to creep over the sky.

Right before he decided on a direction to search, a sleek, modern-looking black car pulled in front of him.

"I was worried you had forgotten about me," Ursula said, rising from the driver's seat

"I could never forget you," Seth answered "You've done too much for me."

"You're too kind, Come on, get in."

Seth found Vladivostok grim and lethargic: Moscow however, possessed neither of those qualities. The people chattering, going about their business and generally enjoying life, the majestic buildings ancient and contemporary, and the city's atmosphere meshed together to create a city unlike anything he had ever seen. Not even the erratic driving of the other motorists could dampen this evening.

Seth noticed that Ursula seemed to be more at home on the Moscow streets more than anywhere: Deftly, she weaved from lane to lane, cutting other motorists off and just barely passing traffic lights before they turned red as though it was a kind of frantic dance.

A little more than an hour after leaving the airport, Ursula pulled up to fairly large, well-kept house in what Seth assumed to be a relatively upscale area.

Seth followed Ursula to the doorstep, him still gazing absentmindedly at the nearby forests.

"Dad, I'm home!" she called and walked in, Seth shortly following.

Designed in a classical, 1800's style with many fine works of art, Seth assumed the Filipov family to be very wealthy. A thin, bald, bespectacled man of about sixty entered the living room:

"You must be Seth, yes?" he asked, extending his hand "My daughter tells me you have had quite a trip."

"Yes, and it's been a very strange one," Seth answered shaking his considerably smaller man's hand.

"I almost forgot," Ursula's father said quickly "My name is Nikolai Filipov, if there's anything I can do..."

"No thanks, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Seth let me show you around," Ursula interjected, Seth getting the impression that she was anxious to end this conversation.

The tour taking the better part of a half hour, Ursula was apparently fond of the art gallery.

"I really like this gallery," Seth said "How long did all this take to collect?"

"Oh only about a hundred years," Ursula replied casually "My great-grandfather actually started this collection."

"How do you collect an art gallery, anyway? This place must have rarer pieces than most museums."

"Have a ton of money and be willing to associate with certain people."

"What kind of people?

"You'll know them when you see them,"

The reality of being in a strange country with literally no money suddenly returned to Seth's consciousness:

"Ursula, do you know where I could find a job," he asked tentatively.

Ursula looked at the floor as though she was wondering about something

"Well, you could become a-" Ursula said in an impulsive sort of way "Ignore that.

You're a relatively patient man, right?"

"I think so," Seth answered tentatively

"I would suggest teaching English."

Seth had never considered becoming a teacher before. He imagined the difficulty would be compounded by the fact that he did not speak a word of Russian.

"Why don't you teach English then? You speak it well already."

Ursula laughed at this suggestion:

For two reasons, she began to explain "One: I am not that patient, two: My current occupation pays far better,"

"Yeah, I guess your job would pay pretty well if you can afford that car," Seth said "By the way, what is your job anyway?"

Ursula gave Seth the look a deer gives to an oncoming train.

"Don't worry about being certified," she told him quickly "I'll figure something out,"

"Well thanks. Do you want me to make something for din-"

"Hold on," Ursula told him, picking up her ringing cell phone:

" _Chto vi hotitye, Lesya!?,"_ an irritated Ursula spat into the phone

Apparently, Lesya said something that put lifted Ursula's spirits considerably

" _Intyeryesniy. Dazhye Kalashnikova syerii?"_ Ursula inquired

Her mischievous grin widened at the next response.

" _Yevropa i Avstraliya, a?"_

Ursula chuckled slightly at the other speaker's words.

" _Horoshiy. Skol'ko raz ya dolzhyen rasskazat' vam nye pozvonit' mnye na etot nomyer? Yesli vi zvonitye mnye na moyem mobil'nom tyelyefonye snova, ya vi bloodno na nyekotorih oolits v Kiyevye."_ Ursula scolded before hanging up.

"What was that about?" Seth asked with a bewildered look.

"Nothing, just work stuff," Ursula replied briskly "Oh and don't worry about certifications, I'll take care of it.

Ursula's tone made Seth somewhat curious at this statement. Through the assorted Russian, he could distinctly make out the phrases "Europa" and "Kalashnikova".

How these were related, he had no clue.

"Well, I think I had better get going," Seth said "Jobs don't come to you after all."

"Hey, Seth," Ursula said softly "Before you go take, these,"

Reaching into a drawer she removed from it an MP-412 Rex revolver and a collection of Russian ruble notes totaling equivalent to about fifty thousand US dollars.

"Thanks, but I can't accept this," Seth said, aghast at the sheer number of notes

"You need both the gun and the money more than I do," Ursula told him "And don't worry about the fact that the former is technically illegal here."

Reaching into her handbag, Ursula gave Seth two boxes of .357 Magnum rounds.

Leaving the Filpov family's home, Seth located a bus station a short ways away, which arrived some ten minutes later.

Well-maintained and comparable to many in the west, the sleek, silvery interior of the bus

gave it an interesting feeling. Sensing a sort of ill mood from the its twenty or so passengers, Seth took a seat near the back next to a man who appeared to be half-asleep.

As his fellow passengers left one by one, Seth noticed that the neighborhoods passed became progressively seedier. The most recent two appearing downright dangerous. About fifty minutes or so into the drive, being alone on the bus, (save for the driver)

Seth began to load the Rex revolver. Heeding Ursula's warning about its illegality, he made sure to load the weapon quietly and away from the driver's mirror-augmented line of sight.

Five minutes later, the bus came to a screeching halt, the heavyset driver stomping to the rear of the bus. Seth could not help but wonder if he had seen the firearm, but he found himself slightly worried that he might get the police involved.

The driver began to shout at Seth in Russian

"What did I do?" Seth asked

This question bought more angered Russian.

"I was just sitting here!"

The volume of the unintelligible tirade increased, before the driver motioned for Seth to leave.

All too happy to avoid several hours of this, Seth exited the bus, sneering at the driver all the while.

Finding himself in a dilapidated industrial area, Seth's heart began to race:

Perhaps it was the imposing figures of the large industrial buildings, the area's relative lack of lights, the (few) people out at this hour's even surlier demeanor, or a combination of the three, but something was just not right with this district.

Praying he would not have to test it, Seth pulled back the MP-412's hammer and placed one pocketed hand on its handle.

Seth's heartbeat had begun to slow down slightly.

He had gone six blocks without an encounter with any hostile human being, or any person for that matter. Passing several storefront contributed to the fall in tension.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seth observed an (apparently) drunk man harassing another person leaving one of the stores before knocking the briefcase from the other's hand.
As the man was bending down to collect the case's contents, Seth noticed the drunk had brandished a knife and began to advance. Reflexively, Seth pulled back his revolver's hammer: Before he could warn the man, Seth found the barrel in front of him, the cylinders empty, and the drunk dead.

Disregarding for the time being the fact that he had most likely alerted someone to the presence of an illegal weapon, Seth rushed across the street and began helping the man collect his papers.

"Are you okay,?" Seth asked the man, gathering a few of the loose papers

"Thank you," the man replied in his slightly French-accented voice "I don't think

My employers wouldn't't have looked too kindly on me harming a Russian citizen."

Looking at him, Seth wasn't particularly surprised the drunk had chosen this particular victim to harass: Spectacled, short brownish-blonde hair, thin, and shorter than Seth by about five inches. Seth was fairly certain the only reason he had such a light accent was that he seldom used his voice.

"Wait, how did you even end up in this district, anyway?" Seth asked while gathering the last of the papers.

"The fact is," the man said, looking at his feet "I got lost. I'm supposed to be in the central part of the city. Do you know how to get there?"

"Oh, sure. There's a metro station near here. I'm pretty sure there are no signs in English, but you might be able to use the maps."

"Well you've saved both my life and my job," said the small man sorting his papers

Thank you..."

"Seth,"

"Thank you, Seth. My name is Geoffrey."

Geoffrey glanced at his watch and broke into a run for the metro station.

Sidetracked by the sheer awkwardness of the conversation, Seth suddenly remembered that he had, deservingly or not, killed a man with a firearm. Taking off the trench coat and embalming the drunk's corpse, Seth placed the bundle in a large, nearby garbage container, and began to walk at an unusually fast pace.

After another hour of attempting to find vacant housing, Seth became so sick of industrial buildings and parks that he just began randomly knocking on doors in an attempt to find someone that spoke English.

In front of a particularly dilapidated apartment complex, Seth spotted an old, fat man apparently about to lock up for the night.

"Wait!," Seth called before running to the door "Are there any vacancies here?"

The old man said nothing and went back to checking the mail.

"I need a room,"

No response, save for placing the letters in a nearby trash bin.

"Look," Seth said, tone noticeably harsher "I need an apartment here. How much to rent one."

"You have money?" he said at last.

"I wouldn't't be asking if I didn't," Seth said irritably

The older man rubbed his chin: "Eighteen thousand rubles per night.

You pay at end week,"

Getting the distinct impression that he was somehow being ripped off, Seth agreed to the terms. and was handed the key in exchange.

"Down hall, first room on left," the old proprietor informed him.

Heading down the (dark) hallway, following the directions, Seth located the first door on the left

His suspicions that he was receiving a bad deal were apparently valid:

The "apartment" was seemingly a (small) bedroom, kitchen, and living room condensed into one medium-sized room, the only other space being a sliver of a bathroom (which somehow contained a shower) near the kitchen area.

Relieved for the day to finally be over, Seth dropped onto the bed and fell asleep within a few minutes.

Seth was woken around seven the next morning by a rapping at the door.

Dragging himself to it, he was met by an Ursula who seemed quite pleased with herself.

"These papers will be all you need," she informed "If you're asked for teaching qualifications, just present these."

"Thanks," Seth said sleepily "How did you get these so quickly anyway?"

"Not important."

"Well, I would offer to show you around, except there is nothing,"

Seth said goodbye to Ursula and set out to seek work.

While not finding any employment in a given field, he did (for some reason) go grocery shopping and purchase cheap clothing.

Around three that afternoon on the metro, Seth began to scan the newspaper in hopes that someone was searching for an English teacher.

"Excuse me," a short, heavyset man said in a quick voice "You are looking for teaching, employment, yes?"

"Yes..." Seth answered hesitantly.

"Andry Kaminski," he introduced "You help me master English, I pay you 3,600 rubles per hour."

"Wait, why do you need me? Your English is fine."

"Master, not learn."

"Alright."

Perfect!" Kaminski exclaimed before scribbling something on a scrap of paper.

"Meet me at this restaurant, two hours, five for teaching"

The word "frustrating" was an understatement as to how Seth's first tutoring session went. Either Kaminski was about as intelligent as a pile of rocks or his student was intentionally disregarding his information. After five days, Seth was wondering if his subject's English proficiency had actually decreased.

"I think I have learned much today," Kaminski said proudly after a period of English study, gathering his belongings.

"Oh, yeah, You're doing great," Seth lied before finishing off a type of meat pie.

Aside from his salary, perhaps the only positive thing stemming from the past five days was the fact that Seth had grown quite fond of the restaurant's Caucasian cuisine.

Relieved at Kaminski's departure, Seth failed to notice a tall, thin, cautious-looking man several tables over, who quickly took the dim student's chair before scanning the area.

"Are you Casey?" he said in a low voice

"And if I said yes?" Seth asked, (more so than most people) wary of enigmatic strangers.

"It's urgent that I speak with him,"

"Fine. I'm Casey. Now what's so important?"

The stranger placed his hand near his mouth as though to whisper:  
"What would you say if I told you that you could legally make a good deal of money by retrieving something?" he said

"I would say: 'What's the catch?'" Seth replied

"None, no catch," The strange man quietly, while sliding a business card across the table.

"Simply call this number for your instructions. The only condition is that you have to do so within the next week."

"Well, I certainly will think about it," Seth answered, half truthfully.

"Either way, it's your choice," he said in a low voice, before exiting the restaurant.

On the way back to the apartment, Seth pondered the strange encounter.

How many people really get approached by mysterious men in restaurants offering work?

Was this just a get-rich-quick scheme, designed to rob him of what little he had?

A threat to retrieve some artifact from some crime syndicate?

An elaborate prank, which took itself far too seriously?

On the other hand, the prospect of another week of tutoring Kaminski in English, led Seth to seriously consider the stranger's offer

When he reached the apartment, collecting a notebook and pen, Seth removed the business card from his pocket, exhaled deeply and dialed the number.

Armed with pen and paper, Seth found an altered voice on the other end of the line beginning to speak:

If your name is not Seth Casey, hang up now and forget this number exists.

If it is, remain on the line.

Your mission is to collect a red file from a stronghold in Uzbekistan's Karakum Desert

This file is not easy to miss, as it is located on the compound's second floor office on the building's south side.

To reach your destination, Go to the Uzbekistani town of Kogon and follow the road southwest. After about an hour on said road, you should find the fortress.

_If the occupants do find you trespassing, they will open fire. For this task, it is essential that you bring at least one long gun and one handgun. However, for someone with your background, evasion and some light combat should pose no problem. Today is March 31_ st _, head for the compound on the April 14_ th _._

The final and most important thing: Do not, I repeat do not divulge the information of this operation to any American nationals. Upon the task's completion, return to the restaurant where you tutored the Ukrainian man in English to receive your payment.

Apparently, this was a legitimate offer. Seth however, was more bewildered at how whoever was behind this had heard of his escape from his country. Was it possible this individual was attempting to lure him into a trap, only to deport him back to the United States? Trying with all his might to push the possibility of this employment being a Coventusschutz sting operation from his mind, Seth eventually drifted off to sleep.

Heart pounding against his chest, Seth jerked himself awake, vivid dreams involving agonized shrieking and the sound of rainstorms against a tin roof still fresh in his mind.

" _It couldn't't be_ ," he thought, eyes darting around the room, half-expecting to be surrounded by black-clad federal agents.

Cautiously climbing into the shower, Seth felt the cold water across his skin washing away the tension in the air. After a shower and an hour of failing to fall back asleep, Seth switched on the television in an attempt to drown the dreams in strange Russian programming.

XI

The previous night's terror now lost in a three-hour deluge of incomprehensible early morning Russian television programs. Seth dressed (including the concealed revolver) and set out for the city's center. Exiting the metro station and noticing the shimmering blue of the Moskva River, Seth began to wonder if it was possible to find a tour of some kind.

Without much success asking about the river, Seth almost gave up in his pursuit before noticing a small, spectacled, tired-looking man accompanied by an androgynous-looking woman in better spirits.

"Geoffrey!" Seth called, prompting the Frenchman and his companion closer.

"Oh, Seth. How have you been?" Geoffrey asked.

"Hm, so this is Seth," his companion inquired in a light, strangely familiar accent.

"Sorry," Geoffrey said "Seth, this is Alison,"

Alison's short hair and (in comparison to Geoffrey) larger build led initially led Seth to, at a longer distance, believe she was a man.

"So, Seth, this guy tells me you saved his life the other day," Alison said curiously

"Yeah, it was nothing," Seth said honestly "I just did what anybody would have."

"You'd be surprised," Alison replied, sounding unconvinced "I've known some real cowards. Back in school, I knew this guy who would actually scream if you gave him a pen."

An awkward silence followed this statement, as though Seth and Geoffrey were attempting to figure out how a person acquires a phobia of writing utensils.

"Just wondering but," Seth said at last "What relationship do you and Geoffrey have anyway? Are you his girlfriend, or something?"

Geoffrey jerked his head in the opposite direction, staring at a building as a hearty laugh escaped from Alison.

"Let's just say none of the guys I've met so far have been exactly my type," she said, still looking very amused at Seth's question. "Sorry, but that includes you too."

Geoffrey and Alison proceeded on their way and a bewildered Seth was left wondering if one of her hobbies was starting awkward conversations as he made his way back to his closet-like apartment and turned on the television.

After an hour, Seth responded to a knock at the door to find Ursula, today wearing a strange, green jumpsuit

"Mind if I come in?" she asked

"Of course not," Seth said "But it's more closet than apartment."

"Oh, you're right," Ursula said looking around the room, apparently awed that someone could live in this enclosed space before settling on the couch.

"I told you it was more like a closet."

"Just out of curiosity," Ursula asked airily, with a sheet of scrap paper "What connection do you have to Uzbekistan?"

Seeing no harm in it, Seth explained the Kaminsky's apparent disdain for his instruction and, stranger's offer to Ursula, who remained silent all the while.

"I know it sounds suspicious," explained Seth "But you try teaching that man English for even a few hours and this will seem better!"

"No, it's legitimate," Ursula said, rising from the chair. "Just come with me."

Seth complied, following Ursula to the sleek, black car:

Ursula driving more cautiously, as though preoccupied with something, Seth noticed that their destination was not the Filipov residence, but rather a heavily forested area in the general area.

Bringing the car to a halt, Ursula looked around as though expecting some horrible beast.

"Follow me," she whispered to Seth as they exited the vehicle.

Wondering as to how this was related to Uzbek criminals, Seth nonetheless followed Ursula into the forest. Still quick on her feet, even in the brush, Seth had quite a time keeping up with his friend. The fact that he was just tall enough so that a good number of branches flew in his face did not help either.

The pattering of her boots against the forest floor ceasing, Seth found Ursula in a large clearing in the woods, unlocking a container.

"What," Ursula said, sounding surprised "You didn't think you were going to sneak into some outlaws' compound without any actual training, did you?"

"Er...Thanks?" Seth answered tentatively "But why me specifically?"

"Like I said Seth, I like you and I want you to survive," she said firmly, setting up several man-sized targets. "And that is why, for the next two weeks, you will eat, sleep, and breathe war."

At this point, Seth began to suspect that Ursula was an arms dealer of sorts:

The assortment of handguns, rifles, and a few shotguns in an almost deserted area reinforced that suspicion in his mind a great deal. Most likely, she possessed even larger caches of weapons than this one.

"By the way, you'll need these," Ursula told him before presenting him with pairs of goggles and earmuffs "Seriously, put these on. Also, only point your weapon at something you're willing to destroy."

From a previously unnoticed pocket, Ursula drew a CZ-99 pistol:

"Well, let's begin;" she said energetically

Ursula fired two rounds into the target nearest (about ten yards) her, two to the chest and one to the forehead.

"A round to most areas of the body, your enemy will survive," Ursula explained "This is why if you're forced to use a handgun, you should aim for the chest and head.

You try it now,"

Visualizing the nearest target as a Security Committee agent frozen in place, Seth smiled as he placed two rounds into the mark's lungs and forehead, just above the eyes.

"That was great!" Ursula exclaimed "You must have had a good deal of practice."

"You could say that," he replied innocently

"By the way Seth, about the side arm, I would stick with the revolver."

"Why? I only have six rounds?"

"Because semi-auto handguns will sometimes screw you over by jamming."

Ursula put away the pistol, walked over to a case and returned with two rifles: An AK-47 and an AKM, handing Seth the former.

The weight from the rifle (Ten pounds was almost nothing to him) did not bother Seth:

He was more concerned with the fact that the weapon looked as though it was constructed of sixteen inches of scrap metal and half of an old bookshelf.

Ursula loaded a magazine into the AKM and turned to face one of the human-shaped targets about seventy-five yards away. A sound similar to a dozen simultaneously failing engines rang out through the woods as she fired the rifle. The magazine depleted, she tossed the weapon aside and removed a pair of binoculars from a bag.

"Damn it," she muttered "Thirteen out of thirty rounds connected... I've done worse.

You try."

Attempting to replicate the mindset of that night in the harbor, Seth loaded a magazine into the AK-47. Facing another target some eighty yards away, he opened fire on his mark. The recoil being more noticeable than the FN FNC, it actually threw him a little off balance. Ursula however, watched in awe:

"That was a forty round magazine!," she exclaimed "Twenty-three of them hit the target! How did you do that?! In automatic mode!"

Seth shrugged: "I'm not sure really," he replied

"By the way," Ursula said flatly "You were gripping the magazine as you fired.

If you do that, you risk the magazine coming lose."

Apparently, his stance and hold on the magazine irked Ursula a great deal:

So much that they spent the next four hours drilling into Seth's mind that that when firing any assault rifle, one grasps the forend as opposed to the magazine.

Also, she took issue with his stance:

"When firing any long arm, lean forward!" Ursula instructed.

Seth had no problems getting used to the orders: In fact, the only word he could use to describe the stance and grip was "natural".

By about seven that evening, Ursula seemed rather pleased by Seth's progress with the rifle. Pleased, yet slightly bewildered:

"And you're sure you've never shot one of these before?" she asked doubtfully.

"Not a Kalashnikov, anyway." Seth answered "My dad had a couple of similar rifles and took me shooting with him sometimes."

"Really, what kind of guns were they?"

"If I'm remembering correctly, an AR-15 and an FAL."

"So, what did you think of the AK?" Ursula asked putting away the rifles.

"I liked it," Seth said "I'd rather not have deal with the recoil, however."

Ursula's expression suddenly perked up before walking towards a case and returning with a different weapon.

"Try this one," she said handing Seth the weapon.

The AK-74 was cosmetically similar to the 47, save for the facts that this particular weapon's wooden stock, receiver and forend seemed to be of better quality and the weapon itself was slightly longer and lighter than it's predecessor.

"By the way it uses the 5.45 round," Ursula explained, handing him a larger black, waffle-patterned magazine.

Upon testing it, Seth found that he greatly preferred this rifle to the AK-47, as it was lighter, easier to maneuver, and lacked some of the 47's recoil.

"Remember," Ursula told him while returning the weapons to their cases "Abusing the fully automatic mode is a good way to waste a lot of ammunition. All right! I think were done for the day.

"This might be tougher than I thought," Seth said, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Oh, believe me," Ursula said grinning slightly "You haven't seen anything yet."

Ursula's warning proved to be apt: For the next thirteen days, Seth's routine consisted of being woken at dawn, several mile runs through the woods with a backpack filled to the brim with junk and hours more of firearm training. By far, Seth had the easiest time with the weapons instructions: Disassembling then reassembling the weapon, reverting to the proper stance for semi and full-automatic modes, and identifying the different 5.45mm magazines all became increasingly instinctive to him. By now, he had even begun to subconsciously count the number of rounds discharged.

By the evening of April 13th , Ursula wore the look of a particularly joyful teacher at a prodigy's graduation:

"Well I have to say. I didn't think you would get this good so quickly," she said, casing the last of the weapons "You're going to be just fine."

"Thanks," Seth answered with a slight grin "But if it wasn't for you, I'd have fled the country by now."

"I would have said half of that ability was your's," Ursula said, motioning Seth into her car. "Besides, I've recently gotten some information on these guys, they're not that dangerous."

"Are you sure?," asked Seth incredulously "The fact that they're heavily armed seems to say differently."

"Trust me Seth, these particular criminals aren't't that smart."

Pulling up in front of Seth's building, Ursula scanned the area and lowered her voice:

"Listen closely Seth," she whispered "I'll send someone to get you a couple of hours before your flight leaves. Once you get into Tashkent, wait outside the airport, another messenger will give you a very large, heavy suitcase. This suitcase will a contain backpack with the following: An AK-74 and five thirty and three forty-five round magazines, a Saiga 12 shotgun with three additional magazines, hearing and vision protection, some armor, and a machete. DO NOT open the suitcase in any densely populated area. Get some sort of transportation to wherever you're going in the desert.

Understand?"

"Yeah, I got it," Seth answered tentatively

"Good luck,"

As Ursula sped off, Seth went over the directions repeatedly in his mind.

Upon reaching the apartment, he jotted down the Ursula's lengthy instructions and began to study them.

An odd sort of feeling consumed Seth as he lied in the bed. The sensation could best be described as a combination of anticipation and apprehension. Not so much frightened by the fact that he, at this time tomorrow, would be fighting for his life, (on the contrary, the idea actually excited him slightly) but at the prospect that something in this delicate (and likely illegal) operation might go wrong.

Banishing this particular concern from his mind, Seth switched off the light and resigned himself to an anticipatory slumber, wondering precisely what the nation of Uzbekistan looked like.

Aldous Mohren ran his hand through his hair, reviewing reports of suspected "fascist" activities. Apparently, keeping in touch with the right people (especially the Li's) had it's benefits: He had gone almost overnight from a reputable (yet questionable) Detroit lawyer, to the Attorney General of the United States. Of course, it was only reasonable that he repay his old friends with the testimony that a paramilitary organization was not only a good (and legal) idea, but also essential to the nation's security.

Moorhen had to stifle a fit of laughter whenever the name Seth Casey appeared in his documents. Countless "news" stories about the "psychopath" and his "fascist" connections and some "revelations" about him being behind the school massacre in Marin County had made the name "Casey" an even worse adjective than Hitler among Americans. According to "scientific" surveys, Americans believed Casey even more loathsome than Aleser Ibn Zaman, who ordered 9/11 or Shahid Alyabyev, the man who organized the Beslan incident in Russia.

" _If things keep going this well,"_ he thought _"Those promotions are mine!"_

Seth was woken at about four by hard, repeated rapping on the door.

Taking a quick shower and dressing, he was surprised to find that Ursula's messenger was a very tired-looking Alison in a black leather jacket.

"Alison!," Seth said in a shocked tone," What are you doing here?!"

The courier took a sip of her coffee: "Stop worrying," she said calmly "Ursula told me everything. And even if I was American, I wouldn't't have said anything."

"Thanks,"

"So, are you ready to go?"

"Just a second,"

Returning to the bedside table, Seth unloaded the MP-412 and pocketed it and several rounds for the weapon before yawning loudly:

"Yeah, I'm ready," he said.

"So how do you know Ursula anyway," Seth asked Alison, his eyes watching the area as they approached the parking lot.

"Oh, she's just an old friend," Alison replied smiling slightly "An amazing woman, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she is." Seth said "By the way, how did she learn English so well anyway? Half the people I've met in this city can barely form a sentence in it."

"We went to school together in Montreal."

Near the edge of the parking lot, the pair came across a smaller, dark blue car.

Upon entering it, Seth was not so much surprised at the fact that Geoffrey was driving, as opposed to the fact that he was more awake than both him and Alison.

"Well I'm not sure how to say this," Geoffrey said "But good luck and don't die."

Seth not exactly sure how to respond to this statement, remained silent.

"So, do you mind telling us how you got into this in the first place?" Alison asked sleepily.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Seth answered warily.

"I'm sure the story of an American who ends up taking mercenary work in the former Soviet Union would be interesting, " Geoffrey urged "How bad could it be anyway?"

Still not too keen on doing so, Seth spent the remainder of the drive explaining his ordeal in the United States to them. By he had finished the tale; the little car had the air of a graveyard about it.

The three remained silent throughout the trip's remainder, Seth feeling slightly guilty for making tense mood even worse.

When the group pulled in front of the airport, Alison turned to face Seth.

"Okay, listen." Alison said in a brisk tone, quite unlike her calm voice "Be outside the airport exactly half an hour after your flight arrives, Understand?"

"Yes, I went over this with Ursula," Seth answered dully.

"Good," Alison said with a light smile before handing him a book "Some reading for your flight."

As Alison and Geoffrey drove away, Seth realized that her "gift" was a Russian-English phrasebook.

Glancing at his watch, Seth was shocked to learn that he had some twenty minutes left before his plane departed. Seth began weaving through the crowds as though they were a sort of living maze, ignoring the wafting smell of the various restaurants.

Apparently, he reached the gate just before it was to be closed, continuing his hurried pace into the plane itself.

Taking his seat near the back of the aircraft, Seth shortly found the plane rising from the earth, leaving the city below resembling an extremely messy child's playroom.

He managed to read the first fifteen pages of the phrasebook before dozing off.

About three hours later, Seth was awoken by the sun glaring in his face and a man in the seat in front of him chattering loudly in some strange language. The fact that his surroundings were significantly quieter indicated that he had arrived at the airport.

Reluctantly, Seth lifted himself from the seat and dragged himself in to the crowd.

Tashkent International Airport lacked hurried atmosphere of Moscow's Domodedovo:

Without the hurried crowds, multilingual babble, and general frenzy, in comparison, this airport seemed nearly deserted to Seth, a fact that he was fine with.

Appearing in the arrival hall via (strangely enough) bus and eager to appreciate the airport's relative space and the restaurants, the reason he was even in this city came back to him. Grudgingly, Seth headed for the main terminal, the smells of the meals still eating at his nostrils.

The green and accompanying sunlight surrounding the airport's main terminal gave it a far more natural feel than Domodedovo's very modern (yet artificial) terminal. Half wishing he could have lingered, Seth took the Russian-English phrasebook and began to read from it in an attempt to memorize at least one page.

Slightly pacing, Seth failed to notice a man walking in his general direction, resulting in the two colliding:

"Sorry about that," Seth said, returning the man's briefcase to him.

"Not a problem," he replied in a Russian accent.

Possessing large, gray eyes and Geoffrey's height, he half expected this man to be related to the Frenchman.

As though summoned by his mental questions, Geoffrey emerged from the airport with a large suitcase before removing his glasses, wiping them off, and replacing them.

"That man was..." he muttered in a slightly fearful tone.

"Who?" Seth asked.

"Never mind. It's not important,"

"You wouldn't't by any chance be the man with the suitcase, would you Geoffrey?"

With some difficulty, Geoffrey lifted the suitcase nearer to Seth before examining the area:

"Okay, I know you don't need me to remind you," Geoffrey said softly "But do not open this suitcase in the city."

"I know, I know," Seth whispered irritably "It contains the weapons, right?"

"Exactly. Now I'm pretty sure these are illegal enough, but you're not technically supposed to be here without a visa, as you're not a Russian citizen."

"I'm not technically supposed to be in Russia either. What's your point?"

From his pocket, Geoffrey produced a large collection of banknotes, handing them to Seth.

"All I'm saying is," Geoffrey said innocently "Is that bribes offered with _soms_ will look less suspicious than ones with rubles."

"No, you're probably right,

Surveying the area for any witness to the transaction, Seth and Geoffrey parted ways; Seth made his way to an area of heavier traffic.

Attempting to hail a taxi while neither speaking a word of Russian or Uzbek was an interesting (if not frustrating) experience. Although, Seth's driver seemed to comprehend the phrase: "bus station" and a large collection of grey som notes.

Not even the taxi driver's heavy smoking could spoil the view of Tashkent:

A very clean city with modern buildings, infrastructure, and considerable foliage. Seth found himself wondering why it did not seem as vibrant as Moscow.

Disembarking at the bus station shortly after, a slightly confused Seth made his way for the ticket office, taking a place in line behind about nine other people.

Eyes wandering, Seth barely noticed the fact that after a few minutes, he and an old man were the only ones left in the line. Collecting his ticket with a considerable amount of difficulty, a few minutes later, Seth boarded an old, run down, and crowded bus, taking a seat near the front. Most likely, a foreign man on a bus with an extremely large suitcase would have raised some eyebrows; however, his fellow passengers seemed too caught up in their (strangely vivid) conversations.

Attempting to drown out the noise from the bus and its passengers, Seth shut his eyes as tight possible, hoping to doze off. After about ten minutes, the general racket seemed to intensify. Realizing any attempt to sleep was an exercise in futility; Seth removed the Russian phrasebook from one of the suitcase compartments and began to study it.

The one upside to the maddening seven-hour bus ride was that Seth, during that time gained command the Cyrillic alphabet and a fair number of Russian phrases.

When the bus finally did pull into the station in a somewhat older, grim looking town, Seth, despite his massive piece of luggage, was the first off it.

Anxious to get the mission over with, Seth walked into the station's restroom, locking the door behind him and finally opened the suitcase. Aside from the weapons, it contained heavy, light brown colored pants, a matching shirt considerably lighter in weight, a heavy, armor-like vest with plates for the torso and back, and a pair of thick, sleek goggles.

Seth changed into the shirt and pants before locking the suitcase and exiting the bathroom.

The locals, reasonably wary of silent, foreign men, were initially unhelpful to Seth, especially with such a strange request as driving out into the desert, he eventually found an older couple who agreed (after some convincing in broken Russian) to his request.

Climbing into the back seat (with suitcase) of their gray, compact car, Seth passed the husband a large collection of som notes for their trouble.

The Karakum desert lived up to Seth's expectations as a barren, sterile wasteland.

Granted, some creatures can live in the desert, but he didn't really see why living thing with a choice would choose this one, as the only thing for countless meters was sand, road, and the occasional (solitary) motorist.

After about an hour on the road, a large, prison-like structure came into view roughly a mile and a half away.

The man's wife muttered something to him in Uzbek and he sped up slightly.

Seth flipped through the phrasebook, anxious not too get to far away from his destination:

" _Ostanovityes' zdyes',"_ Seth requested.

The man gave his wife a confused look, yet halted the vehicle.

" _Spasiba,"_ Seth thanked, exiting the vehicle.

Making sure the road was completely devoid of motorists; Seth opened the suitcase, placing the rifle plates underneath his shirt before slipping on the goggles, earplugs, and placing the machete sheath on his left thigh.

The backpack contained within the suitcase possessed three sleeves on the rear for long arms and several pockets on the sides, presumably for storing spare magazines.

Seth slid the Saiga 12 into the backpack's middle sleeve and the three corresponding magazines in the right pocket.

Reviewing the AK-74 magazines before placing them in the left pocket, Seth noticed a pattern in the fact that the 30-round magazines were colored black, as their 45-round counterparts had similar coloring, however possessing ribbed markings.

Seth loaded one of the 30-round magazines into the weapon, removed a bottle of water from the knapsack, took a drink, and set out for the compound, leaving behind the suitcase.

A barbed wire fence surrounded the facility itself. Seth had considered entering through the front gate, deciding against it realizing the windows near it.

Oddly enough, the rear entrance lacked the sentry positions, leading him to enter through the north side and the nearby entrance to the compound.

Entering the cavernous, prison-like building itself, Seth found himself facing down a corridor, with one to his left and right. Detecting the blaring of a television and chattering in Uzbek, he raised the AK-74 to chest level. Remembering Ursula's warning about fully automatic fire, Seth switched the weapon's selector switch to the bottom position, setting it to semi-automatic mode.

At the end of the parallel left-right, corridors stood two stairwells:

Cautious that his ascension would be heard even through the occupants' recreation time, Seth opted for the stairwell to his left, away from the ruckus, emerging in on the upper floor, finding himself facing a wall.

AK still raised, Seth found that this floor was divided into two large rooms, (probably barracks) a large hallway separating them and a smaller room at the end. Realizing that a six-foot tall man would be quite an easy target in this situation, Seth sidled the left wall, moving slowly to the other end of the room.

Reaching the door on the opposite side, he was surprised to find that it was unlocked.

Maintaining the rest of the compound's Spartan appearance, the room contained a desk, bed, bookshelves, and three file cabinets with four drawers each.

No red file on the desk, Seth began to rummage through the leftmost cabinet to find nothing, the same result coming of his search of the middle and rightmost case.

Seeing something protruding from behind the file cabinets, Seth locked the room's door and inched the file cabinet away from the wall, praying the scrapes against the floor wouldn't't bring attention to his presence.

Inspecting the red file, Seth found it to contain a series of odd letters he had never seen.

As he placed the file in his knapsack and unlocking the door, Seth's heart nearly leapt from into his throat at the sound of Uzbek shouting and three pairs of feet ascending the stairwell. Instinctively cycling the selector switch to the middle position, Seth unleashed a continuous stream of lead at the chest of the man raising the AKM before maneuvering the weapon's barrel at his companions to strike them down.

Cursing the fact that he had now alerted the fortress's inhabitants to his presence, Seth moved behind a nearby wall and loaded another magazine into his weapon.

Breaking into a crouching run, Seth heard the clanking of three pairs boots ascending the metal stairwell. In a daring gambit, he ran to the zenith of the stairs and opened fire on the rising assailants, killing two of them and wounding the other.

Moving from the casualty's line of sight and potential fire, Seth sheathed the AK-74 in favor of the Saiga 12. Loading a magazine into the chamber, his eyes darted around the corridor as he descended the staircase.

Heading for the doorway, Seth was confronted by a fat man, bellowing into the kitchen and brandishing a large knife. Reflexively, Seth unloaded two rounds into the chef, the ear shattering booming of the shotgun echoing throughout the cavernous fortress.

Striking down two more of his enemies emerging from the kitchen, Seth slipped to the outside of the compound and cut down two more enemies, feeling grateful that this wasn't a pump-action shotgun. Fiends still hunting him, Seth swapped the shotgun for the AK-74 and made for the gate, laying down suppressive fire at his pursuers while doing so.

Reloading the AK, Seth returned their fire as he fled, cutting down three more of their number.

Heart still pounding and breathing heavily, Seth realized that, after about fifteen minutes, as he had reached the road, the enemies had abandoned their chase.

" _Not as hard as I thought it'd be,"_ Seth thought.

His stomach suddenly sank:

What if someone had noticed the engagement? He thought.

Was it at all possible that these particular criminals had friends that would pursue Seth for this slight against their allies?

A compound like this was suspicious. Was it possible that his enemies had some sort of connection to the Uzbek government?

And even if he did manage to get back to civilization, he would not just be able to wear a backpack loaded with weapons.

Increasingly concerned about his seemingly desperate situation, he failed to notice a black SUV approaching and the window rolling down:

"I knew you'd be all right," Ursula said with a self-assured grin.

"Are you sure?," Geoffrey said, craning his neck nearer "Because I'm sure I heard Ursula worrying quite a bit about you."

Ursula shot Geoffrey a "shut up" sort of look.

"Throw the bag in the back," she ordered.

Seth gladly complied and climbed into the back seat to find Alison with a first aid kit and a bottle of liquor.

"So, are you hurt,?" Alison asked brightly

"Would you be disappointed if I told you I wasn't?" Seth replied "I didn't get hit by any bullets and it wasn't that hot out."

"Of course not, you sure?"

Seth seized the liquor bottle and took one large gulp from it.

"Yeah, I'm fine now, just hungry," Seth said.

Though the seemingly endless expanses of sand and road were quite maddening during the daytime, with twilight creeping over the desert sky, Seth began to appreciate how nice the wasteland could actually be at times, those very characteristics the desert endearing.

XII

The group reached Tashkent International Airport around eight that night.

To Seth's surprise, the airport staff accepted a suitcase (containing the weapons knapsack) identical to the one he took with him, quickly averting their gaze when Ursula passed. After a hastily eaten meal, (as per Seth's request) the four made their way to the terminal, Seth, Geoffrey, and Alison still not quite used to the buses.

Taking the four seats in the very rear of the aircraft, at Alison's insistence, Seth passed on the story in a slightly elevated whisper, sparing no details of the engagement.

"What was it like," asked Alison "I mean killing a person?"

Seth reached over to her tray and downed her glass of vodka.

"Really, you don't think about it much," he answered, replacing the empty glass "The adrenaline's just too high."

"I want to know one thing," Geoffrey said quietly, as if not to involve the hundred other passengers "How did they not notice you earlier?"

Seth shrugged "I'm not sure," he said "Ursula did say that they weren't't that smart."

Arriving at Domodedovo, still the bustling hub it always was, between Geoffrey's meek personality and aversion to crowds, and Ursula's striding gait, Seth had a bit of trouble keeping the group together. By the time they had reached Ursula's car and the (empty) restaurant, it was well past ten.

Spotting the tall, suspicious looking man in the corner, Seth proceeded for it, his Ursula

"You bring file?" the stranger muttered.

"Here it is," Seth said placing it on the table, "I don't see why you would want it, but I did fight a good number of them to get it,"

"Good, good. Be back here tomorrow morning, ten."

"If you say so," Seth replied unsurely, before turning to leave.

"I almost forgot," the stranger said, taking a briefcase from under the table and presenting it to Seth "Your payment."

When his friends had dropped him off at his apartment complex, Seth was astonished to find that his payment consisted of about five hundred thousand dollars, not so much surprised by the amount, but by the fact that his employer had paid him in American dollars.

His employer either ran a counterfeiting operation, was very rich, or wanted to see him fight very badly. After locking his door and drifting into bed, Seth began to ponder what he would put his newfound salary towards. He knew that it did not involve staying in this apartment, however.

XII

To most, the rolling plains and green forests of Unesic, Croatia would serve as serene, inviting environment. However, Ida Sokolof had recently become quite paranoid, this feeling not helped by the fact that her employer insisted on operating at night.

Pulling up to a small, old house near the edge of a particularly dense forest, out of habit, Sokolof locked the car door before walking to the doorstep and ringing the bell repeatedly, anxious to evade the wolves' howling.

Thirty seconds later, a particularly tired looking Jenifer Cropper wearing a blue robe answered the door, cane clutched in one hand.

"You only have to ring the damn thing once," the former Congresswoman said irritably, motioning Sokolof in.

With its faux stone wallpaper, plush red carpeting reminiscent of the fur of a large animal, and the one floor lamp, this particular living room reminded Sokolof of an old castle.

"So, what did you find out,?" Cropper asked, putting aside her cane and lowering herself into a dark blue armchair.

"Well about an hour ago," Sokolof began to report "I got off the phone with Kolya."

"And," Cropper said, normally harsh voice drenched with anticipation.

"He told me that Casey got the file, and engaged a quite a few of them without much trouble or injury,"

With some difficulty, Cropper scratched her chin.

"What's wrong? Sokolof asked "I thought that was a good thing?"

"No it is. Another test is necessary though.

"What kind of test?"

The ex-Senator smiled mischievously at her employee:

"What is the situation in Chechnya?" she asked

"One of the, if not the most heavily mined area in the world," Sokolof began "It's been stabilized in recent years, but heavy violence could erupt at any time."

"Good, call your husband, have him sent there."

"Senator, do you want this man to survive? I mean, I would rather take a stroll through the streets of Bagdad then Grozny."

"We need to see if he's the real deal or not, whether Uzbekistan was a fluke, or his own skill. Besides, we both have the same enemy; of course I want him to survive."

Perhaps due to gratitude at finally being finished with Uzbekistan, or a morbid curiosity at what death-defying feat the stranger wanted him to perform now, Seth woke at around six the next morning. Showering, eating breakfast quickly, and finally figuring out what to do with this windfall, Seth collected the revolver and briefcase before heading for the landlord's apartment.

"You leaving," he said sleepily

"It was nice doing business with you," Seth said untruthfully, handing several thousand dollars' worth ruble notes and walking away.

Very glad to be rid of the swindling old landlord, after twenty or so minutes on the metro, Seth found himself in a very clean, modern-looking area.

Agnessa, the elderly landlady of the nearby apartment complex was quite helpful to Seth, despite her broken English

"How long will you be renting?" she asked

"About a month or two," Seth said tentatively "How much would that be?"

"Eighteen thousand upfront, and three thousand, five hundred rubles per week,"

Realizing this was a far better deal, Seth handed her his remaining ruble notes in exchange for a key.

"Go to second floor and take left," The proprietor instructed "Then first door on right."

Following the stairs upward, Seth found the complex's hallways matched the interior with their clean look. He found the solid white of the carpet and walls to be nice touches as well. Following the instructions (Follow the first hallway left and the first door on the right) and unlocking the assigned door, Seth was greeted by a three-room (kitchen, living rooms, and bedroom) apartment of modern, urban design:

The large living room, wide windows with a good view of the city below, the light blue bedroom walls and the pristine (somewhat metallic looking) bathrooms, made the value even better.

Unpacking about five thousand dollars from the suitcase, Seth decided he would need something to (temporarily) furnish the apartment.

A ten-minute bus ride bought him to the nearby metro station.

After a few more minutes of asking around, Seth had decided on a destination.

After about twenty minutes, the train screeched to a halt

Exiting the station Seth found his aim: an enormous mall, the facility itself nearly dwarfing its parking lot. A slightly mischievous grin spread across Seth's face.

Irresponsible it might have been, but he did have tens of thousands of dollars to spare.

As he returned to his apartment, Seth was surprised at how little he had actually spent given the circumstances. His purchases consisted of a cellular phone, a laptop, a digital watch, two pairs of thick, brown boots, and three pairs of multi-pocketed pants with a camouflage pattern. Reaching to scratch the stubble on his jaw, an unintentional glimpse at his watch revealed it a quarter past nine.

About five minutes after ten, a very flushed looking Seth made his way into the cozy, dimly lit Caucasian restaurant and made his way over to the stranger, looking even more worried than usual. As Seth sat down

The stranger spent the next thirty seconds eyeing the room: "You showed up," he said "I thought you had forgotten."

"Well I didn't," Seth replied breathily "What did you need, anyway?"

"Seth, have you ever heard of Chechnya?"

"It sort of sounds slightly familiar, but I assume it's very difficult to get into."

The unknown man's eyes searched the room again, with emphasis on the doors.

"You would be right," the stranger conceded "But I need you to go there."

"To get another file, right?" Seth said sarcastically

"As I said, getting into region is easy part."

Seth felt as though several small children had decided his intestines were playthings.

"What's the hard part?" Seth asked gingerly

"The fact is that Chechnya has been in some state of war for nearly two decades," the stranger said "I'll just say you'd rather stroll through Kabul than Grozny."

"Wait," Seth said skeptically "If you're telling me in advance how dangerous the mission is beforehand, what makes you think I'll accept it?"

"Because both you and my employer have same enemy," the stranger said cryptically.

"Follow these instructions, and maybe you'll learn some way to get vengeance."

The knot in Seth's stomach became even worse. If Chechnya really was as dangerous as he was being told, it would likely be the last place he saw, inside Russia or out.

But the promise of learning how to do some real damage to the SC was very tempting...

"I'll do it," Seth said, momentarily forgetting the whispered tone of the conversation "What do I have to do?"

"Good," the stranger replied "Take pen and paper, I can repeat these instructions once at most."

One eye on his host, other on a piece of scrap paper, Seth prepared to scribble down an abridged version of the instructions.

"First of all," the stranger began "You will need to get into Grozny, preferably by plane.

Then make your way to Vedeno, a village in southeastern Chechnya.

Conceal the fact that you are armed as best as you can. Once it is nighttime, break into the home of Hakan Lagunov and steal a file labeled with Arabic and Cyrillic script."

"I understand what I need to do," Seth confirmed, having some difficulty seeing the paper "But where do I find this Lagunov anyway?"

"You don't want to," the man said grimly "He finds and then kills you. Many of the Chechen separatists still possess their arms and training from the Soviet Army.

As for Lagunov's residence, you can't miss it, as it will be the newest, least damaged looking home. Also, get your hands on a mine detector somehow, as parts of Chechnya, especially outside of Grozny are still heavily mined. Stick to established roads and don't draw attention to yourself."

"Lagunov will be away until June at the very earliest," the enigmatic man instructed "But you should head for Grozny on May 6th, Understand?"

"Yeah," Seth said pocketing the paper and rising from the chair.

"By the way, Seth, have you ever heard of the Ciklon syndicate?"

"I can't say that I have."

"You would be wise to stay one their good side. Although, that's not a problem for you."

Wondering what he had just gotten himself into and about the shadowy man's last statement, Seth left the restaurant, out of habit, making his way to the metro station, the bustle of the crowds returning to work and school failing to drown his thoughts:

Who exactly was this enigmatic man?

Who was his employer and how did he know that Mahathir Li and the Security Committee were his mortal enemies?

How exactly does one survive in an area at war for two decades?

A thought akin to a vortex of worry and planning, Seth's attention was caught only by a red-haired woman in a t-shirt and jeans tending to a garden.

"Something bothering you?" she asked in her coy voice

"No, it's nothing," Seth said turning around to find the woman was actually Ursula

"Sorry, didn't notice you there,"

Ursula gave a brief chuckle: "I don't blame you," she said "If I don't want to be found, I won't be. Anyway, what's on your mind?"

Seth told the story about the mission he had agreed to, Ursula's expression beginning with mild interest and, by the conversation's end, wearing an expression of deep concern.

"So, am I going to die?" Seth asked half-seriously

"No," Ursula said flatly "Just come back here in two and a half hours."

"Okay. By the way Ursula, does the name: 'Ciklon syndicate' mean anything to you?

Ursula paused, eyes searching the area for something, eventually shooting a passing woman a scornful look.

"Why would it?" Ursula asked sweetly

"I was just wondering," Seth said, still finding it very strange that a woman about his age could possess this many difficult to obtain weapons.

In an attempt to learn more about Chechens and their customs, Seth returned to his apartment, entered the word 'Chechnya' into a search engine, and spent the next hour and a half browsing the results. Finding countless news articles about bombings, hostage situations, battles, and even a beheading video, made Seth feel even worse than he did a few hours ago.

Out of all the sordid information, Seth did manage to find out that Chechens are, mostly Muslims. Seth wasn't really sure what to make of this, as he only had two experiences with Muslims: The first being in High school, where it became a trend with some of the black students to "convert" to Islam, the second, reading a copy of the Qur'an in the cargo hold a month ago, neither of which were pleasant experiences.

Relieved to see that his watch read noon, Seth returned to the metro station and made his way to the upscale neighborhood of the Filipov's. Locating a well-hidden trail, Seth retraced the steps that he took two weeks ago, finding Alison and Ursula discussing something:

"Look," Ursula said tensely "The most important thing here is not to linger,"

"I know you don't want to," Alison replied in a strangely playful voice "But what good is a quick escape if you have a deep gash down your leg you can't treat on your own?"

Ursula's expression lightened when she noticed Seth's presence:

"Hello Seth," she said "So you're sure you want to do this."

"If what half the stuff I've seen is true, not really," he replied "But let's just say that there's something there I need."

"Alright then,"

The three began to unload the weapons from their cases:

Several different Kalashnikovs, submachine guns, handguns, and a few other rifles Seth had never seen.

"Why did Ursula want you to come here?" Seth asked Alison while setting up a target.

"I'm a combat medic," she replied "If you're going to Chechnya and want to come back alive; you're going to have to treat some of your own wounds."

About fifteen minutes later, the weapons and targets were readied.

"Damn it. Where's is he?" Ursula said crossly.

"We'll just have to do this without him," Alison said, running her fingers through her short, brown hair.

"Who are you talking about," Seth asked, curious as to who could be so vital to his continued training.

Just as Ursula was about to answer him, a very red faced, panting Geoffrey burst forth from the green.

"Sorry...I'm...Late," he said breathlessly.

"At least you showed up," Ursula said exasperatedly

"Umm... How is he going to help us," Seth asked, slightly amused at the prospect of the short, meek Geoffrey being of any martial use.

"We weren't't properly introduced," Geoffrey said, having caught his breath "My name is _Adjudant-chef_ Geoffrey Fahim Renault of the _Gendarmerie Nationale."_

"Gendarmerie?" Seth repeated.

"Military police. Anyway, Alison told me you were going to Chechnya."

"So?"

"Going into a war zone and knowing nothing about urban warfare is a pretty good way to get killed"

Seth would not have said he knew "nothing" about urban warfare, but Geoffrey did have a point.

"So how are you going to train me?" Seth asked.

"Give me about a week," Geoffrey replied before picking up a K-100 from a crate and opening fire at a target, all seventeen rounds connecting to Seth's surprise.

The next week, in addition of to reinforcing the weapon training (Geoffrey joining occasionally, than disappearing), basic first aid, and woodland survival. Although Alison and Ursula did not seem to need to give Seth any instructions as far as the forest was concerned. One of the best examples was Ursula sending Seth into the center of the woods with the knapsack and timing his return time to the clearing:

"How did you do that?!" Ursula exclaimed, alternating between glances at Seth and a stopwatch. "Thirty minutes!"

"It's not that different than the forests around where I lived," Seth explained "Since I was a little kid, my mom and dad would take me camping."

"Think you could take me sometime?"

"I guess,"

After the first week of the training, Seth was feeling slightly better about his chances of survival in Chechnya, as he had all but mastered the AK-74 and Saiga 12, his likely primary weapon. On the makeshift firing range that day, it took Seth recoiled slightly as something tapped him on the shoulder, turning around, he found it to be a very sweaty, blistered Geoffrey.

"Don't do that," Seth said flatly

"Sorry," Geoffrey replied, "You wouldn't't have heard me."

"So you said you had some urban warfare training,"

"That's exactly what I was getting to. Follow me,"

The group followed Geoffrey about a mile and a half through the woods to another clearing, this one housing what appeared to be two small houses minus the roofs.

"This is what you were working on?" Alison asked with a bewildered look.

"During the Battles for Grozny, the Russians sometimes had to engage the separatists building by building," Geoffrey informed "I expect the tactics Seth would use to be no different."

The confused expression still had not left Alison's face, while Ursula could be seen nodding in agreement.

Geoffrey removed an M4 and two magazines from a nearby case along, with the required hearing and vision protection.

"Okay Seth. In these two structures, I've set up targets." Geoffrey informed. "Just get in, destroy the targets, and search for whatever you're looking for. In these structures, its five thousand ruble notes."

"Got it," Seth answered confidently "But why you have a weapon?"

Geoffrey chuckled:

"I can actually fight you know,"

Approaching the nearest structure's door, the gendarme removed a small, spherical object from his left pocket.

"This will be easy Seth," Geoffrey said "After you kick down the door; I'll toss the stun grenade into the doorway."

"How is it supposed to stun someone?"

"Kick down the door to find out,"

Motivated by curiosity more than anything else, Seth slammed the sole of his boot into the door and took one large step away from the doorframe.

Geoffrey lobbed the M84, creating a brilliant flash and a two deafening cracks.

Scanning the room, Seth flipped the AK-74's selector switch to the lowermost position before discharging four rounds into a man-sized target in the northwest corner. The Frenchman following behind him, Geoffrey kicked over a table in the room's center and firing a three-round burst into a target some two yards away.

Making for the passageway to the next room, at the unmistakable failing engine sound of the Kalashnikov series not fired from his weapon, Seth flung himself behind the table.

"What did you do?" Seth whispered before rising briefly to fire at one of the targets.

"Oh that," Geoffrey said offhandedly "Throughout the room, I placed recordings of sporadic Kalashnikov fire"

"Why?"

"Realism"

Once again, Seth rose from his makeshift cover and peppered the western wall with his weapon, Geoffrey cleaning finishing off one of the last target.

Cutting the upholstery of the old chair near the entrance, Seth failed to find his objective.

"Try the next one," suggested Geoffrey

Sidling the eastern wall, Seth spotted a target surrounded by what appeared to be kitchen counters. Remembering the fact that he was going for realism, Seth raised the rifle and fired three more rounds into the target's head.

He then broke into a crouching run to the counters, the recordings of gunfire ringing in his ears. The second it halted, Seth lifted his frame and emptied the magazine at the targets. His search of the cabinets yielding no results, Seth loaded a 30-round magazine in his weapon and crept towards the doorway's left edge.

Wearing an eager grin, Seth spotted the two remaining targets in the next room:

Strafing rightward, he unleashed five more rounds into the target diagonal from him before turning his weapon to the one on the bed.

Seth began to rummage through the room's content:

The bed, shelves, and desks all bearing no results.

About to give up his search in this room, a thought suddenly came to him

No, it's too obvious, he thought. Going with his instinct, he began to search the chest of drawers, top to bottom. At the very bottom section, embalmed in grease-covered rags, he located several large notes of currency.

"Five minutes," Geoffrey commented, strolling in, looking at his watch "Not bad at all.

Have you done this before?"

"No never,"

Seth slung the weapon over back and proceeded for the door.

"Say Geoffrey," he asked "Since these bills are covered in grease, are you going to-"

"Yes, I am Seth,"

"Just wondering,"

"By the way, get out. I'm going to redesign this..."

"Skeleton?"

Exiting the training structure, Seth found Ursula apparently cleaning and organizing weapons and Alison lingering outside.

"So, you were in there three minutes?" she asked in an interested tone.

"More like five, actually," Seth replied.

"Not bad either way. Who knows, if you keep this up, you might not need the first aid kit."

"Is that supposed to reassure me?"

Despite the morbidity of Alison's very low expectations for him, this was probably the most reassuring thing Seth had heard for the past week.

How well trained could these Chechen fighters actually be anyway?

And what reason would they really have to fire on him?

" _Maybe I should try working with the Saiga for a while?"_ he thought as he headed back to the makeshift firing range.

"Another beer, Reeve?" the bartender offered

"Thanks, Ed, "the Sergeant Major answered, his sunglasses now replaced with half rim spectacles.

"So, what brings you out to Chicago?" Ed asked, absentmindedly scrubbing some glasses.

"Nothing special, just work stuff,"

Reeve took a protracted drink of his beer.

"Turn the TV off," he said irritably "I can't take this it anymore."

"Well, the talking heads are laying it on kind of thick," Ed replied "With all the interviews; did they even talk to anybody who knew Casey?"

The Sergeant Major took a longer swig of the liquid:

"I'm just looking forward to the day when this 'fascist' crap will be over," Reeve said tiredly "Actually, during the early 80s, I heard of a Casey. The guy's they're talking about is too young to be him. A little strange though."

"How so?" Ed asked

"Two reasons: During his time at Parris Island, he was a phenomenal shot, the best out of all the platoons,"

"And,"

"He was known for saying that, if he had kids, that he would make sure they shot as well as he could."

"That kind of makes sense if you think about it,"

Finishing off his drink, Reeve paid the tab and rose from the barstool when a young man of around eighteen entered the bar. Squinting in the dim lights, the Sergeant Major could make out the black SC uniform.

"Aren't you a little young to be drinking, kid?" Reeve said crossly

"Sorry sir," the youth replied in his arrogant tone "But Prifti wanted me to deliver a message to you."

"Why didn't he just contact me at work?"

"He felt this message should be delivered personally."

The Sergeant Major finished off his drink:

"What message?" he asked

"Brian Kemp is trouble," the young man warned "Stay away from him if you know what's good for you."

"I can pick my own friends, thanks."

Looking highly offended, the youth sneered at them both before stomping out of the bar.

Reeve exhaled deeply:

"I need another drink," he said sleepily

"Same?" Ed asked

"I feel more like vodka,"

Drake Perrson waited at his desk, fiddling with a pen to pass the maddening minutes.

A slightly muscular, dark-haired man of thirty-six years, Perrson was formerly an operator in the Federal Bureau of Investigations SWAT (Special Weapons and Tactics) team that operated out of Washington D.C. Well, formerly wasn't the right word: Since the school hostage crisis in Marin County, the FBI, IRS, BATFE, and the Secret Service had all been disbanded and their duties incorporated into the Security Committee. He didn't really mind the transition, as the pay, benefits, and respect were all much higher.

"So what do you think Costa wants?" Lowell Berne asked, stopping in the office doorway."

"I have no idea Lowell," Perrson said "But it's got to be pretty damn important if he's keeping us here at one in the morning."

Berne took a sip of his coffee: "As long as we're getting paid overtime,"

A man of average build and height, the only things Lowell Berne were really notable for was being a thirty-three year old man with gray hair and possessing the rank of Company Leader. Perhaps the fact the Perrson and Berne had each served a stint in the US Army Special Forces (aka Green Berets) and the Air Force's 720th Special Tactics Group

(respectively) had something to do with the grossly extended workday.

" _Will all personnel please report to the second floor conference room,"_ a pleasant sounding female voice said over the PA.

"I guess it's time to see what they want," Berne said with a hint of a yawn.

Proceeding to the office down the hallway, the pair entered to find, aside from Ariel Costa, twelve other agents seated around the table.

"You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago," Costa said nastily. "Sit down,"

The two complied with the order, Person sure; he saw his acquaintance give the Colonel a rude gesture.

"You were fourteen were called here tonight because the sheer skill and brutality in which you execute your missions," Costa began "You fourteen are among the best this organization has to offer. You will travel, to the ends of the earth if necessary in merciless pursuit of your target, you will put your lives on the line if need be."

"Get to the point," Berne muttered to a Perrson enraptured by Costa's words.

"When given a mission, your life's sole purpose is to find your target and kill him," Costa continued, a mad glint in his eyes "For this reason, this meeting marks the foundation of the _Yeagergruppe_ , an elite unit dedicated to hunting, and if necessary , killing enemies of the state fleeing justice. This unit will be divided into two six-man teams: The first commanded by Agent Perrson, the other, commanded by Agent Berne."

Costa's guard turned on a projector screen, before flipping off the light switch.

"And your first target is," Costa said pressing a button on a remote control, screen showing a tall, thin, slightly tired-looking man. "This man, Seth Casey."

"Great, where is he?" Berne said enthusiastically.

"Don't interrupt me again," Costa snarled "Back to the mission, our intelligence has narrowed Casey location down to two possible locations."

"Where would those be sir?" asked Perrson, finding his comrade's reprimanding quite humorous.

"We've narrowed Casey's possible location down to two places: Either he's in Israel..."

"Just like those Yids, eh," muttered Berne "Hiding our criminals,"

"Or Eastern Europe," Costa finished.

"Understood, sir," Perrson said "When do we start?"

"First thing tomorrow morning," Costa instructed, "When you arrive in Kiev, pick up your equipment at the American consulate, use that area as to collect data on his location.

The most important thing is, the president requested he be captured alive! I don't care how many lives it costs, bring him back alive!"

By the evening of May 4th, for the first time in quite a while, Seth felt somewhat optimistic at his chances for survival. Even in the war-torn, godforsaken hellhole he imagined Chechnya to be. At around three-thirty that afternoon, Geoffrey had given him his final urban warfare test, (searching a seven room "house" populated by a total of twenty-five targets) which he had done fairly well in.

"Not bad at all," Geoffrey remarked

"It was alright," Seth replied "I could have done better,"

"You know, just saying, but you'd be a pretty decent burglar."

"I might be a mercenary, but I'm not complete scum."

Geoffrey leaving for the metro station, Seth was approached by an unusually serious-looking Alison.

"Seth, since you're going to Chechnya," she said "You'll most likely be there for a few days or so,"

"Yeah, what's your point?" Seth replied.

"Don't use the revolver,"

"Why not?"

"If you run out of ammunition for the AK or Saiga, you'll want something that you won't have to reload every six shots."

Though Seth was more comfortable with a revolver, Alison did have a point:

He was not too fond of the idea of having to reload constantly in a firefight.

"What would you suggest?" he asked

"I'd suggest a Glock 17," Alison replied "It's chambered in the 9mm round, like most of the newer Soviet and Russian pistols, and I'm pretty sure that's the round the Chechens are using, and it's not going to break or malfunction easily,"

"Okay, any tips?"

"Clean all your weapons, especially this one," she advised before plunging a syringe into Seth's arm "Don't worry, rabies shot."

Four more hours of Kalashnikov practice and night creeping over the forest bought Ursula to retrieve Seth.

"You have to get some sleep, you know," she informed

"I know," Seth answered "I'm still kind of nervous though."

"Don't worry, Seth. You just seem like the type that won't die easily."

Unsure whether to be flattered or frightened at the statement, Seth nonetheless, followed Ursula to her car.

The trip to Seth's new apartment took little more than fifteen minutes. Ursula seemed slightly surprised that the journey took this short a time.

"Anything I should know before I go to my grav- I mean, Chechnya?" asked Seth

"As a matter of fact, two things," Ursula answered "First of all, don't try to speak Chechen,"

"And?"

"Keep the beard,"

"Why is that," Seth inquired

"Because it looks sexy on you," Ursula replied in a slightly nervous tone

Unsure how to respond to this, Seth switched the topic:

"So, what's why shouldn't't I try to learn Chechen?" he said quickly

"Let me put it this way," Ursula began "You found getting a decent grip on the Russian language hard, right?"

"Yes,"

"The Chechen language is about twenty times more difficult to learn."

Bidding farewell to Ursula, Seth made the ascent to his apartment quite a bit slower than usual, as to take in focus on the sights of the building.

Reaching the apartment, Seth took a couple of minutes just to look around at the dwelling, just to appreciate the design before going to sleep.

XIII

Seth felt as though his head had just touched the pillow before he was jolted awake by the

ear-shattering sound of the doorbell. Enduring the five minutes of the noise required for showering and dressing, Seth answered to find a very distraught-looking Alison.

"C'mon, let's go," she grunted.

The two proceeded to the parking lot, (Seth having to catch the half-asleep Alison a couple of times) and the nondescript, compact car.

"You know what," Seth said, moving urging Alison into the passenger seat "I'll drive."

The most apt comparison to Seth's experience driving on the streets of Moscow at one in the morning would be to a swimmer attempting to navigate a storm surrounded by hundreds of crazed speed boaters: Being as tired as he was not helping his dexterity in the least, he was constantly being cut off, trailed, blinded by headlights, and having horns blared at him for no reason whatsoever. Even more astounding was the fact that Alison could still sleep through all this. Grateful the drive to Vnukovo International Airport was only a ten-minute drive, parking the car; Seth jerked Alison awake and proceeded into the airport.

Vnukovo was just as lively as Domodedovo: the bustling crowds, the chatter, and a general energetic air, even at this early in the morning. Despite this fact, Vnukovo had more of an old-fashioned air to it.

Passing a restaurant in on their way to the terminal, Alison suggested that Seth eat before the flight:

"Seriously, you should eat something," Alison said tiredly "It might be the last decent meal you have for a while."

"It might be my last meal period," he replied

In an attempt to quell his aching stomach, Seth followed Alison's advice, ordering lemonade and a sandwich wrap consisting of tomatoes, lettuce, shaved lamb and beef wrapped in pita bread.

Alison took a sip of coffee:

"Come on," she said, in a more awake tone "You'll be fine.

"What makes you say that?" Seth asked before finishing off the lemonade "When was the last time you went into a war zone?"

"Afghanistan, 2008," the courier answered shortly "Of course that was as a medic,"

"That makes me feel so much better," Seth remarked sarcastically

"At least I can patch myself up a little," she replied coolly "By the way, your flight leaves at three."

Alison returning to the car, Seth continued on his way to the terminal. Realizing he had arrived about half an hour before the flight was scheduled to depart, Seth removed the Russian-English phrasebook from his pocket and began to study.

About fifteen minutes later, someone sat down next to him and, judging from the sounds, frantically reviewing papers. Finally growing curious as to what job involving paperwork would require these late hours, Seth turned his head to find the man similar looking to Geoffrey attempting to organize his files.

After another minute of awkward silence, save for the shuffling of the documents, Seth finally spoke:

"Something wrong, sir?" Seth asked

"No, it's nothing," he replied tiredly before rummaging through his bag "Damn; I must have left it somewhere."

"Left what?"

"Really, it's nothing. Just my wallet."

Five minutes of uncomfortable silence later, Seth reached for his wallet and removed three thousand ruble notes.

"The taxi's kind of expensive," Seth said, offering the man the money "This should cover your ride home."

"Thank you," he replied "But I really don't need-"

"No, take it," Seth interrupted "I don't really need them."

With a hint hesitation, the executive accepted the bills.

"You know, it's actually refreshing to see a generous young person," he said, rising from the seat "Thank you, Mr..."

"Seth Casey,"

"Mr. Casey," he added

His files in order, the man collected his briefcase and went on his way.

As the time came to board the aircraft, Seth found himself wondering if he had a knack for sharing awkward conversations with people. He would not have described himself more giving than the average person.

Taking a seat near the aircraft's back, Seth found himself wondering if the plane's gray interior was as harsh as its destination. After he sat down, a bearded man from the seat in front of him turned around to face him.

"Sir," the man said "Have you ever heard of the Ciklon syndicate?"

"Why should I care?" Seth asked replied.

"Among Russia's most prominent families, the organization's leadership rotates between their eldest children..."

Sensing that the man was not going to stop anytime soon, Seth returned to studying the Russian-English phrasebook, tuning out the man's ramblings. Looking back on the experience, Seth realized the man did not stop talking, even about forty-five minutes into the flight. After the remainder of the two-hour flight, Seth was quite grateful to be able to leave the aircraft and his loquacious neighbor.

Exiting the plane, Seth found himself in a plain, sparsely populated airport.

The thing that struck him most about it this facility, wasn't the surly, overly alert nature of its occupants, but the fact that, (In comparison to Vnukovo anyway) it was almost deserted. Under the hawk-like watch of the airport's denizens, Seth slowly made his way to the main terminal. Ursula was right that they don't like strangers, he thought, exiting the building, grateful to be out of the airport denizens' scrutiny.

Under usual circumstances, strange, foreign men waiting outside structures would raise suspicion. In Grozny however, it bought more hostile gazes. Seth found himself quite grateful that Geoffrey only took ten minutes to arrive at the terminal.

"Listen Seth," he said quietly "I'm only going to say this once, so listen closely,"

Seth nodded, accepting the suitcase, which somehow seemed larger.

"Instead of a third long arm," Geoffrey began "Place the mine detector inside the bottom sleeve. Use it whenever you're outside a settlement,"

"How many mines are there around here?"

"Let's just say," Geoffrey said tentatively "Assume that every other step you take outside of a settlement is going to have a mine."

"I'll try to remember that," Seth said, unsure as to whether or not his friend was serious.

The gendarme handed Seth a holster, minus pistol, prompting Seth to strap it to the right side of his belt.

"This place is really dangerous," Geoffrey said quietly "I mean kiddnap-you-than-hold-you-ransom-for-three-days-and-if-no-one-comes-you-die dangerous."

"I get the point," Seth replied in an irritated whisper "Now what's this amazing gun Alison told me about?"

Geoffrey scanned the area once again before handing Seth a Glock 17 and three 9mm magazines, Seth placing the magazines in a pocket on his right leg.

This particular model had a sort of strange finish (olive save for the black slide) to it, but

Seth was quite fond of it, as it was more ergonomic than the revolvers he had become accustomed to.

"Just one last thing," Seth said "How am I supposed to get to Vedeno?"

"Good question," Geoffrey answered "Just do what you did in Uzbekistan."

"From the looks of this place, that's going to be a lot harder than it sounds,"

"I think you're right," Geoffrey said before entering the airport.

Seth did not blame Geoffrey at all for wanting to leave this city quickly.

The airport itself was decent; however, the area around it could be compared to a junkyard, adding to the abandoned, desolate feel of the city. Even the rain seemed to compliment the city's grim atmosphere.

As he headed west along the road, not even the motorists' lack of skill could have livened up his journey.

Perhaps it was the poor visibility, rain, general dilapidation of the area, or a combination of the three, but Seth could not shake the notion that the first residential area he came across resembled a collection of enormous mausoleums. The hostile glances from the citizenry not helping his perception. The few people he did approach on the street either ignored, scowled, or seemed to fear him. Reflecting on it, he really didn't blame them as a foreign man dressed in camo-patterned cargo pants and an enormous suitcase was likely not up to anything constructive.

After another half hour of walking westward, Seth came across an apathetic-looking man, not much older than him smoking while leaning against his rust-tinted silver van.

Relieved to see a face not heavy with fear or malice, Seth approached him, mentally sorting the necessary Russian phrases to ask about southern Chechnya.

" _Izvinite menja sjer,"_ Seth called

The man, though remaining silent, looked up at Seth.

Seth found himself racking his brain in an attempt to find the correct phrasing.

The man, noticing his hesitation, spoke: "I can speak English," he said

Bewildered to find someone in the area who spoke English and slightly annoyed that he had wasted the past five minutes attempting to remember Russian phrases, Seth was still relieved at this fact.

"Take me to Vedeno," Seth said "I'll pay you if you want?"

The man gave him a look that one gives a particularly strange mental patient before muttering something in a throaty, guttural language.

'Fine," he said, stomping on his cigarette "Halfway, three hundred thousand rubles,"

Dismayed at the exorbitant price, Seth took into account the fact that this was likely the closest he was going to get to his destination in a vehicle and handed over the requested amount of money.

"Thanks to you, sir," the man replied counting the money

"Just call me Ivan," Seth said, repeating the first name coming to mind that would not raise suspicion

"Murad," he introduced "A pleasure doing business with you Ivan."

Despite his slightly, unhealthily thin appearance, Murad offered to help Seth with the suitcase, provoking a strangely strong protest by Seth, who preferred to move his suitcase into the middle row.

"Could you stop smoking," Seth asked

"No," Murad replied flatly, starting the vehicle.

Seth had hoped that the rest of Chechnya would not be as grim as southwestern Grozny.

This wish was not realized, as the villages surrounding the city had the same grim, desolate atmosphere. A twenty-minute trip bought the pair to the town of Argun, which despite not being as heavily damaged as the nearby city; it was as if Grozny possessed some sort of curse to drain the life from the surrounding countryside.

"You know 'Grozny'," Murad said, head tilted leaving one eye on the road, the other on his passenger "Is Russian for 'terrible' or 'menacing'."

Apparently, whoever founded the city agreed with the assessment that the area was as good as cursed, Seth thought, watching the townspeople going about their business,

Work, school, or prayer. Seth found himself wondering if they noticed the intimidating air of the nearby city: Perhaps they were just used to it, did not notice, or ignored it.

As Murad drove further away from Grozny, the ominous air became less pronounced.

In fact, he would actually have described the countryside rushing past him as a thing of beauty. The sight of the serene, rolling plains and rivers almost lulling him to sleep, Seth had to wake himself more than once.

Even the villages the pair passed (Germenchuck and Shali) seemed to lack the desolate, lonely atmosphere of Grozny.

At around nine that morning, Murad pulled into what appeared to be a small, forested town based around logging.

"My apologies Ivan," Murad said "But this is as far as I can take you. I agreed to take you halfway to your destination, not to commit suicide."

"No, it's fine," Seth replied in a relaxed tone "I can take care of myself."

Disembarking from the van, Seth paid the Chechen and began southward.

If he was going to get the oversized suitcase to the edge of the village without drawing attention to himself, he would have to do so either now, when most were at work or school, or late that night.

Finding himself at the town's edge about an hour and a half later, Seth scanned the area for any oncoming vehicles or witnesses, careful not to stray far from the main road, lest he wander into any unmarked minefields. With only the surrounding wildlife as the only noise, Seth opened the suitcase and placed the new body armor vest over his torso, followed by the hearing and vision protection, and the machete sheath on his left thigh for quick access. In addition to the weapons and magazines (just as he had left them, except for the fact that he now possessed ten 5.45 magazines and five 12 gauge ones) Seth noticed the fact that he now had an oddly familiar combat helmet.

Taking into account the warnings he had received, Seth placed the headgear on and fastened the chinstrap. Finally placing the rucksack on, Seth lastly removed what appeared to be some kind of gardening tool. Looking at a nearby manual, he concluded that it was a mine detection device. Switching it on, Seth began the southward journey.

The landscape whipping past him in a vehicle, Seth had only now begun to appreciate how beautiful Chechnya could actually be, especially the forests. A few times, he had to remind himself that he was treading a potential minefield.

Scenery distracting him even from fatigue, Seth had failed to realize the fact that he had been walking some eight hours. Making his way deeper into the forest, mine detector leading the way, Seth was pleased to a tent, sleeping bag, several bottles of water, and five days' worth of pre-wrapped meals.

Carving out a ten-by-twelve foot clearing, while constructing the tent and taking periodic drinks of water, Seth found himself gnawing on some of the Russian rations.

Upon realizing this fact, Seth quickly regretted it:

The canned meat he had opened (and eaten) was dry and stale, the rice was not much better, and the crackers had the consistency of gravel. Though tempted to toss the remainder of the Russian rations, Seth remembered that it would be difficult to get more of these. In fact, he was lucky to have anything to eat right now.

The last vestiges of light finally leaving the sky, Seth repacked the uneaten rations, and inched into the tent. Apparently, his survival up to this point was not just a series of flukes:

He did possess some survival skills, but he had not done battle with any Chechens yet, a few veterans of many engagements. As a precaution, Seth removed the AK-74 from its sleeve, set the selector switch to the topmost position and laid it his left side.

Felix Bayer prodded the campfire with a nearby stick in hopes of lengthen its lifespan.

The wooded hills of northwestern Oklahoma made an effective, if not lonely hiding place.

A tall, broad shouldered man of about thirty-two, Felix ran a finger through his wild, black hair before returning to cleaning his AR-15, paying no attention to the rustling of the green and the return of his companion Blair Logan

"How'd the hunt go?" Felix asked, reconstructing his weapon.

Blair sat down near the fire and placed his scoped FN FAL at his side: "Let's just say I would have rather been shooting at something slower than deer," he said.

Apparently, around forty-four, Blair Logan, despite being slightly out of shape, still had a fair number of prominent muscles. "We still have a few MREs,"

"Enough for about a week," Felix replied "For one man,"

Removing an old bandage from his left hand, he frowned, as the scar depicting the number "000371" had not faded yet.

"Dammit," he muttered, wrapping the wound in a new bandage. Upon their entrance to a Security Committee detention facility, every inmate had a six-digit number branded on his left hand for identification purposes. Unsure as to how he ended up being detained, by some miracle, he had escaped the facility.

"So tell me Felix," Blair said "How did you get mixed up with the SC anyway?"

"I'm not really sure," Felix answered "All I know is that, one night back in March, someone broke into my house. Picking up my Beretta, I go into the hallway and collapse. When I came to, I was in some prison yard in what I think was New Mexico, being shouted at by some SC guy."

"I guess I got lucky," Blair replied, taking a drink of water "Back in early March, I got a weird phone call. Though the guy sounded calm, he told me to get out of the country."

"What made you listen? It could have just been a prank."

"There was just a sort of urgency in his voice that told me he was serious. Anyway, since money's been kind of tight lately, I sent the wife and kids to live with my brother and his wife in Australia. After I saw them off, I got a call from the same guy telling me to abandon the house,"

Felix tightened his grasp on the AR-15, as though his companion's increasingly creepy story would summon the SC agents. "So what did you do then," Felix asked, one eye on the sky.

"What else?" Blair said in a this-should-be-obvious tone "I cleaned out my bank account, got a couple of guns and some ammo, and got the hell out. Stupidly enough, I forgot to toss my cell phone, although when I got to Georgia the next day, my next-door neighbor called and told me about some SWAT team raiding my house."

"You were smarter than I was. Ever since the CS was formed, wherever they were stationed, they treated me like crap. I thought I was because I had spent thirteen years in the Army."

Blair lit a match, carefully placing it in the dying flames.

"So what are you going to do now?" Felix asked, crawling into his sleeping bag "If the SC is after you obviously can't stay here."

"I guess I'm going to get to Canada, get a flight, and join my family," Blair replied.

"I would be doing the same," Felix said, staring at the stars in a bid to clear his mind "But if I try to hop the northern border, I'd likely get picked up and turned over to the SC.

Obviously Mexico's out of the question, as I'm trying to survive, not commit suicide by heavily armed gang."

"Don't you have any family who could hide you until the heat dies down?" Blair asked

"Not really," Felix replied bleakly "My mom and dad consider Li's word to be as good as the gospel and I haven't heard from my younger brother in months, who knows, it's possible he got picked up by the SC too."

"If he did, do you think he could've escaped?"

"No,"

As the fire died down, Blair began to extinguish the embers, wondering if it was possible to escape from a CS facility and evade them for an extended period.

Normally not a night person in the least, Preparim Prifti was in unusually good spirits tonight, much to the relief of his few remaining subordinates. Even an extended meeting with involving Costa and retiring to a slightly darkened office could have fouled his mood tonight.

His ears suddenly perked up as he heard his office door creak open.

"Why did you call for me, old friend?" called a Croatian-accented voice.

"Battle, Bojan my friend," Prifti answered, a malicious grin spreading across his face.

Emerging from the shadows, Bojan Kovac revealed himself to be a large, hulking man at least six and a half feet tall with complimenting muscles and scowl.

"You called me here at two in the morning," Kovac said, seating his gargantuan frame opposite Prifti "I expect an interesting mission,"

"I promise you, you will get that," Prifti replied "I am creating a unit of the SC designed to be the most efficient agents in the organization and I want you to lead it."

"What's this unit called?"

"The _Pirschergruppe_ ,"

The giant scratched his chin as though pondering the legitimacy of this offer.

"Fine, I will do it," Kovac answered "These normal raids are getting boring,"

"Perfect," Prifiti said, eyes gleaming with malice "One last thing."

"What?"

"Are the stories of your exploits in the Yugoslav Wars true?"

"Of course,"

"Good,"

The rising sun's beams assaulting his face, Seth opened his eyes, checked his watch and realized that it was only about five that morning. Rubbing his eyes, he realized that now would be the best time to continue his trek, as Lagunov's henchmen might have received word of a strange man in the area. Folding up the tent and replacing it in the large knapsack, Seth grudgingly finished off the meal he had started the previous night.

After a couple more hours, Seth came across a sign apparently marking his entrance to the Vedeno area. Eyes searching for any onlookers, Seth removed the AK-74 from its sleeve, clutching it his right hand. If necessary, he could drop the mine detector and return fire at a second's notice. Walking with the rifle in his right and the mine detector in his right was not as awkward as one might have expected it to be.

At about noon that day, Seth spotted what appeared to be a small village. Getting closer to the settlement, he founded it to be little more than eight houses. Entering the encampment, Seth felt his stomach almost leap into his throat at the sound of a conversation in the throaty, guttural language he identified as Chechen.

Returning the mine detector to its sleeve, Seth placed the Kalashnikov's selector switch at the lowermost position and began to walk very slowly, the only sounds being his breath and his boots against the dirt road.

By the time he had reached the center of the settlement, Seth had calmed down slightly, as the occupants had seemingly failed to notice his presence. Perhaps it was the relative lack of caution which caused him to kick a previously unseen rooster, only coming to notice it upon its pained squawking. _"Shut up!"_ he thought as he raised his weapon to silence the bird. For some reason, it only just then occurred to Seth that, while he had killed the beast, the combination of three Kalashnikov rounds and a very loud bird would serve to alert any potential enemies to his position.

Silently cursing his momentary lack of thought, Seth turned around to find two men emerging from the house nearest him. Seth fired five rounds in their direction, four of them hitting the taller man in the chest. Opening fire on his taller, quicker companion, Seth maneuvered behind the building's south wall as his enemy returned fire.

His opponent halting to reload, as the Chechen emerged from his cover, Seth countered the volley with a six-round burst, striking down his adversary.

As he crossed the dirt road in his crouching run, Seth spotted another Chechen (presumably one of Lagunov's henchmen) firing at him from the second story window of the building opposite him. Sidling the nearest structure's north wall, Seth peppered his enemy's general area with an eight-round burst, quickly depressing himself against the wall afterwards.

Seth was relieved to see that his adversary had dropped his weapon from the window, indicating he had either abandoned it or dropped it as he expired.

Proceeding down the nearby alleyway, Seth spotted another enemy emerging from the next house over. The mercenary only had time to glance at him before the Chechen opened fire, a reflex throwing him behind the nearest wall.

The fiend's eyes meeting his, Seth emptied the remaining rounds into his enemy's torso before swapping the empty magazine with a 45-round one. Being one man and fairly sure that the proximity to the village would allow his opponents to call in reinforcements, Seth decided not to draw this battle out any longer. Changing the selector switch to the full-auto position, Seth darted down the alleyway, fifteen rounds cutting down the Chechens emerging from the far northeastern structure.

Scanning the settlement once again, Seth sidled the northeastern structure's north wall before peeking out and sending ten rounds at another enemy coming down the opposing alleyway. Under the distinct, failing engine-like sound of the Kalashnikov series of rifles, Seth dove behind the northwestern wall's exterior. Waiting for a pause (or at least a slight decrease) in the hail of bullets, Seth sent five rounds into the chest of a Chechen approaching his position before spraying his six comrades' general area with gunfire, killing one, wounding two others, and sending the rest scrambling for cover.

Changing the empty magazine for a 30-round one, Seth laid the mine detector at his feet.

If he could lay down enough suppressive fire, he could cover an escape. The Chechens emerging for another volley, Seth opened fire on their positions, spraying the width of the dirt road with gunfire. As the mercenary's enemies taking cover once again, he quickly removed the now depleted magazine and reloaded the AK-74, this time with a 45-round one. It was a risky strategy, but Seth did not have the luxury of lingering to finish his adversaries. Backing towards the borders of a grove, Seth crouched down and laid down a thirty-five round stream of bullets, seizing the mine detector and vanishing into the forest.

As the settlement completely vanished from view, Seth holstered the Kalashnikov in favor of the Glock 17. In a forest this thick, using any sort of long arm would most likely be more trouble than it would be worth. If he was lucky, Seth could see about four feet in front of him. Growing increasingly frustrated with the poor visibility, Seth replaced the pistol and unsheathed the machete in hopes of clearing some of the green obscuring his vision. Unsure as to if the branches were actually frail enough to cut, Seth began to slash at them anyway, aiding the visibility somewhat.

A couple of hours into the wood, Seth noticed the forest's density was lightening significantly, as the terrain became progressively more elevated.

Ecstatic at nearing an exit to the woodland and apathetic as to the landscape, the thing that irked Seth the most was the heat of the area, compounded on by the humidity.

The armor seemingly increasing the heat surrounding his body, Seth set down the equipment and stripped off the body armor and shirt, squeezing both into the knapsack.

It had to cool down sometime, he thought.

Making his way to a lightly wooded valley around thirty minutes later, Seth came across the spectacle of two overturned jeeps. Their passengers deceased; Seth wondered if the wreckages were a result of some battle long ago or merely a testament to stupidity.

Strangely enough, he found the very same sight half an hour later, repeated with four jeeps.

As the area became more heavily wooded, Seth was not that concerned by the rustling in the trees. Something besides human beings must live here, he thought.

As he neared a clearing, Seth was oddly calmed by a voice calling out to him:

"See, I knew you would be fine," the voice said, Seth not at all surprised it belonged to Ursula, clad in the green jumpsuit, cradling a VSK-94 sniper rifle.

"Did you get rid of those guys in the jeeps?" asked Seth

"Yeah, I did..." she began, brushing some leaves out of her hair

"Well, thanks,"

"Are you...blushing?" Seth said incredulously.

"Why would I be doing that?" Ursula replied defensively, eyes wandering towards the mercenary's torso "It's just humid!"

Once again cursing the fact that he seemed to be a magnet for awkward conversations, Seth decided to change the topic:

"How did you get here?" he asked

"I already told you, If I don't want to be found, you won't find me," the red-headed sniper answered "I didn't want to be found, so no one did."

"That's too bad, the only company I've had lately has wanted me dead."

"Well, you're almost done Seth. Just break into Lagunov's home, get the file, and get out,"

"Do you need me to take you back to Grozny?"

"Like I said, if I don't want to be found, I won't be,"

With these words, Ursula disappeared into the woods.

Slightly tempted to offer her the mine detector, Seth reminded himself that she likely had something more sophisticated than what he was using.

With a strange combination of relief at having company that did not want him dead and concern for her safety, Seth continued south.

Seth began to follow a river southward, the flowing water having a soothing effect on him. Seth found himself slightly dismayed by the fact that such a beautiful area had been cursed with literally a century and a half of on-and-off war. In fact, if his very presence had not made him hundreds (if not thousands) of enemies, he would have visited the North Caucus region again.

Another four hours of journeying bought the sunset, Seth not noticing until the sun had almost vanished. Setting up the campsite on a riverbank shielded by what appeared to be a wall of forest, a slight grin came over Seth's face as he remembered his family's camping trips and his mother's mortal fear of any insect larger than a fly.

Unpackaging a meal container marked with English characters, Seth found this particular meal to be a vast improvement over its Russian counterpart, finishing off the main course, (Salisbury steak) soup, bread, and fruit cocktail within a matter of minutes.

A very content (and full) Seth retired to the tent. As he drifted off to sleep, Seth made a mental note to ask Ursula where more of these meals could be obtained.

Seth woke around four the next morning. Packing the camping supplies into the backpack, he set out five minutes later in hopes of reaching his destination.

Around an hour later, a town which Seth assumed to be Vedeno appeared on the horizon.

Initially feeling relieved at the fact that the mission was almost through, Seth was frustrated at the realization that a strange man asking about Lagunov's home (or the man at all) would lead the people of Vedeno to place even more scrutiny on him.

Growing increasingly frustrated that he had not arrived in Chechnya an hour earlier, Seth began to set up the tent once again, lying down reading the Russian-English phrasebook in an attempt to pass the time.

The tedious nature of the phrasebook led Seth to doze off at several points during the day.

He much rather would have been practicing shooting. However being this close to a settlement killed the viability of this activity.

After his seventh or eighth nap that day, Seth awoke to find himself in the blackness and silence of the night. His watch revealing the time as just before eleven, Seth collapsed the tent and placed it in the knapsack before unsheathing the mine detector and continuing towards the village.

Seth shortly came across a large field separating him from the village proper.

This particular green quite a soothing sight in during the daytime, at night, Seth found it reminiscent of a graveyard. Knowing Chechnya, it might have been exactly that.

Resisting the temptation to drop the mine detector and sprint across the length of the field, Seth drew the AK-74 and inserted a fresh, 30-round magazine.

Arriving in the town of Vedeno itself, Seth found himself even more unnerved by the atmosphere than that of Grozny: Despite the presence of quite a few newer buildings, (with it's share of damaged or destroyed, of course) the graveyard-like feeling still hung in the air. Any sounds of life or sounds in general were sparse. For a second, Seth found himself wondering if this city was abandoned.

Coming back to reality and realizing he had no time to ponder the eerie town, Seth scanned the map and set out for Lagunov's home, making a note to stick to back alleys.

As he traversed the alleyways, Seth often had to suppress visions of what he imagined the town to look like during the day. What would people going about their daily routines amidst ruined buildings and mined areas just outside of it, Seth wondered. This morbid curiosity dimmed slightly as Seth imagined Vedeno's inhabitants to be even surlier (and possibly murderously hostile) than those of Grozny's, the possibility of the denizens supporting Lagunov encouraged him to pick up his pace.

An hour and (perhaps unnecessarily) countless back alleys later, Seth located a block of houses. This area was strange due to the fact that it seemed untouched by weapons fire and that they were comparable in quality to most in the West. Slightly intrigued, Seth began to scan his map, finding that the third house on the right belonged to Lagunov.

Approaching the estate to find a three-story home with a well-kept lawn, Seth almost expected to be accosted and engaged in combat by men guarding the building.

Searching the perimeter, Seth was relieved to find himself alone on the property.

Upon further reflection, he realized that any sentinels would have come out to engage him by now. At the house's north end, Seth located a large, twelve-by-twenty foot window that a grown man could easily fit through if it opened.

Raising the AK-74 with the intent to shatter the glass, Seth remembered that the sound of breaking glass and weapon's fire would likely alert a particularly vigilant resident to his presence and, given his history of using weapons without some sort of sound to cover it, made the decision against it final. For a second, Seth had actually considered tossing the backpack through at the window, but discarded this idea as well, as being separated from most of his equipment, even for a five second period in an area like this wasn't exactly an appealing position.

Almost ready to give up on the window as a potential point of entry, Seth almost tripped over a very large rock. This thing had to have been twice the size of his head, he thought.

Setting his supplies down and Kalashnikov inches away, Seth lifted the miniature boulder, hurled it at the windowpane and immediately dropped to his stomach, grasping and readying the weapon.

To his surprise, his destruction bought no Kalashnikov fire or orders barked in Chechen, merely the continued silence of the ghostly town. Never one to question his own good fortune, Seth sheathed the weapon and replaced the knapsack before ascending the now non-existent window, emerging in what appeared to be a study. Locating the light switch with some difficulty, Seth was dismayed to find that the room, was in fact a study with eight bookshelves standing ten feet tall.

The books displaced and searched several times each; Seth still had not found any trace of the file. Once again, Seth drew the AK-74 and resumed his search, pleased to find no opposition to his entry. Lagunov seemed to be fond of reading, as Seth found four smaller bookshelves in the living room and even three others in the kitchen.

The first floor barren of any files, Seth ascended the stairwell, finding himself in a narrow hallway.

Proceeding left, Seth entered what seemed to be the main bedroom, almost tripping over something. Switching on the light, Seth found that he had stumbled over some long, black piece of clothing, easily long enough to conceal a grown man. Momentarily pondering what purpose such a garment would serve, out of the corner of his eye, Seth spotted a red file on a nearby dresser.

Nearly sweating with anticipation, Seth inched over to the file to find its cover strewn with Arabic and Cyrillic script. Well aware of the fact that there was still the matter of escaping Chechnya, Seth retired to the kitchen and began to heat one of the meals in his backpack before heading for the much-needed relaxation of the shower.

In between bites of his dinner (cabbage rolls, toast, and coffee) Seth glanced at the various pages of the mysterious file. As far as he could tell, the serpentine Arabic symbols were nonsense. However, what mainly drew his attention were the Cyrillic characters.

Although, attempting to repeat the phrases, proved an exercise in futility and Ursula right about the difficulty of the Chechen language.

Finishing off his meal, a shiver shot down Seth's spine, followed by a horrible knotting feeling. Picking up the AK-74 and setting it to semi-automatic mode, Seth crept towards the study, ears surveying the property.

Surely enough, Seth heard what seemed to be three men conversing in Chechen, presumably about the broken window and who would be stupid enough to break into Lagunov's home. The fact that they were likely armed did not frighten Seth in the least.

The thing that unnerved him so was the fact that, with the Chechens he had faced in battle, there was something in their eyes that radiated inhuman anger and hatred, hatred that he could never dream of matching in ferocity.

Wasting no time, Seth began to walk very quickly towards the front door: If he tried to escape the way he came in, they would most likely notice him.

If he was going to get into a firefight, he might as well start it with the advantage.

Treading lightly against the carpet, Seth listened for the conversation: dimmed, but still audible. Isolating the sound of jingling keys, Seth reached for a 45-round magazine and placed the selector switch on full automatic.

Each second seeming to take an hour, Seth resisted the temptation to blink, both eyes squarely in front of him, ready to face the fiends.

The door creaking open, Seth unleashed a flurry of lead, striking down the Chechen unfortunate enough to have been unlocking it and the man standing next to him.

Apparently armed with a handgun of some kind, their companion returned fire, Seth sidling the ajar door before returning a five-round burst, killing him as well.

Now he had done it, Seth thought. It was likely the better part of the town had heard the disturbance. Not even bothering to scan the area to see if his fallen enemies had backup, Seth dashed down the street.

A rusted, abused car pulling up near him, recognizing the angered Chechen orders, Seth sprayed the right side of the vehicle with bullets, killing the driver and one of the passengers. His enemies returning fire from the cover of a wall across the street, Seth's reflexes threw him behind a tree before emptying the remaining rounds to cover his movement behind the wall opposite them.

Loading a 30-round magazine, Seth jerked his head over to the nearby doorway to find an AKM-wielding man searching his property, unaware of his presence.

Five rounds from the AK-74 cutting him down, Seth did son knowing that this act compromised his position.

The sound reminiscent of a failing engine decreasing, Seth rose from his position and sprayed his enemies' general area with a ten-round burst, wounding one of them.

Seeing his opportunity, Seth took off for the nearest back alley as fast as his legs would carry, striking down the Chechen tending to his wounded comrade.

As he escaped the general area surrounding Lagunov's home, Seth decided to swap the Kalashnikov for the Saiga 12. The shotgun would not have nearly as much range, but he was willing to take that chance, given the fact that he only had four 5.45 magazines remaining, he would have to conserve ammunition somehow.

The only sound being his boots against the gravel, Seth nonetheless felt as though something was nearing his position. The alleyway having very few lights, sound was the only indication of any hostile presence. Gravitating towards the isolated patches of light, Seth was able to navigate the backstreet without much problem.

As he approached the final light, Seth's ears began to isolate a strange sound.

Something similar to strained, heavy breathing. Seth momentarily held his own breath, to find that the sound did not originate from him. As he raised the Saiga 12, a something sharp plunged itself into his left thigh before stabbing his stomach half a second later.

Biting his lips in an effort to avoid shouting, Seth reflexively kicked with his left leg, throwing a figure into the nearby light and his knife a few yards away. The figure raising a pistol, shotgun raised, Seth ended its life with two rounds.

Limping over to the light to treat his wounds, Seth was horrified to realize that his attacker could not have been any older than thirteen. It was not so much the chest wound that disturbed Seth, it was the fact that the young man had died with his eyes open, the same look of malice in his eyes as his elders.

Trying to purge the image of the youth from his mind, Seth perceived something amiss.

In one sweeping motion, Seth turned around and discharged the remaining three rounds at a figure behind him. Apparently, the mercenary's would-be assassin was not much older than his comrade, his friend or brother perhaps.

Sloppily bandaging the wounds, Seth swapped the shotgun for his AK.

The prospect of reloading after ten rounds just was not an option right now and if he escaped the town, he could properly treat the injuries. Fortunately, this area was near the village's outskirts.

Emerging from the alleyway, Seth spotted four men exiting a car. As they raised their weapons, Seth began to strafe down the street, laying down suppressive fire. Disappearing behind a building, unfortunately for his leg, Seth broke into an orthodox run at the sight of the town's border. Peeking from behind his cover, he found six Chechens firing on his position. Muttering every curse that came to mind, Seth searched his training for any solution to this problem. His mind turned to Geoffrey's training in urban warfare and the fact that he possessed some of the stun grenades. Wondering why he did not think of this earlier, Seth pulled the M84's pin, a quick glance at his enemies' position was all he needed as he threw the grenade, creating a large cloud of smoke and two horrible cracks.

Not wasting the opportunity, Seth bolted for the exit under the cover of the thick smoke, laying down fifteen rounds more as he escaped.

After thirty minutes, Seth was fairly certain that the Chechens were no longer in pursuit.

A combination of fatigue and the poorly doctored (he was pretty sure the leg one had expanded) wound led him to sit down (and remove the combat equipment) on the side of the road to tend to them. He found the fact that the knapsack seemed to have taken quite a bit of abuse interesting, as this would mean that it had saved his life more than once.

Just before he attempted to repair the thigh wound, off about fifty yards, Seth spotted two figures: One lithe, and above average height, the other roughly the same height, although slightly more muscular. Of course, he considered the possibility that they were Chechens that had come to finish him. Perhaps it was the sweat in his eyes, but the two figures seemed oddly familiar...

"Hey, Seth! How have you been?" Alison called, accompanied by Ursula.

Seth began to limp over to them in spite of his injuries.

"I knew you'd be fine," Ursula said calmly "By the way, what happened to you?"

"It's nothing, really," Seth said

"Yes it is," Alison corrected "Sit down,"

Even despite his earlier mocking, Seth was grateful for the fact that Alison had the skills of a combat medic, bandaged the wounds in a matter of minutes. Even Ursula craning over her with a slightly worried expression did not seem to distract her.

"How did you manage to get stabbed in the stomach and thigh?" Alison asked putting away the supplies.

"It's kind of a long story,"

"Just don't mess with the wounds and you'll be fine,"

Returning to their vehicle after some fifteen minutes, Seth was somewhat amused to find Geoffrey driving the large, grey SUV. Of course, it soon ceased to be amusing once it became apparent that he could not drive it.

"Why did you let him drive?" Seth asked Ursula, his use of a seatbelt doing little to stop his swaying.

"I don't like to drive at night, neither does she," Ursula said "Geoffrey claims to be more of a night person, so we let him drive,"

Tempted to make a joke about the Frenchman's terrible driving, Seth decided that this was not such a good idea as Ursula and Alison frequently called out instructions as to what he was doing wrong.

The two-hour drive seeming to take four, if he had not been driving so slowly due to his poor control of the vehicle, Seth likely would have assumed Geoffrey was drunk.

Grateful to be back on his own two feet even if he was in Grozny at night, Seth loaded the backpack into the suitcase provided for him.

Ursula arguing with a woman over the tickets, Alison and Geoffrey pressed Seth for details about Chechnya:

"What exactly happened there anyway?" she asked, suppressing a yawn.

Seth scanned the area, still wary about divulging anything in public "Do you really want to know," he said

"She does," Geoffrey interjected "I really don't care either way,"

"Good, because I wasn't going to tell you anyway, not here,"

Another half hour bought Ursula's return, looking very irritated:

" _Grebanaja chechenskaja shljuha,"_ she muttered quite audibly.

"Something wrong," Geoffrey asked

"I got the tickets, let's go,"

If her pace was any indication, Ursula disliked Chechnya almost as much as Seth had grown to. Of course, the fact that the plane was to depart in fifteen minutes had something to do with her hurried stride.

Taking their usual seats near the rear of the plane, Ursula claimed the window seat next to Seth and buried herself in some kind of puzzle.

Before he would relinquish the story, Seth requested a glass of some kind of liquor, a request they granted.

This third of the aircraft virtually abandoned, Seth craned his neck across the aisle to Alison and Geoffrey:

"You wanted to hear about Chechnya?" he said before taking a large drink "It's a godforsaken hellhole for a reason,"

The reactions of his Alison and Geoffrey to Seth's tales of the troubled region were, respectively rapt and apathetic. Alison paid close attention to every detail of the account, from the graveyard-like Vedeno to the serene plains and green forests.

"Would you go back again?" she asked

"No," Seth said flatly, possibly an homage to Murad's tone

Only when Seth mentioned Lagunov and his henchmen (more specifically their potential motives) did Geoffrey seem to take any real interest in the account.

"Fichu, ils sont ici aussi ?" The Frenchman said softly

"Did you say something?" Seth replied

"Nothing, it's not important,"

Gazing up at the low, grey ceiling, a sort of uneasy calm washed over Seth:

He had survived being marked as an American secret police force's greatest enemy and evaded them for weeks, broke into a criminal compound and escaped alive while greatly outnumbered, and gone to Chechnya, (often dubbed the most dangerous region on earth) engaged at least an hour's worth of firefights during his time there, doing all of this while remaining (relatively) unscathed.

Most would count these events as a series of miracles, but for some reason, Seth just could not shake the notion that something was going to go horribly wrong very soon.

Perhaps it was an (arguably justified) case of paranoia, or just pessimism at his odd fortunes, but he still found the feeling next to impossible to shake.

XIV

Drake Perrson was quite glad to be done with this flight in particular:

Twelve hours on a slow, cramped, charter flight was not an experience was he looking forward to repeating. The crotchety old pilot hassling Perrson for his payment, Perrson complied and the old man's demeanor became significantly less antagonistic.

"Thank you," the pilot said "You need help with bags?"

"No, we can get them,"

Perrson began to shake the sleeping Lowell Berne:

"Wake up," Perrson said

"You sure?" Berne grunted

"Yeah, I'm sure. Now get your bag you lazy bastard,"

Taking their actions as cue, the other ten members of the Yeagergruppe gathered the suitcases from the rear of the aircraft and exited along with their commanders.

Khabarovsk Novy Airport was in a good position to receive charter planes, as it was an airport out of the way without much foot traffic. For this instance, the members of the Security Committee special forces wore civilian clothing, although there was still an odd air about their presence.

Realizing it was not nearly as cold as expected, Berne unzipped his jacket slightly and approached his superior:

"You're sure he's here and not in Jewland?" Berne asked

"Our intelligence is sure he's in western Russia by now," Perrson replied, one hand concealing his lips "If he was in anywhere else in Eastern Europe, we would have him by now,"

"Russia, eh. Well, I'm sure the women here are good for something,"

"Save it Berne. You can solicit as many whores as you like after we catch Casey and get paid,"

Attempting to remain as inconspicuous as possible, twelve men dressed similarly with a large suitcase each was still going to arouse suspicion.

His eleven of the men well-disciplined, their only other problem was Berne returning the perplexed looks of the other passengers with expressions ranging from challenging to smug:

"Will you cut that out?" Perrson scolded quietly "You're a commander, act like it!"

"That kid looked at me funny," Berne wined "Besides, what would you have done in my position?"

Perrson let out an exasperated sigh: "Berne, are you always like this when you're tired?

"Why do you think I drink so much coffee?"

In the cool peaks of the Caucus Mountains' Darial Gorge, Bojan Kovac adjusted the sights on his Zastava M76 sniper rifle, waiting for one of the Russian border guards to emerge. This operation and location were both ideal for nighttime operations, as the border positions would not be heavily manned this late. Five of the other members of the Pirschergruppe lie in wait nearby. When he gave a signal, two of his comrades would shout loudly in Chechen and discharge their weapons.

As long as he could remember, Kovac loved war: In the waning days of Yugoslavia, he at the of age eighteen, joined the Yugoslav People's Army, though Kovac, a Croat, always resented serving under the command of Serb officers.

When the wars in Croatia and Bosnia came, Kovac jumped at the chance to get revenge against the Serbs, his people's hated enemy, spending the next ten years of his life traveling throughout what used to be Yugoslavia, fighting against the former dominant Slavic people. When the war in Kosovo concluded, in an effort to avoid prosecution, he went to America, and at the recommendation of his old friend Prifti, took a job with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, where his experience with urban and suburban operations was welcomed with open arms.

The Serbs throughout the former nation had dubbed Kovac _Određeni član vrag lovac,_ Serbian for the Devil's Hunter. This moniker was apt, as he pursued his prey (all his victims were prey to him, this Casey character no different) with infinite tenacity, and remarkable brutality when he caught them. To say nothing of the countless rapes and murders he had either condoned, ordered, or participated in, one of his most infamous atrocities occurred in Bosnia, where Kovac, in a single night, executed a Serb family of twelve with just a machete.

His watch reading half past one, Kovac removed a flashlight from his bag, switching it on and holding it above his head, red light blinking repeatedly.

A couple of minutes later, two shadowy figures emerged from their cover, and proceeded to the middle of the road and began to dismantle the small gate. The barrier disposed of after three minutes, the two began to shout about something in fluent Chechen, thirty seconds into the tirade, the pair began to fire several rounds from their HK G36 rifles before sprinting back to their cover.

Roughly half a minute later, two figures emerged from the guard house, scanning the area for the "Chechens" discharging weapons.

" _It's just like Operation Storm,"_ Kovac thought, raising his rifle and reminiscing about Yugoslavia.

Aiming the Zastava, Kovac aimed three rounds at the furthest border guard's chest, destroying his heart and lungs. The dead sentinel's comrade searching the area for the source, he shouted a warning in Russian before this head was met with the Croat's bullet.

Two more guards emerged from the facility and blindly began to advance on Kovac's position, before the man on the right dropped from a shot to the head.

His ally deceased, the remaining guard began to load a magazine into his weapon.

With this vulnerability, Kovac decided to have a bit of fun: When his target rose again, Kovac sent a round each into his target's knees, leaving him to drag himself about a yard before finishing him off.

Another figure emerged from the guard facility. A demented smile came over Kovac's face as he purposely aimed a yard away from the target, prompting him to turn his back to the Croat. Guard scrambling for cover, Kovac sent his final bullet just below the target's shoulder blades. The malignant grin spread across roughly half of his face, Kovac put away the rifle for the green flashlight, the signal for the other members of his group to seize the vehicles.

Proceeding to the roadway, Kovac was met stopped by a short, stocky man carrying two large suitcases:

"Sir," the man said "That guard is likely attempting to call for help, should I finish him?"

"No," Kovac replied, evil grin still present "Leave it to me,"

"Are you sure?"

Triumphantly marching over to his wounded foe's location, the guard, a young man of twenty or so, futility attempted to reach for his AKM roughly five yards away.

The giant approaching, the guard muttered something (likely a prayer) in Russian.

Drawing a SIG P210 from his holster, Kovac stomped over and grasped his victim by the collar, pointing the pistol at his forehead; the smaller man's struggling to no avail.

" _Ja.. Sam... smrt,"_ Kovac whispered before pulling the action back and fatally wounding his prey.

Despite his friends' suggestions, Seth insisted on returning to the Caucasian restaurant the second they got into Moscow.

"It's four in the morning, Seth," Geoffrey said, lazily maneuvering the steering wheel "Can't it wait three more hours?"

Seth yawned, before shifting Alison's sleeping form off him: "Sorry, but it really can't."

Pen and notepad still in his pocket, Seth wasn't at all surprised to find the establishment still open, albeit dimmer, leading him to suspect that some money had changed hands in exchange for longer hours.

Seth made his way to the usual table, not at all surprised to see his client:

"Here's your file," Seth said "Now what was this you were going to tell me about Li?"

"You might want to write this down," the enigmatic man advised, leading Seth to do so "Mathir Li's greatest weakness is the thing he loves most, yet hates with every fiber of his being. He could spend an entire day alone, yet never escape it as long as he lives."

Copying the monologue word for word, Seth began to rise from the chair:

"Thanks," he responded, slightly confused at this information.

"Don't you want your payment?" the enigma asked, handing Seth a slightly larger briefcase before getting up.

"In the end, you'll do the right thing," the shadowy figure said cryptically.

Perhaps it was just gratitude to be finished with Chechnya or fatigue, but as his friends dropped him off at the apartment complex, Seth began to give some thought to what unsatisfactory compensation a riddle was. By the time he had reached his own apartment, he was downright furious with the stranger.

Tossing the briefcase, Seth slammed the door (waking up half the people on the floor) behind him and stomped over to the couch, kicking over a wastebasket in the process.

Kicking off his boots, Seth tossed the scrap paper he had used to copy the riddle across the room. Whoever this stranger's employer was had some nerve, hiring him to risk his life for three days and only provide him with a freaking riddle, he thought angrily.

What was "thing he loves the most, yet hates with every fiber of his being" supposed to mean anyway?

Unless this "hint" revealed Li to be a serial killer, pedophile, or a mass murdering malignant narcissist and his wife one as well, Seth really did not see how this would help him.

An exasperated sigh escaped Seth's mouth. Figuring he had nothing better to do, Seth opened the suitcase. His mood lifted slightly at the sight of the case containing around five million American dollars. Not having the energy to count his payment, Seth dragged himself to his bed.

The next morning, for some reason, Seth felt a sort of morbid curiosity as to what was going on in his country. At about ten that morning, he finally dragged himself over to his laptop. Searching both news and opinion websites, Seth became progressively angrier at the contents: Countless gushing "news" articles about Mathir Li and his wife, equally as enthusiastic articles about the Security Committee's "community services", and of course, analyses of the psychopath he supposedly was.

Reviewing the sites mainly pro-Li, Seth almost cried in pained amusement:

The archives revealed countless articles about "impending fascism", extremely strange (the so-called "Zionist Occupation Government" seemed to be a favorite topic) conspiracy theories, extreme hatred for anyone remotely religious (Muslims for some reason seemed exempt to this) and American soldiers (interestingly enough, unanimously pro-SC), and how the now-deceased Henry Baum was plotting to implement a dictatorship and toss all of his opposition into death camps. Seth was certain that many of these sites users were SC members themselves.

Searching the sites mainly against Li, (dubbing themselves "the loyal opposition")

Seth was enraged to find that all the site's administrators insisted on being civil in opposing Li and his party. Seth further felt the fury build in him at the many editorials

(penned by the "loyal opposition") insisting that there was no ulterior motive to Li's creation of the CS. Halfway tempted to create accounts just to add angry comments, Seth decided against this, as he figured the SC could likely track him if he posted on American servers. After two hours, Seth decided if he subjected himself to anymore of this, he would likely shorten his life by about five years.

Showering and throwing on some clothes, Seth decided to go find out and speak with whatever Americans he could, in hopes that someone would have figured out the truth by now.

His search for some dissenting voice to popular opinion was met with disappointment and rage: Over the next three days, Seth spoke with a little over one hundred Americans, three- fourths of which around his age. When he bought up the name Seth Casey, (not revealing it a his own name) the reactions he received were either murderous hatred or of paralyzed fear. Alternatively, bringing up Mathir Li prompted the exact opposite reactions, most notably in Seth's mind during a conversation at a bar with a man and his girlfriend on the third night:

"Does the name Seth Casey mean anything to you?" Seth asked

The man's blonde companion shrieked at the very mention of the name

"Worst guy to ever live," the thin, spectacled, spiky-haired man told Seth "What kind of a monster kills kids then laughs about it?"

"I know!" the woman chimed in "And can you believe some people think he's innocent?"

"Say you kind of look like him," the man said "Are you related to Casey?"

"You could say that," Seth replied cryptically, grateful he had acquired a considerable amount of muscle mass and facial hair.

"I'm just glad we have such a great guy a president," the blonde said "He'll get rid of the fascists that Baum let do whatever they want,"

Without bothering to suffer through the rest of the woman's talking points, Seth stomped out of the club for fear that if he stayed longer, he would break something or someone.

Stalking back to his apartment, Seth felt angrier at Americans than he had been in quite some time. If twits like those were America's future, then America could burn for all he cared, Seth thought savagely.

Sitting down at the laptop, Seth wanted to throw the computer across the room (yet sat in rapt, disgusted attention) when a video of teenagers performing some infernal, likely plagiarized song glorifying the new American regime.

The musical tribute to Mathir Li by young people didn't bother him in the slightest, as it had become something of common. What did bother Seth, was the fact that the parents were cheering for the propaganda.

Nearly physically ill at the display of sycophancy, Seth shut off the machine and tried to force himself to sleep.

" _How stupid can these people be?"_ he thought bitterly.

Attorney General Aldous Morhen, a man with no shortage of confidence, was feeling exceptionally proud tonight. All of the noise about the "fascist vote fraud" in the past two elections was finally paying off. The new "fraud-proof" voting machines were finally to be installed starting tomorrow morning. Morhen placed his hands behind his stringy blonde hair: It was ironic that all the outcry made about the "Baum police state" was actually helping his agenda. Picking up the phone's receiver, Morhen began to dial quickly:

"Dr. Ahearn," Morhen said calmly "Good you're still up,"

The Attorney General rolled his eyes at the older man's complaints.

"Both of us being old friends of the Li's," Morhen replied "Did you ever consider work with the SC?"

Morhen chuckled cynically:

"I've always wondered how their brains work too."

The Attorney General's expression had turned rather pleased

Alright then, Ahearn, I'll put in a good word for you," he answered before hanging up.

" _Costa and Prifiti are two of the biggest morons I've ever met,"_ Morhen thought smugly, exiting the office. While those two were fighting over who's men should capture a fugitive, he was actually responsible for suggesting "research" as to how the mind of a "fascist" works.

By that Friday, just when he thought that his disgust with the people that had turned him over to the SC could not get any stronger, Seth ran across a US government website permit website. This really didn't anger him until he came across the sections for permits to travel between states, to change residences, to create any sort of new media outlet, be it print or electronic, and even permits to administer places of worship. Interestingly enough, mosques seemed to be exempt from the need for permits.

At that moment, Seth decided that he wanted nothing more to do with a people that would allow this to happen.

Locating Alison at a gym nearby, Seth felt the a little of the rage leave him as he informed his friend of his findings:

"That is interesting," she said before wiping her forehead with a towel

"They can burn for all I care," Seth replied bitterly "They voted for Li, now they can suffer for it."

"That's kind of harsh, don't you think."

"No, not really."

Alison took a sip from a water bottle before climbing onto a treadmill:

"If you can't go home, what are you going to do?" Alison asked over the machine

"Probably some more mercenary stuff," Seth answered "I'm decent at it."

"Maybe you could go to Africa and create a mercenary nation."

"What are you talking about?" Seth asked

Alison sighed: "Never mind."

Later that afternoon, Seth wasn't at all surprised to find Geoffrey in a library around Moscow State University. The many occupants and general size of the building made finding the small Frenchman quite a task, when he did, Geoffrey often had to remind Seth to keep his voice down, maintaining a slightly worried look throughout the conversation.

"I'm sorry," Geoffrey whispered "I can't really understand."

"Oh come on," Seth whispered exasperatedly "Haven't the people in your country ever hated you and anyone who believes like you?"

"About ten percent of them, yes," Geoffrey replied, eyes on his reading material.

For some reason, Brian Kemp found his sons' graduation day didn't seem to tire him that much. On the other hand, the fact that Alene had allowed Adam a celebration (which quickly got out of hand) for the event was among the most tiring thing he had ever had the misfortune to supervise: One hundred and fifty hyperactive teenagers in one place was seldom a recipe for orderly conduct. Despite his own, his wife, and their two other children' efforts to get the situation under control, it took until eleven thirty that night to do so.

An hour and a half spent lecturing Adam about how actions had consequences doing nothing for the already fatigued Kemp, it likely earned him no points with his son either.

Silently overjoyed that this day was through, dropped onto the bed beside his resting wife, dropping off to sleep in literal seconds.

Literally two minutes after closing his eyes, Kemp was awakened by a very shaken-looking Alene.

"What's wrong?" he groaned

"I know I heard something downstairs," Mrs. Kemp whispered

"Stay here and lock the door."

Listening for the intruders, Kemp slid out of the bed, and reached from under it for his Mossberg 500 and made his way for the door, closing it behind him

His wife had occasionally remarked that it was strange that Brian kept a loaded shotgun under his bed, however his basic training all those years ago and subsequent honing of it had led him to prepare for this. Finding his three children apparently unmolested by the break-in, the Sergeant Major proceeded down the staircase, making each step light as possible.

Despite the facts that the strange archways sometimes generated equally strange shadows at night, Kemp was sure that he spotted something move. He slid the forend back, ready to kill the intruder and any accomplices. Advancing into the living room, he was something of relieved to find only a couple of broken windows, annoyance at the realization of having some credit cards and money stolen, and perplexed at the fact that the front door was ajar. Gingerly stepping towards the front porch, weapon raised, Kemp scanned the porch and yard, finding neither intruders nor any trace of them.

The Sergeant Major did, however find a letter scrawled in red ink reading:  
_THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING! DISCONTINUE ANY CONTACT WITH FLOYD REEVE!_

Normally, he would just dismiss this as a stupid prank, (as his son Adam's friends collectively had a strange sense of humor) but given the circumstances, he decided to hold on to and review it.

Both Kemp and his wife spent a good portion of the night studying the letter, it leaving her with more questions than answers:

"I know Floyd Reeve is the Sergeant Major of the Marines," Alene said, pouring coffee for the pair "But why would anybody threaten you for regular work stuff?"

Brian took an extended drink of coffee before scanning the letter again "Alene," he said

"I've seen and heard some interesting things over the past few months."

"Like what?"

"You wouldn't't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Brian spent the next hour explaining his multiple run-ins with the SC, Reeve's findings at Scott AFB, and the PMC members at Fort Hood firing on him.

Eyes wide and mouth gaping slightly, Alene was tempted to ask many questions, but was interrupted by the pure strangeness of the story.

"What do you think is going on?" she finally asked

"I'm don't know," Brian answered "I just hope I'm wrong."

At around two that afternoon, Ursula visited him. Even in spite of inviting him to view new additions to the Filipov family's art, she seemed slightly subdued:

"So are you really going to go back to mercenary work?" she asked, driving with significantly more care than usual

"That's how it looks," Seth replied bitterly "I can't go back to America unless I feel suicidal."

As they reached her home, Ursula strode towards the trees as opposed to the door:

"I'm sorry, I'm just kind of stressed out today," she said tiredly "Do you mind if I just go shoot at some targets."

"No," Seth replied "I'll go with you. All I've been doing for the past couple of days is studying really."

Ursula gave him a fatigued sort of smile.

The second she picked up a weapon, Seth noticed an underlying hostile mood from his friend. Obsessively targeting one mark with both guns and a blade, when Seth tried to ask what was bothering Ursula, she ignored him.

"Don't worry, I'm not angry at you," she said with a fake expression of contentment.

Wondering if something reminded Ursula of some figure in her life that wronged her, for the next six hours, Seth returned to practicing with the AK-74, not uttering another word, yet somehow feeling slightly responsible for her bad mood.

At about twenty minutes after eight, Seth was puzzled to find behind him, not Ursula, but Geoffrey and Alison:

"Wait, when did you guys get here?" Seth asked

"About five minutes ago," Geoffrey answered calmly "We were just going to ask Ursula if she wanted to go to this new restaurant. Do you want to come?"

"Why not," Seth replied, unloading a magazine from the Kalashnikov.

His two friends walking in front of him, in a moment of wandering eyes, Seth noticed the unusual fact that Alison was wearing a short black skirt.

"Are you wearing...a skirt?" Seth asked her, trying to suppress a fit of laughter.

"Yes, is there something funny about that?" Alison replied defensively

"Well...what I mean to say was... that...I" Seth stammered

"He sees imagined you as slightly masculine," Geoffrey interjected with a straight face "And let's be honest, you do give off that image."

Scowling at the both of them, Alison rang the doorbell repeatedly to no avail, Geoffrey however, revealed that the door was unlocked, prompting them both inside.

Entering the home, Seth's ears were assaulted by a sound similar to glass shattering against a wall, followed by high-pitched shrieking in something remotely resembling Russian speech. Running to the nearby living room, Seth half expected to find that some beast was loose in the house, only to find that the source was a furious Ursula staring down her father:

"Ursula, think about this from my point of view," Filipov said in a conciliatory tone

"What's there to think about?" Ursula shouted, face heavy with a (simultaneous) expression of rage and sadness "You take a day out of the year to remember that woman, and ignore what an awful person she was!"

"Ursula," Filipov said heavily "I know you two never got along well, but she was still family."

"Are you this blinded by your own selfishness!?" Ursula said incredulously "You worshiped the ground she walked on, but claimed your own daughter was just a lying, attention-seeking whore!"

"I never said that, no one ever said that."

"You might as well have!"

"Ursula, this argument is ridiculous," Filipov said in a slightly more forceful tone "The past is the past. Nothing will change that,"

"There you go again!" Ursula replied, the rage from her expression melted into sorrow "Always taking the coward's way out of problems! As far as I'm concerned, I have no family."

Ursula stomped from the living room, looking as though she could burst into tears at a moment's notice, momentarily pausing in front of a wall.

"Ursula, I really can't have any idea what you're going through," Alison said calmly, approaching her slowly "But maybe your dad really is serious."

"Don't talk to me," Ursula answered shortly

"I'm sorry," Alison said softly, approaching her friend and rubbing her shoulders

"I SAID DON'T TALK TO ME!" Ursula shouted before slapping her across the cheek, Alison now on the ground and her face very red "Don't... you... ever...touch me without my permission!"

These words preceded Ursula stomping from the house, with the distant sound of a car starting shortly afterwards, Geoffrey helping an Alison on the brink of tears.

"We're going to go check on her," Geoffrey said, Alison accompanying him out the door.

Finally advancing into the living room, Seth confronted a very depressed-looking Nikolai Filipov, who was pouring himself a glass of wine.

"If you don't mind me asking," Seth said gingerly "What was that all about?"

Filipov took a drink of the liquor and sighed: "Ursula was very close her mother Anya," he explained "When Ursula was about eight, she passed away."

"I'm sorry about your wife."

"It's just life. You savor the good and try to get through the bad."

Remembering the root of the argument, Seth was still left with more than a few questions:

"Who was that woman Ursula was talking about?" Seth asked, somehow getting the impression that this was not something he should be involved in.

Filipov took another sip of wine before returning with a picture of a serene-looking brown haired woman. Her blue eyes seemed to magnify her calming aura: "My ex-wife Esillia," he replied "The truth is, I don't think Ursula ever forgave me for marrying another woman, especially one twenty years my junior."

"I don't think she was jealous of her," Seth said "The way Ursula was speaking, I think she truly hated this woman."

"I can't blame her," Filipov replied "I can't blame her for not wanting to acknowledge me as her father either. Even after Anya passed away, Ursula still tried to maintain her cheerful disposition. Looking back on it, it was callous of me to remarry just two years after her mother's passing."

"Why did you do it then? Marry Esillia, I mean?"

"How old are you Seth?"

"Twenty-seven, why?"

"You're still a young man. I was nearing my fiftieth birthday."

The older man took another sip of his drink before resuming:

"I didn't want to die alone. I knew that Ursula, as my daughter would eventually leave me."

Filipov refilled his glass and took a significantly longer drink:

"Ursula was a remarkable little girl, a remarkable woman as well. Her teachers were astounded by her intelligence. They never hesitated to tell me about her genius," he said wistfully. "But around six months after Esillia and I married, her personality...changed.

"How so?" Seth asked cautiously, fairly certain the change in demeanor wasn't due to an innate bias against her stepmother

Refilling the now empty glass, Filipov emptied the wine bottle, quickly polishing off the glass's contents before inhaling deeply:

"For one," he began "Ursula began to have problems sleeping, some nights not sleeping at all. Maybe it was related, but she was unusually somber a fair amount of the time.

She also began to insist on spending an unnaturally long time at school."

Initially, this sounded like fairly begin symptoms to Seth, but an awful feeling told him that this was not the case. The temptation to press for further information was almost nonexistent, but Seth suppressed it anyway as the older man resumed his explanation:

"Also, Ursula just simply refused to be in a room alone with Esillia if she could help it, " Filipov resumed "Even if I was leaving the house for ten minutes, Ursula would insist she go with me. This became problematic, as I often traveled for business. As Ursula got slightly older, she began to isolate herself more."

"How?" Seth asked

"For one, unlike most girls her age, she wanted nothing to do with boys, or her peers at all, claiming not to trust them. Also there seemed to be an underlying hostility with most, if not all of her interactions, even going so far as to blind a boy in one eye who made a lewd remark about her. Probably the most blatant example of this was, when Ursula was fourteen, we went to Sweden. Where we ran across a distant cousin of her's, she came close to attacking the girl."

"Why did this happen?" Seth asked, this combination of symptoms making no sense to him.

"I'm afraid I have no right to tell you myself," Filipov replied grimly "In a way, I could have helped her."

The older man walked over to a desk and retrieved an envelope:

"I want you to give this to Ursula," he instructed "You're likely the only human being she does trust."

Pocketing the letter, Seth made his way to the door, almost forgetting to leave the Kalashnikov in the home.

Unsure as to one would place a rifle that technically did not belong to him, Seth placed the AK-74 on the living room desk before exiting the home, making sure to lock the door behind him.

As he wandered the streets of southeastern Moscow, Seth found the fact that the weather was cloudy with rumbles of thunder in the distance and a hint of rain.

Kind of like Ursula really, Seth thought. Interesting as this might have been, it was still slightly depressing. Wishing to escape the grim atmosphere of the city above, Seth descended into the nearby metro station, only to find it no better than the surface.

In the dark, slightly cramped confines of the unmarked rental van, the six members of Yeagergruppe One, braced themselves for another journey around the neighborhoods of southeastern Moscow. Its commanding officer, Security Committee Agent Drake Perrson, scanning the streets like an eagle seeking its prey. An apt analogy in a sense, as they were hunters.

"Agent Perrson," said Agent Michael Fausti "Why don't we just get Casey now?

I mean, he's in the area."

Perrson sighed exasperatedly: "Like I told Berne fifty times," he replied "Our orders are not to apprehend him anywhere we might be caught. When Berne and his group get his exact location, we tail him for a bit, then we grab him!"

"Of course sir,"

Kissing up to me isn't going to do you any good. I'm not Ariel Costa."

Emerging from a station near a bank of the Moskva river, the bright, festive lights did little to cheer Seth up. Normally a man that abhorred the noise of urban congestion, Seth walked against the traffic in hopes that it would add some life to the night.

After ten blocks, the grim clouds gave way to rain. Disliking the prospect of walking in the direction of the wind's origin in steadily increasing rain, Seth entered an inconspicuous building.

Seth found himself in a modern, classy, dimly-lit bar.

Seth assumed the place had been rented out, as the only occupants were the barkeeper (A disinterested looking woman of around forty) and at one of the bar stools, a black-clad, sobbing mass of red hair:

"Ursula...?" Seth said approaching her

"Please, go away..." Ursula sobbed before downing a glass of her liquor "Just go away..."

"We were worried about you. All of us... especially your dad."

"Don't talk about him...Or his Chechen whore either!"

Taking the stool next to Ursula, Seth swept some strands of hair off of her face, attempting to find the right words to comfort her to no avail, his friend's normally serene, beautiful face heavy with sorrow.

"No, you're right," Seth said finally "It's not my place."

Ursula motioned to the barkeep, sliding her a bottle of vodka. Refilling the glass with liquor, she downed that shot with equal ease before speaking:

"Everyone always went on about how beautiful and kind that bitch Esillia supposedly was, especially her eyes, " she said with a halfhearted resentment in her voice "She didn't look at me like I was her daughter, she looked at me the way a dog does a steak!

A ten year old girl!"

Ursula resumed weeping, Seth remaining silent. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that she had saved his life more than once, but Ursula being this distraught made him feel worse than all of his time in the SC custody.

"And that bastard that calls himself my father," she continued, the anger more pronounced in her voice "Constantly away for work, leaving me alone with her... Occasionally for a weeks at a time!

And the worst part is, he thought Esillia was a model wife and mother! I'll never forgive him, not as long as I live!"

Still at a loss for words as Ursula's story unfolded, Seth found himself sympathizing with her father less and less. Eyes wandering back to the bar itself, he was surprised to find the alcohol bottle's contents reduced by half.

"I truly wanted to kill that woman, I really did. I just regret her brother in-law did it before me," Ursula said sadly "Listen to me, you must think I'm horrible."

"No, it's not," Seth replied "No it's not."

"It wasn't as if she was really in love with my father, either."

"What do you mean?"

"I was serious when I said she was a lying tramp. My father probably thought she just had a lot of close friends, both men and women."

Ursula had now reduced the vodka bottle's contents to a fourth of its original:

"I don't deserve to know you Seth," Ursula said, melancholy tone returning "In case you hadn't noticed, we're not exactly good people."

"That's the biggest load of crap I have ever heard!" Seth answered, quite louder than he had intended to "Who was it that saved me from those drunks in Vladivostok? Who was it that taught me to fight after I stupidly accepted a mercenary assignment? Who was it that risked her life in Chechnya to kill off their reinforcements? All of these were you!

A worthless, amoral woman wouldn't't do these things for her friends!"

Seth stood up and continued his monologue, feeling the life return to the surrounding area:

"Let me tell you something, Ursula," Seth said firmly "You are not your father and you're definitely not Esillia."

"What am I then?" Ursula asked in a more composed tone

"You're among the kindest, bravest people I know."

Ursula buried her face in Seth's shoulder:

"Oh Seth," she whispered "I don't deserve you..."

Concerned by the fact that Ursula seemed to have collapsed on his shoulder though still breathing, Seth carried her over to a sofa in the corner. As it would look for him to carry her the entire distance to her home, Seth reached for the cell phone in one of his pockets, just now realizing it contained both Geoffrey and Alison's contact information.

Alerting the two to his whereabouts, Seth nearby the couch, relieved that he had found his friend, saddened at a young woman like Ursula had suffered more than most people three times her age, angry at Esillia, and disappointed that it wasn't he who murdered her.

Around fifteen minutes later, Alison and Geoffrey emerged from the doorway, Alison looking slightly concerned.

"Is she alright?" Seth asked, worried he had done something foolish

"No, she'll be fine," Alison said, checking her pulse "She just needs some rest."

During the return trip to the Filipov family's home, Seth's two friends seemed to be slightly confused as to why he insisted on sitting next to Ursula.

"Seth, she's fine," Alison said, eyes still on the road

Of course he was aware of that, nonetheless, Seth was still concerned about her.

Rain heavy against the car's exterior, Seth tried to focus on the still-bustling city, his problems still seeming insignificant to comparison to his friend's.

By the time they had arrived at their destination, the heavy winds literally had the precipitation blowing sideways. Carrying an unconscious Ursula into the house was not a problem (Ursula was likely lighter than the rucksack he had carried in Chechnya) for him, the main thing was the rain in his face.

Crossing the threshold, Seth was not really that surprised that Alison offered to carry Ursula to her bedroom.

"I'll be back in a minute," she said

"Why can't you just put her on the couch?" Geoffrey asked

"You've never slept on a couch, have you?" Seth answered as Alison carried Ursula up the stairwell.

Geoffrey sighed: "I really do feel sorry for Ursula," he said "How can someone suffer so much and still maintain a guise of happiness?"

"She's just a strong woman," Seth replied "Fortunately for all of us."

"That might be true, but, no one can stay strong without support."

"You're right, I guess."

"Seth, my point is you're the only one she trusts. Don't betray that trust by dying before your time."

Alison returning in literally two minute's time, the three decided against going out to eat that night. Geoffrey and Alison both claimed it was due to the storm, but something told Seth that they were as concerned about Ursula as he was.

Really unsure as to how to spend the evening, they retired to the kitchen, Alison turning on a small television set, Geoffrey reading a book from the living room.

Considering (attempting) to cook something, a strange feeling told him that a more constructive use of his time would be to clean his AK-74. The fifteen minutes of (somewhat) comprehensible Russian chatter and Filipov strolling aimlessly through the rooms might have influenced this.

Procuring some a rag and some oil from a nearby cabinet, Seth removed the receiver cover and began to disassemble the weapon. Absentmindedly, he began to coat the rag in grease, scrubbing the various components.

Once had finished cleaning and reassembling the weapon, Seth's eye was caught by the television newscast depicting the solemn, Geoffrey-esque man he met en route to Uzbekistan.

"Who is that?" Seth asked, disposing of the rag "I've met him before."

"Aleksey Volkov, Russia's Prime Minister," Geoffrey answered as though it was obvious "Where did you meet him?"

"In Domodedovo, although he was traveling alone."

"Maybe he just likes his privacy," Alison interjected

After two hours spent discussing their future plans, Alison and Geoffrey decided to leave, Geoffrey claiming that he had a meeting the next morning..

Preparing to leave himself, the letter from Ursula's father came to mind.

" _I'll just leave it here,"_ Seth thought, ascending the stairwell.

As he observed his surroundings in the hallway, Seth was only now coming to truly appreciate the manor's beauty. Of course, the mahogany walls and the smooth, snow-like carpets were nice, but the true high points were the replicas of famous sculptures and paintings. Seth almost regretted reaching the bedroom where a light snoring originated.

Not seeking to disturb her, Seth simply left the envelope in the doorway.

" _Maybe I'll look around for a while,"_ Seth thought, turning off lights behind him.

"Berne, come in Berne," Agent Perrson said into the short range radio

"We have a lock on Casey's location!"

"For God's sake, you don't have to shout," came Second Lieutenant Lowell Berne's voice

"Alright, we're two miles northeast of your position. Good luck."

"Don't need it."

As the unmarked van pulled up to an upscale, well-kempt house, the members of Yeagergruppe One removed their weapon's from their cases.

Perrson slid a SIG P226 into his holster before removing an HK416 from a case.

"Alright, let's do this." Perrson instructed, one of the subordinates opening the rear doors, the Yeagergruppe's members pouring towards the home's front door.

Standing behind (and covering) a prone teammate, Perrson scanned the area one last time: "Remember, our orders are to take it slow and not to make any more noise than absolutely necessary," he instructed "This means you, Fausti."

"Oh of course," Band Leader Fausti replied in an affronted tone "The guy with the shotgun is going to make the most noise."

"Just break the door down already. This shouldn't't take more than five minutes."

"Sir," the MP5-wielding Under Company Leader Kelly chimed in "Are you sure the driver shouldn't't stay behind?"

"You're not getting out of this, you coward," Perrson said tiredly

Lying down in an extra bedroom near Ursula's, Seth wondered if he could someday afford a home like this. The rain finally dying down, he decided that maybe it would be a good time to leave.

Strangely enough, the dogs in this area, normally quite loud, were silent tonight.

It's probably nothing, he thought.

A sound similar to several pounds of gravel falling to the ground reverberated through the house. Seth attempted to stifle the curses struggling to leave his lips ,as he was sure that this was gunfire.

Initially intent on going to engage the intruders, Seth struck the bed in frustration, remembering he had no magazines for his weapon, not to mention the fact that if they were this reckless with their weapons, they likely wouldn't't hesitate to fire on anyone impeding their process towards whatever their goal was.

Taking long, quiet steps towards Ursula's bedroom, Seth attempted to wake her, eliciting only irritated snoring.

There had to have been some sort of weapon around here, Seth thought anxiously.

Tempted to tear apart the room in search of a weapon, Seth was dissuaded by this from by a light moaning.

"Oh, my head," Ursula groaned "What was I doing?"

"Drinking. A lot," Seth said quickly "That's not important right now. I need a gun of some kind or at least 5.45 magazines."

"Check under the bed,"

Removing the box labeled "5.45" from under Ursula's bed, Seth found a small box filled to the brim with magazines.

"Can you fight?" Seth asked, pocketing six (three 30-round and three 45-round) magazines and loading a 40-round one "If you can, I need your help."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Ursula answered, heading to the closet and retrieving a duffel bag and an AKS-74U before removing two small, steel tubes, handing one to Seth. "Screw this on to the end of the barrel.

Roughly two yards from the stairwell, Seth motioned for Ursula to stop:

"Get down, I hear something," Seth whispered, setting the selector switch to automatic "Get to the other side of the hall, don't turn on any lights."

Ursula complied stepping lightly across the (rather wide) hallway, crouching behind an end table. The thing that struck Seth most about the intruders' voices is that they, while quieted, seemed slightly familiar and without accent.

One might have expected him to be unnerved at the realization that the SC had finally located him, on the contrary, Seth actually found himself excited at the fact that, while this was not exactly an advantageous position, he just might live through this if this plan worked.

Taking a beam of light darting around the ceiling and boots stomping against the stairs as his cue, Seth sprayed (pleased to find that the noise from the discharge was significantly lessened) their position with a 20-round hail of lead, killing the man in the lead and wounding one of his compatriots.

The healthy intruder climbed the stairs returned Seth's fire, only to be struck down by a burst from behind him. Motioning for Ursula and heading for the stairs, Seth finished off the casualty, diving behind a bookshelf as two of the other invaders fired on his position.

The taller figure providing covering fire, his companion began to move towards the stairs, Seth foiling the maneuver with the remainder of his rounds, ejecting the empty magazine.

Over the weapons' discharge, (both friends and enemies) Seth isolated the voice of one the figure formerly providing covering fire, apparently requesting backup from whoever was on the other end of the radio.

Ursula cut down the man attempting to scale the stairs, prompting his ally on the radio to rise to return the fire. Taking advantage of his enemy's momentary lack of caution, Seth raised his weapon to chest level and fired, all ten of the rounds shredding his light chest armor.

Finally turning on a light switch, Seth reviewed the scene:

Judging by their uniforms and equipment, he and Ursula had just taken down members of a SWAT-like unit. Checking the corpses for identification, Seth's the suspicions that the intruders were American (more specifically SC) were confirmed.

"We have to get out of here," Seth told Ursula "These are members of the organization that was after me."

"Can you explain to this situation to me?" Ursula asked "This sort of thing doesn't't exactly happen every day."

"I'll explain if we survive this."

Seth was slightly relieved at the rain picking up again. If used correctly, it could aid in concealing their presence from the assailants. The home resembled a small battlefield, shell casings and blood strewn throughout the second and third floors. This didn't seem to bother Ursula much, nor did the corpse of her father in the entryway.

After hearing Ursula's side of the story, Seth found it bothered him less as well.

"Okay, where's the car?" Seth asked

"Damn it," Ursula said "I took it with me when I went to the bar!"

"Why would you drive by yourself to a bar?"

"Because I wasn't thinking clearly, alright!"

The pair found a remedy to this problem in the unmarked van the intruders had left behind. Able to carry their cargo without problem, and inconspicuous as well.

Ursula insisted that she was fine, but Seth was reluctant to take any chances.

"You have been drinking, you know." he reminded

Despite the presence of the windshield wipers, Seth still found himself having difficultly focusing on the road. He was not terribly fond the pattering of heavy rainfall against the vehicle's roof, as this sound tended to bring back some unpleasant memories of his.

In spite of these facts, Seth could not help but find the situation of driving in the rain at night somehow...soothing.

Somehow, circling the southern neighborhoods of Moscow seemed to calm him, robbing him of the sense of imminent danger he carried into battle.

Approaching traffic light, Seth lurched to his right as the vehicle's left tires burst, followed by the western wall being peppered with gunfire. Seth supposed that he should have expected to be pursued, as any secret police worth half it's budget would have a reserve plan for capturing (or killing) their most hated foe. Throwing himself to the ground, Seth suppressed the curses in his mind in favor of a plan:

"Ursula!" he said, loading a 45-round magazine "I'll cover you, get some kind of transportation."

"Understood," she replied "Just keep them off of us for a few minutes."

Bursting from the van's rear door, Seth laid down ten rounds of suppressive fire at the approaching fiends, sending them scurrying for cover and returning his fire.

Ursula emerging from the vehicle shortly afterwards, she effortlessly lifted the rucksack and headed down a nearby street, Seth trailing shortly behind, not before taking down two of the attackers.

Turning a corner, Seth motioned Ursula behind him as he depressed himself behind a building in order to avoid the incoming gunfire. The SC agent scanning the scene was promptly struck down by Seth, allowing the two to progress.

Seth spotted two more operatives incoming from the street opposite them, throwing the remainder of his magazine's rounds at them before diving behind a small, silver car.

From the position, Ursula threw several more rounds at their enemies:

"I rather like this one," she remarked about their cover

Loading another magazine, Seth lined up the butt of the weapon with the window and shattered it.

"Well, okay then," he said "It's all yours, as long as it gets us out of here."

His opponents attempting to advance, Seth changed the selector switch to the full automatic position in order to repel the fiend, wounding him in the process.

Intent on finishing the enemy, Seth ducked down once again at the return fire.

"I'm done!" Ursula shouted, throwing the duffel bag into the back seat, "Come on!"

Figuring it unwise to linger any longer, Seth continued the volley of lead, with his remaining rounds killing the opposing rifleman.

Tossing his weapon next to the rucksack, Seth climbed into the passenger seat, avoiding the fire from the wounded enemy.

A triumphant sort of realization setting over him, Seth could not help but smile slightly.

"That was certainly interesting, wasn't it?" Ursula asked, adjusting the visor in a futile attempt to repel the rain.

"Like you said," Seth replied casually "This kind of thing doesn't't happen every day."

"What...do...you...mean they failed?" Mahathir Li said breathily into the phone receiver, anger burning away any morning fatigue "You said that they were the best Costa..."

Li's face began to coil with rage at the stuttering excuses:

"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN THAT THIS WASN'T FAMILIAR TERRITORY!" he shouted into the receiver "WHAT I DO CARE ABOUT IS THE FACT THAT THIS SON OF A BITCH IS STILL BREATHING! A SCREW UP LIKE THIS AGAIN AND YOU'LL WISH THAT YOU WERE CASEY!"

Given his arrogance, fixation on his appearance, and poor administration skills led the President to wonder why he kept Costa around at all. Even his fair composition skills (In fact, Li had used the Costa's solar cross design during his campaign and continued to do so) didn't change the fact that he was still an unpleasant individual to be around.

Tabitha Li found her bright red dress, adorned with the SC dress insignia, livened up the Seattle private school's unimpressive interior, drawing attention to her exclusively, just the way she liked it. Requested to give a speech to an all-girls school on good "anti-fascist" values, the First Lady gladly accepted. Emerging from a makeshift dressing room, she strode to the auditorium's west entrance.

"Seriously," The armed guard on the left muttered to his companion "Her ass is so big you could- er...."

"Keep up that sort of talk and I'll see to it that you end up on watch duty in the middle of Alaska for the rest of your life," Mrs. Li said nastily

Entering the auditorium itself, Tabitha Li was showered with cheers and applause, giving her demeanor and mind quite a boost. Countless comments over the past year and a half about her graceful stride, her genteel mannerisms, and body in general had led the normally subdued First Lady to a more personable mood. Ascending the stage, she basked once more in the admiration of the students, nothing could spoil this moment for her.

Seth had never liked driving, he liked riding in cars even less. Unfortunately for him, he and Ursula spent the better part of the next two days circling the area around Moscow.

Looking back on it, the trip was not as bad an experience that it had seemed:

Both the seemingly endless rural land and Seth's travel companion were quite easy on the eyes.

On the second evening, the pair located a forest on the outskirts of a small town.

Ursula suggested they camp in a forest on the outskirts of a small town, as the SC likely would not bother with such a settlement.

Seth absent mindedly threw a match on the small fire before realizing Ursula had finished with the tent.

"So if you can't stay here, what are you going to do?" Ursula asked, removing two prepackaged meals from the knapsack

"Most likely some more mercenary stuff," Seth replied "If I'm lucky, I'll be able to leave Russia without much hassle. What about you?"

"Who knows, I might go with you. My job lets me travel a lot and I don't have any family here."

The fact that Ursula had done so much for him, yet knowing very little about her left Seth feeling slightly ignorant:

"I know it's kind of a strange question," Seth said "Do you have any family?"

"A few in Serbia and Slovenia, most of my relatives are in America.

Although I have a distant cousin in... It was either Norway, Sweden, or Finland, although she's kind of strange..."

"What do you mean by that?"

"For one, she had this white skin, I don't mean pale, I mean actually snow white.

Also, she had these unnatural red eyes that made you feel really strange talking to her.

The fact that she was a complete bitch was likely her most humanizing feature."

Seth, in his wildest imagination, could not understand how such a woman would look, much less interact with another human being.

"What about your family?" Ursula asked "I've never heard you talk much about yourself."

From his wallet, Seth removed a photograph of a tall, thin brown-haired man accompanied by a petite, east Asian woman holding what was, presumably a five or six-year old Seth.

"Wait," Ursula said in a puzzled tone "You're..."

"It's fine, most people didn't notice until the saw my parents together," Seth replied wistfully "They are great people. My dad worked himself half to death and still found time for both of us. The things my mom loved most were me, my dad, and God in that order."

"What happened to them anyway?"

"I'm not sure really."

"Just one thing," Ursula said, removing a bottle of vodka from the knapsack "What caused you come to Russia in a cargo ship? I had always heard of people running to America, not from it?"

Seth sighed before his eyebrows lowered sharply:

"It's not important," he said

"Yes, it is. I just want to know what would cause a man to run from the country known as a bastion of freedom."

The past year came suddenly rushing back to Seth

The seemingly endless election season, Mathir Li's countless promises to many groups, the relentless demonization of an incompetent (though certainly not malicious) Henry Baum, Geoffrey's warnings (and his own research) about the nature of collectivist policies, the online testimonies of people in America itself, and most of all, the concocted "fascist" threat.

Seth unloaded the magazine from his weapon and handed it to Ursula.

Okay," he said at last "But it's kind of a long story, so let me relax a bit."

Seth took the liquor container near Ursula and took a protracted drink from it:

"Alright, just be prepared to be up all night with this story."

XV

"About ten years ago," Seth began "A man named Henry Baum got elected president. Most people didn't care either way, but quite a few people tried to paint him as the bastard son of Adolf Hitler and Satan."

"That's kind of excessive, isn't it?" Ursula asked "He's just a politician."

Seth took another sip of vodka:

"You would think so," he replied "His opponents tried to claim he stole both elections he won, claimed he pulled off 9/11, said he was going to suspend any future elections, implement a Christian theocracy, whatever the hell that means, and throw anyone who opposed him into death camps."

Ursula gave him a confused look:

"That's insane," she said "Why would anyone propagate this stupidity."

Seth took another drink:

"You don't have to tell me," he replied, a disgusted look setting over his face "The worst part is, they repeated it so often and for so long that people started to believe it.

Like I said, the things my mom loved most were me, my dad, and God in that order.

Apparently, this makes her a seditionist who wants to execute any non-Christians."

Seth continued after taking another, longer drink of the alcohol:

"In fact," Seth resumed "A fair number of Baum's enemies claimed anyone who opposed them was either stupid or malicious, saying they should, at best be sterilized.

These same people had a tendency to ramble on about how Baum was going to implement 'fascism' in America. Overlooking the one fact that Henry Baum was the most spineless man to ever hold the position What kind of 'despot' literally grovels to our enemies as a nation?"

Seth downed another fifth of the container's contents:

"Ironically, these exact same people who spent those eight years screaming about impending 'fascism' would find that they would be quite fond of actual fascism."

If you asked most of the people who voted for 'All in the state, nothing outside the state, and nothing against the state' would sound like a pretty good idea to them."

really makes you appreciate modern conveniences."

Seth gulped down another shot of vodka in a vain attempt to suppress the fury welling up inside him:

"A complete ban on any sort of firearm to keep them out of the hands of the 'fascists'," Seth resumed "You have to register with the state and need a permit to move or travel and even permits to distribute information on the internet.

Oh and of course, the camps. People that were a just a little too vocal in their opposition to the new regime risked waking up in a prison camp or just disappearing. I was actually about a day away from being executed when I somehow escaped."

"How did it get to this point?" Ursula asked with a hint of disgust in her voice

Seth took another drink of vodka:

"They said it was 'for the children!'" Seth said in a high, mocking voice "In all seriousness Ursula, they just repeated the smears about the so-called 'fascists' time and time again. Whether they called us Christian theocrats (anyone who is remotely religious), Nazis, Zionist agents, or reactionaries, all they had to do was repeat it time and time again. Eventually, Baum became so toxic politically, that if you opposed them in anyway, you supposedly supported Baum."

"Were these people actually expecting to be persecuted?" Ursula said incredulously

"Possibly," Seth replied "The fact that they spoke so much about how Baum was going to start purges any day suggested that they actually wanted to be persecuted. Believe me, fun is the last thing actually being persecuted is. More than anything, it's stressful.

But back to your question, of course, Li's own party was more than comfortable with this sort of insanity, and the other party was afraid to call attention to it. The same thing applies now; the opposing party is trying to prove their moderation and solidarity with Li in opposing the 'fascists'."

Ursula threw another match on the dying flame, the embers slowly consuming the remainder of the wood:

"I would have thought someone in the news media would have figured this out," she said

"Free press!?" Seth said as though hearing a riotous joke "Don't make me laugh!

All of this crap was either ignored or lent credence to! For God's sake, a fourth of Americans believe the government carried out 9/11! The party supposedly in league with the 'fascists' was deathly afraid of the media! Of course, It didn't help that the vast majority of 'journalists' would cover for Li's regime even if he was running death camps... which is exactly what they're doing. I dare you to try to find any mention of camps and CS atrocities in any newspaper or television news."

Seth gazed at the star-dotted sky and sighed before taking another swig of the liquor, continuing his rant in a softer tone:

"I've met some great people around my age," Seth resumed "Especially Geoffrey, Alison, and most of all, you. But American people my age... Don't get me started on them.

So easily led by those twits in Hollywood, it's disgusting."

"Kind of bitter, aren't't you?" Ursula asked

"Damn right I'm bitter. Not only in America, you have people all over the world slobbering over Li, just because he's not Baum."

"Don't insult me Seth. The second I laid eyes on Li, I didn't trust him. His wife struck me as even worse."

"Well, you would be right there. But I, not as long as I live will understand the appeal Li has to so many millions. Quite a few people treat him like some kind of god."

"Oh yeah," Seth said "How could I have forgotten? The CS apparently pledge an oath of loyalty to Li, to follow any and all of his orders, no matter how barbaric."

"What kind of person joins this CS?" Ursula inquired tentatively

"The same people that went on about how Baum was going to throw his opponents into death camps. I found one thing about this situation very amusing though."

"What's that?"

"That the very same people who spent eight years screaming about impending 'fascism' would feel quite comfortable under the real thing."

Seth arched his neck back for another swig of the liquor, staring pensively at the sky:

"Although," he said, his tone slightly less hostile "The so-called 'loyal opposition wasn't much help either. Constantly claiming that wondering if Li had any ulterior motives for creating the SC were 'conspiracy theories' and 'fear mongering' And don't think I have anything good to say about the SC either. The individuals that came to compose its officer corps always went on about how 'enlightened' and 'tolerant' they were than the rest of us peons."

Seth finished off the bottle's contents, tossing the container aside:

"Of course, these enlightened, progressive souls were among the most enthusiastic executioners," he resumed "The exact same people who claimed to be for 'justice in society' were so keen to comply in mass murder. If you happened to have a southern accent, you were likely to be treated even worse."

"Demons in human form," Ursula said disgustedly "They promise you everything, than take everything from you."

In the haze of his drunken rant, Seth nearly forgot to voice on of his greatest concerns, as well as questions:

"Something else I'll never understand either," Seth said "Is why American Jews were among this regime's greatest supporters, even while the SC had a homicidal hatred for them."

"Maybe they're just afraid to be hated?" Ursula suggested

"The strange thing is, A Jewish woman and her husband actually saved my life by collaborating in a report about the Li family."

"Let me guess, that report is why they came after you, right?"

"Exactly."

"It was kind of a strange month," Seth said "These same people that went on about the 'innocent' jihadists at Guantanamo Bay had no qualms about running what seemed to be the spawn of Buchenwald and some kind of sports field."

"What was it like?" Ursula asked gingerly

Seth lifted the shirt off his body, revealing the body toned by years of self-induced trials, as well as extensive scarring down the left side of his torso:

"Before you ask, I didn't get burned in an accident," he said grimly "This was intentional."

"Why?"

"To get me to talk, why else? Truth is, I would have rather have been sent to Guantanamo.

Which would you rather have: Three square meals a day, time allotted for prayer and exercise, or dwelling in an oversized closet, being woken up at four in the morning, and pointless labor until about eleven that night? And that's saying nothing about the daily executions."

"I actually feel a little sorry for the Americans, actually," Ursula said sleepily

"I don't," Seth answered flatly "They were voting for a god, and they got a despot, fitting punishment as far as I'm concerned. A part of me actually thinks that the American people wanted to be ruled with an iron fist."

"Maybe you're right. It's happened countless times in history."

Ursula left him with these words as she went to the tent to sleep.

Tempted to do so as well, Seth merely leered at the dying embers. Apparently, the SC wasn't going to stop hunting him until he was either captured or dead. And the "freedom loving" American people would be cheering them on every step of the way.

The 'sociopath fascist' Seth Casey would be captured, and the sheep would cheer their god Mathir Li for saving them, he thought savagely.

And where was the 'loyal opposition', calling attention to this travesty?

With his frustration at the situation growing, Alison's suggestion of going to Africa, carving out his own mercenary nation, and creating a military to challenge the west seemed less absurd by the second as he staggered to his sleeping bag.

Under a solitary office light, Prime Minister Aleksey Volkov reviewed the budget proposal once more, before tossing the hefty document into the waste bin.

His nation's welfare had improved since the early 1990s, the Prime Minister was still not fond of the projection that Russia's deficit of ten percent of its gross domestic product.

A short, slightly balding man, his acquaintances often joked that Volkov's piercing hazel eyes were some kind of method of stealing souls.

Deep in thought, he barely noticed the door creak open:

"What brings you here, bin Ahmed?" Volkov said sleepily

The older man remained silent, admiring the office's décor. Sayyid al Seif bin Ahmed's influence in the oil industry had helped Russia greatly in its recovery. Volkov, while grateful for this fact still noticed strange aura about bin Ahmed.

That strange atmosphere that led the Prime Minister to greatly distrust him.

"You seem troubled somehow," bin Ahmed said at last "Is there a problem?"

"Aside from fatigue and surrounded by Parliament more concerned with bickering, not really," Volkov replied "I'm not exactly a young man, anymore."

"I envy you actually."

"Why is that?"

"I spend many a sleepless night thinking and see many different things, "bin Ahmed said heavily "The foolishness of the American body politic, the folly of the European powers, the East's short-sighted pursuit of wealth, the treachery of the Ciklon syndicate..."

"What about them?" Volkov interrupted

"I would have thought a former mayor of Novgorod would have known by heart.

The fact that the syndicate has made countless fortunes of your nation's decline.

Through the drugs, the prostitution, weapons trafficking, and the God knows what else."

A normally very calm, amicable man, Volkov felt an overwhelming hatred surge through him. As a former mayor of Novgorod, the Prime Minister was well aware of the prevalence of the Ciklon syndicate, but the idea that they were actively promoting his country's decline was completely new to him:

"What exactly are you talking about?" he said through gritted teeth

"Didn't you know?" bin Ahmed asked in a mildly surprised tone "These criminals are actively promoting your nation's downfall. As their name implies, there really isn't much that can be done, save for waiting for them to die out."

"Surely there must be something?..."

"If you truly wish to know," bin Ahmed said in the same, heavy tone "There is a man beloved by the leader of the Ciklon syndicate. Their leader is by all accounts, a secretive, very unstable woman. If you should happen to kill the man she values more than life itself, the Ciklon syndicate's activities would be greatly impeded."

"Where can I find him?" Volkov said at once

"I'm not exactly sure," bin Ahmed said tentatively "However, you will know him when you see him."

"How?"

"He will be a young, foreign man, albeit one with an uncharacteristic bitterness about him. Do you wish to see him returned to his own country? He will almost certainly face death there."

"No, I want to find him...and finish him with my own hands."

"If you insist."

"So have you decided what you're going to do?" Ursula asked, loading camping supplies in the car

"Maybe Alison had a point," Seth said, bundling his weapon with the gear "It would take time, but creating a nation sounds like a decent idea."

The plains of western Russia illuminated by the rising sun, Seth was slightly frustrated at the realization that Ursula had taken a protracted route to the forests. A mind-numbing drive being a better fate than public execution, Seth refrained from voicing his protests, drifting off to sleep in an effort to banish his splitting headache.

The landscape quite serene, the only thing really disturbing Seth was Ursula's Russian chattering over the phone. After about an hour, the speech changed to English, apparently warning Geoffrey and Alison to stay away from her home and that they would be at Seth's apartment.

Drifting in and out of consciousness throughout the trip, Seth was only actually awakened by Ursula around noon that day. His companion did not have to actually try to wake Seth, as the sounds of traffic congestion rung in his ears.

"Seth this is kind of embarrassing," Ursula said "I forgot exactly where your apartment was."

Tired as he still was, Seth made his best effort to direct Ursula to his residence, ignoring the irritating, assorted sounds of Central Moscow.

The return trip taking longer than he would have liked, the two reached the complex around two hours later.

"Nice place you've got here," Ursula remarked "You don't often see this kind of architecture around here. It's a nice change."

"You think so?" Seth asked

"Yeah. I wouldn't't mind living in a place like this."

"You must be tired. Can I get you anything?"

Ursula chuckled slightly:

"No, I'm fine," she said "But I did forget something. I'll be back in a little while."

"What now," Seth yawned

"Just some tools."

"Okay, just be careful. I still think the SC has agents around here."

Ursula returned around an hour later, carrying three boxes and something slung over her shoulder. Relieving her of two of the containers, Seth was confused at the fact that one of the boxes contained upwards of fifty containers of an ammunition caliber he had never seen before.

"You said that you were going to travel, correct?" Ursula said

"Yes, but what does this stuff have to do with it?" Seth replied

"I want you to have this," Ursula answered, handing Seth the rifle slung over her back, a scoped Winchester Model 52.

Already in possession of a (very reliable) AK-74, Seth really didn't see any use for another rifle for someone like him. Still, given its mahogany finish and ergonomic comfort, there was no denying the fact that it was a beautiful (if slightly dated) weapon.

"Thanks Ursula," Seth said "But I don't see how this will do me much good."

"It's not for fighting with!" Ursula said in a this-should-be-obvious tone "It's for practice!

Besides, anyone who uses a bolt-action rifle chambered in the 22 Long Rifle caliber in battle, is a living example of natural selection at work."

Over the next five days, Seth took Ursula's advice to heart, practicing long range target shooting with his new Winchester. Neither the new practice location nor sleeping on the couch impeding his skill with the rifle.

Geoffrey and Alison also made habits of visiting, the former often at strange hours.

The Frenchman seemed to be morbidly amused at Seth's tales of stupidity in the American political system.

"I honestly don't see how anyone puts up with it," Seth said, squeezing off a shot on a target some hundred and fifty yards off "The term 'American politics' might as well be a synonym for stupidity."

"How stupid?" Geoffrey asked before downing some sort of juice

"The two party system doesn't't really work if one party is full of morons and quasi-Marxists while the other is full of idiots and machocists."

The pair moving backwards about fifty yards, Seth fired five shots at the target, all of them connecting with its head:

"And let's not get started on the labels," Seth said bitterly "All you had to do was call someone a name for long enough and the stupid sheep believed it."

"No, start," Geoffrey replied "This sounds interesting."

Seth exhaled deeply before continuing:

"If you think that people should work for a living and spend responsibly, in American political-speak, you 'hate the poor'" he resumed, another round meeting its mark "Attend church or believe in God? That supposedly makes you a "Christian theocrat".

If you think Israel is in the right, then that made you a 'traitorous, bloodthirsty Zionist who hates Arab children', or, if you think violent criminals should be executed, you 'don't respect human life, or if you think human life is more valuable than animal life, that meant you 'hate the earth', or if you don't think Mathir Li is God's gift to mankind, you're a 'violent, bigoted reactionary."

"I guess in American political-speak as you put it," Geoffrey said proudly "This makes me an evil, bloodthirsty, theocratic, reactionary Zionist who hates the poor and the earth."

Alison however, seemed fonder of discussing the martial matters of America's situation:

"I believe what you said about the camps," she told him "But I know that the American military would never go along with something like that. I've served with a few of them, by and large, they're good people."

"They didn't," Seth replied, finishing cleaning the Winchester and moving to the Kalashnikov "Li has a force loyal exclusively to him to conduct 'anti-fascist' activities."

By the end of the week, Seth had some semblance of a plan for his life:

He would collect his weapons and try to leave Russia through the Ukrainian, Chinese, or Mongolian borders and use the funds he had acquired to create a mercenary company.

Granted, it wasn't the most well thought out plan, but the possibility remained that the border guards could accept a bribe of several thousand dollars.

Oddly enough, Seth was reassured by the fact that Ursula, his closest friend seemed to be well acquainted with less-than legal activities.

Perhaps she could help him with this endeavor, Seth thought as he lowered himself onto the sponge-like bed.

"Are you sure that he'll take the actions you're predicting?" Ida Sokolof asked, loading a few of her employer's books into a suitcase "Because Kolya said Casey seemed kind of pissed off for some reason."

"Who is the one who made a living off of observing and taking advantage of other people?" Jenifer Cropper replied, taking another sip of tea "Besides, we're both after the same thing."

From the window, Cropper gazed thoughtfully at the sight of the Croatian village at nighttime:

"Go and be with your husband," she told her employee "If the rumor about the CS agents outside of American soil is true, neither of you will be safe."

"What will you do," Sokolof asked "You can't just keep running for the rest of your life."

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't. I'll figure something out."

Not even the beautiful sights of the Russian city of Kazan at night could have rectified Bojan Kovac's foul mood. The failure of the Yeagergruppe was, a victory for him and his men, though slightly hollowed given the fact that no one seemed to know Casey's exact (they were fairly certain of eastern Russia) location.

Pacing outside the pristine, regal Kul Sharif mosque, Kovac waited for the emergence of a man said who supposedly would be helpful to them.

Half an hour's wait bought a man dressed in long, black garments emerging from the mosque.

"You seem familiar somehow," the figure said in his lazy, arrogant voice

The man seemed to have been a veteran of several battles gone bad, possessing copious scarring across his face slightly obscured by his beard, an eye patch over his left eye, and a couple of missing fingers on his left hand

"Rogatica," Kovac said mechanically, albeit smiling "If I'm not mistaken, someone matching your description ordered a large number of attacks against Bosnian Serbs."

"Well, you would be correct in that assumption," the black-clad figure replied

You wanted to know about Casey, right?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"He's in Moscow, more specifically the southeastern districts. Just beware the Ciklon syndicate. Supposedly, their leader is quite fond of him."

"How do I know that I can trust you?"

"Because I want to see this country burn. I have connections to influential Chechens in that region. I'll see if I can make your task any easier."

"I thank you, Mr..."

"Just call me the One-eyed Imam, my friend."

Agent Don Aiken staggered from his southern Moscow motel room, attempting to ignore the several (poorly self-treated) gunshot wounds down the right side of his body.

Around a week ago, Aiken and his teammates in the Yeagergruppe laid siege to a home and engaged the fugitive Seth Casey. Their underestimation of the fugitive's (and his companion's) martial abilities and ability to improvise tactics had left Aiken as the sole survivor of his unit. Having sold off his body armor and disposed of his HK416 some time ago, Aiken's main concern was escaping Russia without the authorities arresting him.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was so intent on redressing the wounds, or the fact that it was three in the morning, but Aiken scarcely noticed the large, hulking figure lurking in the shadows:

"Kovac!" the Band Leader said, recoiling slightly "What brings you here?"

"So I was correct," Kovac replied "The Yeagergruppe did fail."

"I...I of course had nothing to do with it! It was all Perrson!"

"Cut this out, Aiken. Where's Casey?"

"The last time I saw him was on in the southwestern districts."

"I thank you for that."

Seemingly turning around to leave, the giant jerked back to face Aiken, SIG P210's barrel facing him:

"Like I said," Kovac growled "I'm thankful for your information."

"Well, then I'll just be going," Aiken said, eyes slightly widened.

"You don't understand. You've outlived your usefulness to anyone, especially me."

By the time the motel's occupants had arrived to investigate the several loud cracking noises, they found nothing, save for the wide-eyed man of about thirty's corpse.

" _Why am I eating oatmeal?"_ Seth thought to himself as he choked down the substance.

For some reason, Ursula had insisted that they go see an opera (Something in German he didn't understand) that evening. He knew that Ursula was an extremely intelligent woman, but something just told Seth that sitting still for several hours would bore her greatly.

Showering, dressing, and dragging himself out the door, Seth realized that this would likely be a formal event, with him possessing no formal wear. The strange thing was, in his two months in Moscow, he had never thought that this occasion would come up.

Geoffrey not seeming much for any sort of socialization outside of close friends or family, and half expecting Ursula to put him in some uncomfortable, skintight suit, Seth (for some reason) dialed Alison's number for advice on this matter.

Consulting Alison for advice however, resulted in spending the rest of the morning on sampling various suits, most of which didn't even fit Seth

"Were you always built like this?" Alison asked, measuring his chest again

"I didn't always have these muscles," he replied "I used to be pretty skinny."

"Shame you still aren't't. Maybe one of these would actually fit you."

Seth almost shared that wish, as most of the suits were extremely constricting, or (as far as fitting went) more tarp than formal wear.

Three hours, thirty-six suits, and several disgruntled employees finally led Alison to locate a suit befitting a man of Seth's stature.

"There, that should do it," Alison said with relief.

"Still a little tight, though," Seth replied

"Too bad, it's the best we're going to do."

Glad to be removing the formal wear, Seth paid for the garments left the store, Alison close behind:

"Do you want to go with us?" Seth asked before hailing a taxi "I'm not particularly excited about anything in a theater, and your comments would certainly make things more interesting."

"No thanks," she answered tentatively "Your right, it is kind of boring. Besides, I have somewhere to be."

"That reminds me: What business does a Canadian Army medic have in Russia?"

"Who said this was for work?"

Without much else to occupy his time, Seth's attention turned to the computer.

Still nothing but glowing praise for the SC and Li, he thought bitterly.

On the other hand, he found the comment sections hilarious:

The idea that all these people were terrified that he supposedly led a network of "reactionary fascists" bent on genocide of non-whites (Seth found this amusing, as, it would mean he wished to exterminate half of his own family) and homosexuals, almost lead him to burst out in laughter. The comments, though overwhelmingly pro-SC were still very amusing.

Fearing he might literally burst with laughter, Seth wrapped his Winchester in a cloth (as to avoid detection) and set out for the nearby woods to hone his skills, the sniveling cowardice still fresh in his mind. If these people where the future of America, maybe it was doomed from the start, he wondered.

Spending roughly the next five hours in the forest, Seth was astonished at the fact that, while polishing skills that could (and had many times) save his life, that shooting at targets, (minus the enraged SC agents or Chechens) could be quite enjoyable.

So great was this amusement, that he failed to notice that all this time had passed, and he had hit the man-sized target in the head at two hundred and fifty yards and the three hundred on the chest.

Taking a moment to realize what he had just accomplished, Seth removed a pair of binoculars from his bag of ammunition, taking a couple of seconds to confirm it.

Convinced it was a fluke, raised the rifle again and lined up his sights, hardly believing his own eyes as the he repeated the shot two more times.

"Having fun there?" Ursula asked

"You would be too if you had just pulled of three consecutive shots to the head," Seth replied, collecting his things.

Ursula gave her light chuckle at this statement: "Not really," she answered, seizing the rifle and putting magazine's two remaining round into what would have been the target's eyes.

Eyes wide and brows raised, Seth scarcely believed Ursula actually made the shot until he raised the binoculars again:

"How did you do that?!" he exclaimed

"Practice," Ursula said coolly "For some reason, I can't use any assault rifle platform well, so I practice at long-range shooting. You didn't think that I unintentionally completely destroyed those Chechens, did you?"

"Thanks..." Seth answered in awe, still wondering as to how she could make the shot seem so casual.

"Go home and get into some clean clothes," Ursula instructed "I'll come by and pick you up in an hour."

Still wondering as to how long someone would have to practice to make that shot, it took Seth paid little attention to the fact that something had lightly slapped his backside.

Assuming it to be a branch at first, Seth was confused at the fact that the object recently against his backside was Ursula's hand.

The suit Alison had picked out for him was apparently made for a tall, slightly thin man.

Arriving at his apartment, Seth spent the better part of the next hour fitting his newfound (relatively) bulky frame into formal wear made for a man build like a particularly weak tree. Perhaps justifiably, Seth felt extremely vulnerable without a weapon of some sort, contributing to the fact that he spent fifteen minutes fastening a holster to his belt, weapon awkwardly concealed by his jacket.

After another five minutes of struggling with the Glock, Seth attended to the door and the impatient knocking, to find a red-clad, heeled, very confident-looking Ursula:

"Ready?" she asked "Because the show doesn't't start for half an hour."

"Yeah, I am," Seth replied "I would have called you a while ago if I could actually fit into this."

A couple of months back, Seth reminded himself to walk beside or in front of Ursula, as her flamboyance could be (not unpleasant in the least, however) distracting.

For the time being, the former action led his eyes to trail towards his companion's legs.

" _How did she get a body like this?"_ Seth thought pleasantly

As Ursula started the (somehow recovered) sleek, black car, the anxious, stalked feeling began to leave Seth. Perhaps this show wouldn't't be as bad as he had expected.

Most workers in Moscow's heavily industrialized southeastern district were paid little attention to an abandoned warehouse or two, it being quite common since the end of the Soviet days. However, as these men (and a few women) began to head home for the night, they paid little attention to the malice of one of the building's inhabitants.

Kasi Shisani wiped the sweat from his brow once again, as abandoned warehouses didn't often have air conditioning. At the tender age of thirteen, Shisani took a pistol and killed a Russian soldier slacking off while on duty in his native Chechnya. That had been some six years ago, and the proudest day of his life. In fact, there was nothing truly remarkable (appearance or otherwise, save for a hint of stubble) about him, except for his devotion to die for his god, the God.

"Do we need to go over the plan again?" asked his friend Mahmud Alkanov "The One-eyed Imam isn't the most patient man alive.

An athletic man in his youth, Alkanov possessed a slightly more imposing presence than his friend.

"You don't need to remind me," Shisani replied, placing an M57 pistol on his belt "He actually killed his sister-in law for lapses in faith."

"She was from your village, right?" Alkanov inquired further

"Yes, she was. But she was also a very odd woman. Being bisexual and probably a pedophile aside, who marries a man twenty years her senior?"

"No idea."

Not expecting much initially, Seth found himself quite impressed by the opera house:

An ornate brick structure surrounded by forest on the exterior, the entrance hall's glistening tiling, classical architecture, and high ceilings gave it the air of a particularly elegant manor.

Despite the crowd's milling about, excited conversation, and general noisiness, Seth still managed to spot Geoffrey and Alison through the discord, Geoffrey's frame and tuxedo giving him the look of a disgruntled child about him, and Alison had apparently (unsuccessfully) tried replicate a similar style to Ursula's clothing for the night, although leaving out the long slit down her left leg:

"I don't see why you're so excited about this," Geoffrey complained "Can you even understand German?"

"I just felt like going out tonight," Ursula replied coolly "If you don't want to stay, you-

"Just ignore him," Alison interrupted, looking slightly flushed "He's just in kind of a bad mood, he'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course!"

As the group made their way to the seats, the fact that Alison seemed to be intent on not provoking (or even slightly displeasing) Ursula, yet still trailing close behind her, something that might have been unwise due to Ursula's apparent aversion to having women (or anyone) too close to her.

After what was initially a rather interesting five minutes, Seth began to find himself becoming rather bored with the opera. The fact that it was in German didn't help capture his attention either. On the other hand, Seth had found that Geoffrey to be muttering something under his breath, as though he understood the language.

The energetic singing being little more than a cure for insomnia for him, Seth closed his eyes for a short period, realizing forty-five minutes had passed.

Scanning the room, he found the remainder of the occupants quite enraptured by the opera, save for a very bored-looking Alison.

Struggling to stay conscious, Seth hardly noticed that Alison had left the theater.

Seth was about to doze off once again when he felt his phone vibrating from his pocket.

Rising from his seat, he tried to make his exit from the theater as inconspicuous as possible.

"What is it, Geoffrey?" Seth asked

Seth's face slowly turned to a confused expression.

"You're lost? Why don't you just go back the way you came?"

The perplexed look disappeared as Seth learned of Geoffrey circumstances

"So you're in the basement and lost your glasses? Fine, I'll come find you, this show won't be over for another four hours or so."

Observing the entry hall, Seth found two hallways leading to what he assumed to be the building's interior right next to the stairwell.

Reviewing them both, Seth decided on the left for the fact that it was considerably dimmer than it's counterpart on the right.

Seth was unnerved to find that an elegant structure like this opera house could have such a cavernous-looking interior. The fact that he running into crates led him to believe that the building was about to undergo repairs of some sort. In a particularly dim corner of the long corridor, Seth descended another stairwell, one compounding on the cavernous feel of the hallway above.

Seth emerged in a dimly lit massive room laden with crates of all sizes. The sound of the building settling resembled a large step behind him, prompting Seth to attempt to draw his handgun. Given the difficulty of loosening the suit and the fact that an assailant would have likely made himself known, Seth continued.

In roughly the room's center, Seth paused under the gaze of a solitary light.

How lost can someone get in a storeroom, Seth wondered

"What brings you here, Mr. Casey?" asked an annoyed voice from the shadows

Seth wasn't sure what he found stranger: The fact that someone would bother lurking in a storeroom, or that the voice belonged to Aleksey Volkov.

"I suppose that you would pay a visit here," Volkov continued, emerging from the shadows "After all, that whore who made her fortune off of destroying this nation is here after all."

"What are-"

"Don't lie to me!" Volkov snarled "Do you think I am stupid?! You are the most treasured companion of a cancer on the world!"

"'I'm the most treasured companion of a cancer on the world,'" Seth repeated

"I see you understand," Volkov said, sounding slightly less angry "Then I guess you wouldn't't mind your life ending here."

In the half second it took Seth to process those words, he found Volkov's fist across his face knocking him to the ground. His initial reaction to rise and counter was met with the older man's foot stomping against his chest several times before kicking him about three yards across the floor. Picking himself up, Seth quickly lurched rightward, Volkov's fist smashing into a crate just half a foot from him.

Reflexively, Seth withdrew the Glock 17, before the older man grasped his right arm and manipulated it at a 90-degree angle in an attempt to disarm him. During the struggle, the pressure exerted on Seth's wrist led him to inadvertently discharge the entirety of the magazine's contents before Volkov performed a sweeping kick to the ankles, Seth barely having the time to catch himself and evade a stomping kick.

Bringing himself to his feet, both Seth and Volkov were slightly thrown off balance by a short, loud rumbling from the upper floor. Seth still trying to catch his balance half a second later, Volkov managed to get in two more blows to his chest and ribs.

His mind attempting a strategy at countering the onslaught, Seth was puzzled at the fact that Volkov had paused:

"Damn it!" he muttered "I should have known!"

Volkov ceased in pummeling Seth and dashed to the stairwell. Curious as to what prompted the sudden change of heart and the tremor, Seth decided to follow the Prime Minister, ignoring both his missing weapon and the taste of blood in his mouth.

Emerging in the entrance hall, Seth found it to be heavily damaged by some sort of explosive, as well as the patrons scrambling for an escape, Volkov nowhere to be seen.

"Where were you?!" a harassed-looking Ursula asked

"Trying to find Geoffrey somehow led to me getting my ass kicked by Volkov," Seth replied "Why?"

Left hand outstretched, Geoffrey emerged from the hallway, nearly bumping into Seth.

"What happened now?" he asked "I heard some gunshots and an explosion."

"At the police stations nearby, some massive bombs exploded," Ursula began "Obviously here as well."

"We have to get out of here," Geoffrey said urgently "If Chechens were behind it, they're going to set off a smaller bomb when the rescue workers arrive."

The three following the human flood outside the theater, under usual circumstances, they would be out of danger.

"What now?" Ursula asked tiredly

"Well we don't stay here, that's for sure," Geoffrey replied.

Glancing at the building across the street, Seth motioned his two friends behind the building's east wall. As if their actions were a trigger of sorts, two individuals were cut down, sending the crowd further into a panic. Despite this, the apparent snipers had little problem attaining further fatalities. Particularly jarring to the trio was an older man dying of a chest wound right in front of them.

In an attempt to suppress the sniper fire, Ursula fired five shots from her CZ-99 before returning to her cover.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seth noticed the strange sight of an calm man carrying a case for some sort of instrument. The fact that he wasn't among the panicked masses not the most conspicuous thing, it was the fact that Seth saw no instruments matching the man's case.

His heart jumped (though he wasn't really surprised) at the sight of the man drawing an FN2000. Preparing to lurch behind the wall once again, Volkov emerged from the crowd, tossing the man to the ground before disarming him and ending his life.

Prepared to fight the Prime Minister once again, Seth was slightly puzzled that he pointed his weapon downward when approaching them, finding himself at a loss for words as Volkov observed the corpse's wounds:

"This wound profile resembles one of the NATO rounds," Volkov remarked "I don't think these snipers are Chechen."

"No it is," Geoffrey replied while squinting his eyes "I see it too."

"Why does this mean anything to you?" Ursula asked irritably

"You don't understand," Volkov replied in a tone that seemed to return her hostility "A couple of weeks ago, I received a report about an attack on a border crossing in the southwest, killing all of the guards on duty. The brass casings we recovered either originated from weapons firing both of the NATO rounds. Stupidly enough, I ignored this information."

"Any ideas where they came from?" Geoffrey inquired

"No, but since they seemed to enter through Georgia, we can assume that they're some sort of black operations specialists."

At that moment, a horrible realization, one of terror, yet righteous fury came to Seth: That the Mathir Li found ending countless innocent lives a reasonable price to pay for capturing him. He had known this for quite some time really, but sending his henchmen to the other side of the world to pursue him, butchering their people in the process was a completely knew prospect to him.

"You have no idea how heavy police presence is in this city," Volkov reminded "Even with those six other bombings in the past five minutes, someone is going to be able to respond quickly to this."

Geoffrey nervously glanced at his watch, muttering something in French: "How long?" he asked.

As though his question a verbal detonator, six more explosions rang out throughout the city center.

"At this rate, about an hour," Volkov said casually

"An hour!" Seth shouted "Are you freaking kidding me!? If that really is the CS, do you have any idea how many people they can kill in an hour!?"

"Oh what can you really do?" the Prime Minister inquired "Kill them all yourself?"

"I've faced worse odds," Seth replied "So yes."

"Fine, I'll help you. It's technically my fault that this happened, anyway."

Bojan Kovac scanned the surrounding street for his prey.

Still no sign of him, he thought. He was more surprised that a stupid plan like the one-eyed Imam's had actually worked so far. Reflecting on it, telling his followers to detonate several bombs at several Moscow law enforcement offices was an ingenious, if not a risk of mind-numbing proportions. Still, it was curious as to why a veteran of the Bosnian War would offer to aid a Croat hunting a fugitive:

"Sir!" came Agent Carl Hunter's voice over the radio "Still no sign of Casey!"

"Hold your position," Kovac ordered "Our orders are to make Casey show himself, even if that means firing into fleeing crowds!"

"We had inside the opera, Gori, I think his name was. Although no one's heard from him since the mission started."

"The Pirschergruppe is divided into two seven-man teams, one is no great loss."

"If you're sure sir."

"Yes, quite sure."

Kovac smiled as he spotted a large group survivors from one of the bombings. Mathir Li himself had told him collateral damage was no issue as long as Casey was returned.

The Croat disembarked from the vehicle, removing a Zastava M72 light machine gun from the trunk. Loading a magazine into the weapon, the giant's malicious grin widened as he sprayed the crowd of casualties with lead, the amalgamation of shouts and cries for help forming a sort of music to him.

At her instruction, Ursula, Seth, Geoffrey, and Volkov quickly made their way to a narrow street to find Alison loitering nearby a white, unmarked van:

"Good. You weren't't slacking off," Ursula said in a brisk tone "Right?"

"I'm sorry miss, I don't know what you're talking about," Alison replied, recoiling slightly at the sight of Volkov

The Prime Minister rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh:

"For now, don't worry about any potential illegalities," he answered "We have more pressing issues at the moment."

Without another word, Alison motioned the group into the van before starting the vehicle.

"We'll have to follow a sort of roundabout route," Alison called back "It shouldn't't take more than fifteen minutes.

The narrow stretch of street was preferable for a vehicle of this size, as the people fleeing the scene of the theater bombing had not filled it yet.

Despite a relative lack of lighting, Seth could make out that both Volkov and Geoffrey both possessed very troubled expressions, the former apparently muttering something to himself. Another thirteen minutes of this silence became unbearable to Seth, who would have liked greatly for some conversation to lessen the tension:

"We're almost here," Seth said in a strangely enthused tone "Do either of you have any weapons preferences?"

"Just a rifle," Volkov answered "Just because I was in military intelligence, doesn't't make me completely useless in a firefight."

"Geoffrey?"

"Just a support weapon," he replied meekly, accepting the replacement spectacles from Alison

Alison halted the vehicle near the rear entrance of the building opposite the opera.

Taking his AK-74 and four spare magazines, Seth emerged in a dark, equally narrow street. His instinct reminding him that, in this situation, staying near windows was a very good way to get killed, he made several long, silent steps until he sidled the wall roughly a yard from the door.

Seeing no sign of the CS agents, Seth signaled to Geoffrey and Volkov, the attaching a suppressor to an AKM before taking two magazines and positioning himself about a foot from Seth.

Scanning the alleyway, a slightly struggling Geoffrey emerged from the van carrying a small rucksack and a weapon aesthetically similar to Seth's and Volkov's, save for its bipod.

"You do know that's a light machine gun?" Volkov asked "An RPK, to be precise."

"Yes, I know."

"Go on," Seth called to Ursula and Alison "Get out of here!"

"I want to help you," Ursula replied, loading a magazine into her VSS

"Fine, just stay away from the windows. And if you see reinforcements, run."

"I understand. If I don't want to be found, I won't be."

The prospect of fighting CS agents didn't really frighten Seth anymore, not like it did a few months ago anyway. Still, there was just something about this particular mission that unnerved him.

Perhaps it was the dark, narrow streets, the imposing, regal architecture of the building, or the fact that their commander must had to have been quite bloodthirsty (even by CS standards) to fire on civilians fleeing a terrorist bombing that was unsettling.

XVI

Carefully prying the door open, Seth's eyes danced around the room, expecting to find the agents. To his relief, the entryway (which appeared to be the lobby of a small office building) was devoid of any life. The only thing remotely animating seemed to be the light from the setting sun. Scanning the room once more, Seth motioned for his companions to enter quickly.

Mentally cursing at an indistinguishable (English) shout, Seth crouched behind the receptionist's counter as Volkov and Geoffrey provided covering fire, giving Seth an opportunity to kill the SC agent foolishly positioned at a forty-five degree angle from him. The fallen agent's comrade, perhaps out of an erroneous belief in his position's superiority, exposed half of his body to return their fire, promptly being cut down by Volkov.

Gesturing to his associates to follow his lead, Seth ascended the stairwell, quickly depressing himself against a wall to avoid the oncoming stream of bullets.

Placing his weapon's bipod on the second-highest step, Geoffrey's fire sent the four SC agents in the next room scurrying for cover, wounding the one too slow to follow.

Taking advantage of the half-second reprieve, Seth made his way into the next room, sending five rounds at the wounded agent to finish him before taking shelter behind a heavy, overturned desk.

Momentarily peeking out from behind his concealment, Seth peppered the SC agents' direction with the remaining rounds from his weapon in a bid to give Geoffrey and Volkov time to enter the room.

A sigh of relief at the (surprisingly quiet as far as firearms go) sounds of his comrades' weapons, Seth almost forgot to reload his own weapon.

A fresh 45-round magazine in the AK's chamber, Seth rose to find Geoffrey cutting down two of the SC operatives foolish enough to get within half a yard of each other.

The remaining agent's attention focused on the machine gunner, Seth took this opportunity to end the assailant's life.

The group quickly traversed what appeared to be a strangely bare floor of an office building. In the next room over, Seth could not help but smile slightly at the sight of two deceased SC agents and shards of broken window glass. Ursula did know her capabilities after all.

Thankful that the stairs lacked the creaking noise prevalent in older structures, Seth paused at the sound of weapon's fire already coming from the top floor.

Even if they knew they were here, they were just wasting ammunition by firing blindly, he thought. Unless they were still firing on passers-by and rescue workers.

"What's in the bag?" Seth hissed quietly

"A few extra magazines and a drum one," Geoffrey replied "What else?"

"Switch to the drum one and come up."

Complying with the demand, Geoffrey switched the magazine and ascended the stairs, facing the door at Seth's side, Volkov close behind."

"How many rounds are in that thing?" Seth asked

"Seventy-five."

"Perfect."

Gently prying open the door, Seth dove to the side two avoid the suppressive fire from his allies. Apparently, the third floor was little more than an attic with a light machine gun set up in the window.

The CS operatives reaching for their secondary weapons were quickly cut down in a hail of gunfire, each of Seth's team members concentrating their fire on one-third of the room.

"Burn in hell," Seth said scornfully, giving a slight kick to one of the sniper's corpses.

Of course, Seth didn't enjoy killing human beings, but there was something very empowering about killing members of an organization that had spent five months hunting him, and one of those torturing him.

"I think we got them all," Volkov stated, reviewing the room.

Mouthing something to himself, a concerned look dawned over Geoffrey's face:

"When you fought these people before, how many people were there to a team?' he asked

"Two six man teams," Seth replied "Why?"

"Is it possible that they wouldn't't repeat the mistake of having that few more than once?"

"It's possible," Volkov chimed in "But you have to remember, smaller squad sizes equal stealth."

As the three turned to leave, a massive explosion rang out nearby, followed by another burst of gunfire. The trio raised their weapons to the door for a couple of seconds before realizing the explosion and weapons fire were at least more than half a mile away.

The sounds of weapons discharging almost completely obscured the sound of Seth's mobile phone:

"Ursula, what was that?" he asked the receiver

Seth felt his muscles clench with rage Ursula's explanation of the scenario.

"So they're using western weapons? We'll be right there."

Seth's long legs and hurried step gave Volkov and Geoffrey quite a challenge catching up with him, only doing so outside of the office.

"What are we doing?' Geoffrey asked "What's going on?"

"You were right," Seth replied quickly, "There are three SC agents left."

Reaching the street itself, Seth found the pandemonium to be even worse than five minutes ago: The park across the street littered with the dead and the dying, people stampeding to escape the scene, sometimes trampling the wounded, and several police cruisers riddled with bullets, damaging their now-deceased passengers even more than the vehicles.

Seth was in awe as to how three people could cause this much devastation in such a short amount of time.

"Finally, you're here!" Ursula exclaimed "Are you alright?"

"We're fine," Seth replied seriously "What about you and Alison?"

"Fine, just a little tired. Alison's trying to treat some of the wounded. Those bastards were lying in ambush for the emergency response teams."

"Where are they?" Volkov asked urgently

"I'm not sure," Ursula answered "I didn't actually see them. Even if I did, I wouldn't't be able to do anything about it. This isn't exactly the best vantage point."

"But we can," Seth said before taking off across the street, unconcerned as to his teammates or the crowd.

Two minutes after entering the park, Seth caught sight of a black-clad man raising his weapon and firing into a crowd of panicked civilians. Firing his weapon in an attempt to punish the agent, Seth abruptly jerked the rifle to the side as his enemy fled into a crowd.

In his pursuit of the fiend, Seth noticed that using human shields was hardly an unfamiliar tactic to his enemy. Seth also found himself making more than a few stupid mistakes as far as combat went: Leaving himself exposed for longer than he had intended and wasting ammunition were common ones.

The chase continuing for another five minutes, crouching behind a tree, Seth had just finished reloading his weapon when the sound of light machine gun fire rang throughout the forest. AK-74 raised, Seth's heart jumped at the sight of a giant of a man, some seven feet tall, clad in the SC indiscriminately spraying the wood with lead, flanked by two SC agents.

This scenario provided quite an interesting dilemma for Seth: It was likely that the operatives didn't see him, giving him an opportunity to potentially finish their reign of terror. However, if he fired too many rounds too inaccurately, he would find himself in a lot of trouble. The fact that foliage does not often make good cover influenced Seth's decision greatly.

A brief pause in the light machine gun volley imminent, Seth flipped the selector switch to the middle position before emerging from his cover, retreating while using the trees to obscure himself, the giant's roars only hastening his flight.

His retreat nearing its end, Seth cursed himself at the realization that he had but one magazine remaining.

His strategizing was cut short by the reappearance of the SC agents, the one on the giant's right opening fire on Seth, who threw himself behind a bench before returning his fire and finishing off his adversary, at the price of catching the attention of the hulking man, whom shouted something in a strange language.

As long as he had lived, Seth wasn't exactly sure what happened in the space of that five seconds: The surviving SC agent of normal proportions raised his weapon and turned to face the path opposite him before being struck down by more weapon's fire, the giant faced the same direction, laying down what seemed to be a crude form of covering fire before taking several rounds to the chest, his hulking frame seemingly shaking the ground.

A bloodied Aleksey Volkov, clutching his stomach in one hand and weapon in the other, limped from his cover, kneeling down about three yards from Seth.

"Was that you?" Seth asked

"Yes," Volkov replied in a strained sort of voice

"You saved my life... Thanks."

"Don't thank me. I was just trying to protect my people."

For some reason or another, it took Seth a second to remember that he was speaking with a gravely wounded man:

"No, just leave," Volkov implored tiredly "I've served my purpose."

"You saved my life, and I'll return the favor," Seth said, taking off the jacket and ripping the suit's sleeves in an effort to create makeshift bandages.

Seth's attempts at doctoring the wounds succeeded slightly. However, he was grateful to find Geoffrey approach the scene.

"Finally, I found you," he said "What were you thinking, anyway?"

"I wasn't," Seth answered candidly "Go get help. He's still lost a good amount of blood."

It was interesting, yet not surprising phenomenon: Seth could watch and laugh at members of the SC being violently executed, yet found it agonizing to watch someone (even somebody who had, just half an hour ago, attempted to kill him with his bare hands) who had risked their life alongside him in pain.

Not surprisingly, it came as an enormous comfort to find someone (Alison) with medical training arriving just a few minutes after Geoffrey sought her out.

"I can take care of this for now," Alison said "Just get some paramedics out here.

God only knows how many people are in this bad of shape or worse."

As per her advice, As Geoffrey returned the weapons to Ursula (neither of them really sure how she came to procure all these arms) Seth contacted the emergency services, stating the urgent need for aid:

"Just get down here!" Seth said impatiently "It's like a morgue!"

Despite his description of the scene, Seth found that, upon their arrival to the hospital some thirty minutes later, the hospital itself wasn't much better.

In fact, the somber, sterile interior cemented the comparison even more in his mind, to say nothing of the hundreds of wounded still awaiting treatment.

For some reason, Geoffrey seemed to be bothered most of all:

"I'm sorry," he said "I need some air."

"You're a soldier, right?" Ursula asked "This shouldn't't bother you."

"I've seen similar situations, but never with this many people."

As the last vestiges of light left the sky and more were admitted for treatment, Seth had begun to learn just how massive the scope of the day's events was:

Apparently, Chechen jihadists had set of several large bombs throughout various points (especially police stations) in Moscow, and as Geoffrey had predicted, several smaller bombs as the emergency responders arrived.

The resulting chaos apparently provided the SC agents with an excuse to try to lure Seth out, even at the cost of many innocent lives. According to Ursula, the dead from the ordeal numbered around two hundred and fifty, with at least seven hundred more seriously wounded:

"I really mean it," she said "If it wasn't for you, Geoffrey, and Alison, the death toll would have been a lot higher."

"Where is she anyway?" Seth inquired

"Somewhere in this building. The hospitals in the area are overwhelmed right now.

They likely welcomed anyone with medical training."

Alison emerged into the room around half an hour later, tending to the wounded once again before taking a drink of water.

"How are things?" Seth asked

"Let me put it this way," Alison replied dejectedly "It could have been a lot worse."

"How much so?"

"If you, Geoffrey and Volkov hadn't killed those guys when you did, upwards of a thousand would likely have died."

"How is he doing, anyway?"

"Resting on the fifth floor. He should be fine in the long run, but he really needs to rest-"

Without another word, Seth set off towards the stairwell in search of his wounded comrade. While Alison was, in all likelihood, correct Creeping across the fifth floor, Seth took care not to disturb the grievously wounded.

Seth likely would have missed his target room had he not picked up on a familiar voice, quietly croaking a prayer in Russian:

"How are you doing?" Seth asked gingerly, inching into the injured Prime Minister's room

"I've been better and worse," Volkov replied, turning his attention towards his window

The wounded Prime Minister let out a deep sigh before turning his attention to Seth:

"I'm sorry," he said in an exhausted tone

"What are you apologizing for?!" Seth asked, eyes suddenly widening "You didn't kill those people!"

"But if I hadn't wasted all that time and energy on the Ciklon Syndicate, I probably could have prevented it. I guess I just saw a threat to my country and it had to be destroyed.

It's funny what people will do when their country is in danger, isn't it Seth?"

Bidding farewell to Alison and Ursula, Seth began to wonder if the CS leadership had regard for any human life at all.

The scenery of the city's metro station rushing past him, he wondered what was his life really worth to them.

Seth pondered the answer to this question, yet came no closer to a solution as wandered towards his bed.

The next week was little more than target practice and revising of planning for Seth:

He had honed his skills enough so that striking a man-sized target at three hundred yards was no task at all.

All the while, Volkov's commitment to his country had left Seth slightly bewildered, wondering if this level of dedication was common. His closest friends seemed to have their varying opinions on the matter

"I'm not particularly proud of where I'm from," Ursula said, taking another four hundred yard shot, shredding what would be the target's heart.

"Why not?" Seth asked

"You figure it out. Although, I could see why Volkov would be different. His wife died and his children supposedly hate him. I suppose Russia is all he has left."

Alison however, seemed to perceive her home more warmly:

"It's alright," she told Seth, placing the free weights to her side

"What makes you say that?" Seth wondered

"Well, the people mainly," Alison replied

"And your least favorite thing?"

"That would have to be the politicians. But I guess I shouldn't't complain, as it could be a lot worse."

"Like I said, if Li mentions the term 'living space', run for your life."

Geoffrey initially seemed hesitant to answer the question, although his response surprised Seth most of all:

"I just wanted to know something," Seth asked, craning his neck in an attempt to decipher the book's text

"Wanted to know about what?" Geoffrey replied, a hint of irritation in his voice

"How do you feel about your country."

Seth for some reason, felt himself compelled to end two minutes of tense, awkward silence:

"If you don't want to talk, it's fine," Seth blurted out

"You give me the choice of exterminating a seventh of the earth's population and letting France fall," Geoffrey said at last "I would clear up a lot of space in this world."

With input from an Ursula regretful at her birthplace, an Alison who seemed neutral on the matter, and Geoffrey, who openly admitted he would exterminate large portions of the earth's population if it meant saving his nation, Seth found himself no closer to an answer, only another question: Was there anyone in America as feverent about their nation's future as Geoffrey?

Preparim Prifti, as he waited for the elevator to finish his descent, wondered why Ariel Costa always insisted on holding important meetings in headquarters' basement. It couldn't't have been just to gloat, the special operations forces Costa had created had failed just as spectacularly as his.

Preparing for the verbal lashing nonetheless, Costa strode towards the table, Sherman in tow.

"Well my friends," Costa began in an exasperated tone "We have gotten ourselves into quite a situation. If we don't show more success by winter at latest, we may end up like Vesti."

"What do you mean by 'we'?" Prifti said with a scowl "At least my men got close to killing Casey."

"What are we supposed to do?" Sherman asked, taking no notice of the impending argument.

"It's really quite simple," Costa said, the arrogance returning to his voice "A fair number in the president's cabinet just see us as little more than mercenaries, as opposed a force prepared to die for him."

"What's your point?" Prifti inquired, gazing suspiciously at his superior

"That we prove that banner behind me correct, proving our complete and total loyalty."

"Won't a fair number go against this?" Sherman interjected

"Possibly, but..."

Prifti, seeing the Senior Group Leader as more of an effeminate braggart than anything, was surprised to find Costa quite the marksman, as he struck down Sherman with three rounds from his Type 68 pistol.

"That's why they won't object," Costa concluded

" _Not again..."_ Seth thought, dragging himself from his slumber on the couch

Over the past week, Seth had found himself subject to a series of abstract, nonsensical nightmares. Mainly involving Chechnya and the night he escaped America Worst of all was that the quality of his sleep had declined as well. A three-hour nap at five that evening left him just as fatigued as before.

Upon Alison's recommendation, he had used melatonin tablets as sleep aids the past few nights, albeit ignoring her instructions to take them with water.

Grasping one of the tablets, Seth washed it down with a swig of liquor before heading to the bedroom.

Seth found himself slightly drowsy, yet proud at the fact that he had stopped the SC from taking thousands of lives just to get to him.

Besides, they wouldn't't waste a hundreds of men just to capture him alive, he thought, his eyes becoming extremely heavy before shortly drifting off to sleep.

Seth found himself in what seemed to be a dim, vertically elongated courtroom, a bout of extremely blurred vision not helping his perception in the least.

Despite the fact that there must have been upwards of two hundred people present at this trial, his hearing seemed to have failed him for the time being.

Squinting heavily, Seth was able to gather two things: That the jurors seemed to be frightened at the prospect of these people being placed on trial, and that the judge himself (and his companion) seemed to be anxiously awaiting the appearance of the criminals.

Seth was able to isolate the sound of the heavy, oak doors swinging open, and the all too familiar sound of shackled figures being led to their fates. Oddly enough, the silhouettes seemed somehow...familiar.

Shutting his eyes for several seconds, Seth noticed his vision was back to its normal clarity, yet he was filled with a terrible desperation:

The five figures being bought before the court were his mother, father, Alison, Geoffrey, and Ursula. The jurors recoiling as though at a trial for several particularly brutal mass murderers.

Although the sight of Seth's grim, gaunt father's vain attempts to comfort his sobbing wife was quite wrenching, the thing that disheartened him most was the betrayed expression that Ursula wore, almost on the verge of tears.

A horrible curiosity suddenly came over Seth, a question of what would cause so much anguish to those he cared the most about.

Rotating his head ever so slowly, Seth found the judge to be a very haughty looking, Mathir Li, his wife clad in some strange, black uniform, her vengeful gaze focus on Mr. and Mrs. Casey. But the thing that horrified Seth the most, was the sight of himself at the bench, apparently ranting and raving, gesturing at the defendants as though the accused were some sort of terrible beasts.

An overwhelming nausea came over Seth as a horrible screeching noise rang out though the room, before he shut his eyes and attempted to drown out the ear-shattering noise.

A relieved (yet terrified) Seth jerked himself awake, his skin coated in a cold sweat.

Many people spent hours wondering what the content of their dreams meant.

The cold sweat and sense of impending danger usually soothed by a shower, Seth found the being surrounded in warm water no cure for the terror this time. If anything, it became more acute.

Many people spent hours wondering what the content of their dreams meant.

Even in spite of the alcohol in his system, Seth still understood this particular nightmare perfectly.

The sound of the vodka bottle suddenly shattering against the floor took Seth's focus off the dream and back to reality, all the while, endowing him with a resolute fury.

It had now just occurred to him how selfish he had been this whole time, wishing catastrophe upon Americans just because of his bad experiences with the SC.

How many people had been murdered because of the SC's pursuit of him, he wondered.

Was it possible that the facility they held him at had counterparts, possibly to just exterminate large numbers of people?

If the SC was willing to go through millions of innocents in order to seize him, he would just go to them and kill every SC agent (and their enablers in the government) it was in his power to do. Of course, he wouldn't't engage them in a manner similar to their last encounter, as at some point, they were sure to engage him in more than teams of six or seven, and he didn't survive this long by being stupid.

Reaching for his cell phone, Seth intended to leave a message to three of his closest friends about his intentions. The last message, strangely enough, had a focus on giving up drinking alcohol.

XVII

"What was so urgent that you call us here?" Ursula asked "At five in the morning, no less."

She had a right to wonder, Seth thought, as calling people at four in the morning (even to his favorite Caucasian restaurant) was not usually a habit of his.

"Can you make it quick," Alison said sleepily, taking another sip of coffee

Seth relayed the strange dream to his friends, the two women looking at him as though he were some sort of mental patient and Geoffrey sharing the same expression, albeit nibbling away at a small plate of pancakes.

"I think it's pretty clear what the dream means," Alison said "But that's all it was, a dream."

"It means a lot more than that," Seth corrected "It means I'm going back."

The words immediately bought a collective look of horrified concerned to the faces of his friends, the silence only broken by the sound of Geoffrey's silverware clattering against the table:

"Are you out of your mind?!" Alison scolded "The situation in your country is even half as bad as you said, it would be suicide to even try!"

"I didn't say I was going to fight a hundred of them at once," Seth replied exasperatedly "I want to kill a few of them, not kill myself. I was just thinking a few assassinations here and there..."

"If they wanted you dead for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, how hard do you think they'll come down on you for killing a few of them?!"

"I'm not exactly sure how, but it can be done!"

Despite his and Alison's exchange, which had become dangerously close to becoming a shouting match over the correct execution of illegal activities, he still noticed Ursula and Geoffrey conversing tensely in a mildly familiar language. They seemed to be having slight difficulty understanding each other, but the basic points seemed to be getting through:

"Alright, do you really want to do this," Geoffrey said finally "Because once you return home, there's no going back."

"Of course," Seth answered resolutely "Nobody else is dying because I decided to run."

"If we do this right, we should be able to get in by air," Ursula informed "Once we get into America, we should go see my cousin."

"Wait, who's 'we'," Seth asked, right side of his brow clenched "I said no one else was dying because of me. That especially means all of you."

"I never had many friends," Geoffrey reminded "You saved my life and were a friend to me. Now I want to help you in your time of need."

"I've got nothing better to do," Alison said casually "Count me in."

"I would follow you to the gates of hell itself," Ursula told him, her expression considerably more solemn.

For as long as he would live, when anybody would speak of how great their friends were, Seth would give a polite, yet dismissive smirk. After all, how many friends would be willing to sneak into a police state and take on an aspiring despot and his secret police.

Still, it would be nice to have some powerful allies in America itself, he thought.

In spite of his certainty that his conversation with Reeve hadn't been intercepted, Brian Kemp habitually found himself checking the radio on his drive home, as though anticipating some horrible event as punishment for his deceit. Every fifth minute bought the return and subsequent departure of the droning reporter's voice.

Although, when the Sergeant Major reached central Vermont, he found that the 'catastrophe' was little more than a fire in the area.

" _Why was I worrying,"_ he thought

This sense of false reassurance stayed with Kemp until his arrival home around nine that night. Despite the familiar, inviting sight of the family's light home, there was something different this particular time than the thousands of other returns...Something sinister.

Disembarking from the his vehicle and approaching the carefully approaching the door, Kemp kept a tight grip on his M1911, ready to draw the weapon at a moment's notice.

Severely hoping that his actions were the result of training and natural suspicion as opposed to evil deeds, he entered the house silently as his dress shoes would let him.

"Alene!" Kemp called to no response "I'm home!"

Taking several more tortured steps, Kemp almost slipped into the kitchen itself.

Regaining his balance, the senior officer realized that the his loss of footing was due to mud tracked in from the back door.

In hindsight, Kemp shouldn't't have been surprised at the fact that following strange footprints in his own home was a bad omen, but nothing on earth could have prepared any man for the horror he was about to witness:

In attempting to scale the stairs, his wife Alene, Jeffery, and Julia all lay dead, apparently attempting to ascend the staircase. Trembling with sorrowful rage, Kemp inched over to the deceased assailant, ripping his armband to find Mathir Li's solar cross symbol.

Was this punishment for his opposition? Of course it was, Kemp thought.

An immense feeling of painful fury washed over him. Could he have prevented this by minding his own business? Was this unique to him, or were they targeting military families in general?

"I'm telling you, you have to take this seriously," Floyd Reeve warned "Li's up to no good!"

His irritated tone influenced by the fact that there was really no good way to accost the Commandant of the Marine Corps in a Franklin, New Hampshire restaurant in at nine at night, claiming that the newest federal agency was actually a secret police force.

Commandant General Edgar Boyce was a man of about sixty-five shorter than Reeve by about a head.

Looking into his eyes gave one the impression of a spiritual fatigue of sorts.

"I know you value the country and the Corps over your own life," Boyce responded calmly "But it's a few budget cuts and base closures. We've been through worse."

"Sir, I'd be lying if I said that didn't bother me," Reeve said, taking another protracted sip of coffee "But these CS guys concern me more than anything else. I hear they're trying to get their hands on tanks, anti-aircraft missiles, UAVs, and all of that stuff.

What does a federal law enforcement agency do with tanks?"

"What do you want me to do, go up in front of Congress and say the President's creating his own personal army?"

"I'm saying I think we'd all be better off in the long run if you called attention to this."

"You sound just like Fabron."

"If the guy just under you is saying something the exact same thing, don't you think there might be something to it?"

The Commandant gave Reeve a concerned sort of look before exiting the restaurant, leaving him to the intrigued glances of the two remaining employees of the restaurant.

Apparently, Assistant Commandant Farbon had the same suspicions about Li, so this evening wasn't a total loss, he thought.

Sighing with relief, the Sergeant Major took another drink of coffee before detecting the vibration of his cellular phone:

"How did you get this number?" Reeve asked, disdain for unsolicited calls evident in his voice.

Reeve felt his heart and eyes sink at the figure's tale

"Oh god... Is he alright... Clarendon, Vermont, right?... Good, I'll be right there."

The nearby park held many memories for Brian Kemp:

Some days bought countless games of baseball with his sons, others picnics under the falling leaves. Even the uptight Julia as a child possessed a love of the swing set.

Even the dead of night and the trauma of the (slightly) botched CS raid couldn't't dilute all the happy memories.

Perhaps this influenced Kemp to retire to one of the swings, gazing wistfully at the clear, cold sky.

"Dad!" a scraggly, thin young man called, Floyd Reeve in tow

Looking to his right, Kemp was both surprised and grateful to find his sole remaining son

"Adam!" he almost shouted, throwing his arms around the boy "Thank God you're alive!"

"Dad," Adam replied, pushing away the older man's grasp About mom, Jeff, and Julia..."

"Damn it, this is all my fault... Adam, listen to me. Withdraw everything from my bank account and get out of the country."

"I'm not running. I know about it all."

"You don't understand. These SC men are among the worst walking the face of the earth.

They would think nothing of killing you for what's in your pockets and the clothes off your back! I already killed you're your mother, brother, and sister."

"Will you cut this out!?" Reeve bellowed "You didn't kill your family, the SC and Tabitha Li did!"

Irritably striding over to his colleague, Reeve removed a photograph from his wallet, depicting the Marine in his younger years and a small, cheerful-looking woman in a tropical locale.

"My wife Rosa," he said heavily "Unfortunately, she passed away quite some time ago."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Kemp asked

"Rosa died of cancer. There wasn't really anything I could have done. No one I could have blamed. You see Kemp, that's the difference between our situations. I lost the woman I love because of chance, you did because of someone else's malice. You can do something to avenge them."

What was he talking about, Kemp thought. A senior officer advising him to use his influence to take revenge against the murderers and their superiors? It was (likely) unheard of, even unthinkable for most. But the image of his wife and two children, murdered in their own home by SC thugs was an impossible image to purge from his mind. Righteous fury burning within him, at that moment, Kemp vowed to see every SC member either imprisoned for the remainder of their lives, or eliminated.

"I'll do it," Kemp said finally

"Shouldn't't be a problem," Reeve answered mischievously

"Adam, you-"

"I'm going with you," Adam interrupted "I know I'm a god-awful son. Sometimes you even went days without seeing me. But mom, Julia, and Jeff are my family too, and I want to get bastards that did this."

An overwhelming feeling of pride with a touch of guilt washed over Kemp. Perhaps his low expectations for his youngest son were unfounded.

The passage of time seems to speed up when one faces a dreaded event.

Seth however, relished the hastened pace of the past week.

In that time, countless rounds left the barrel of his Winchester Model 52, visualizing each connecting round slamming into the vitals of some SC officer or corrupt Congressman."

Ursula seemed quite impressed, as he was regularly achieving head and chest shots at distances of up to three hundred and fifty yards.

"Don't think going after living targets will be this easy or quiet," Ursula reminded

"What can I say, I like a challenge," Seth said confidently

In an effort to prevent any repeats of his scuffle with Volkov, Seth began to dabble in unarmed defense. Alison giving him many books and web addresses, Seth began to pick techniques from various styles of martial arts, his main focus being on disarming and throwing enemies off balance, eventually managed to form some crude, yet effective system of self-defense, focusing mainly on grappling and disarming.

Geoffrey had also come to Seth's aid. Ursula had apparently paid (or more likely threatened) someone to keep the Moscow State University library open much later than usual, giving the Frenchman ample time to help sharpen Seth's mind:

"Since your government considers you a criminal, learn to think like one," Geoffrey instructed, placing aside a hefty tome "When entering an unfamiliar place, look for strange hiding places, quick escape routes, everything that can be used towards your own goals."

Taking a quick glance around, the most prominent features of the room were the countless towering bookshelves, casting many shadows in this strange light:

"This room is very shadowy," Seth observed "If I kept my steps light and had some kind of silent firearm, I could off someone without much problem and have plenty of time to escape."

"Exactly!" Geoffrey (something of uncharacteristically) exclaimed "Always remember, your second most important weapon is your environment."

Of course, there were also the more trivial matters associated with moving:

Seth reimbursed Alison close to two thousand dollars for the misplaced pistol and a rental suit damaged beyond repair:

"I think this should cover it," Seth said, a slightly pained look about him" Did you want these in some other currency?"

"No, it's fine, as I technically didn't own the weapon," she replied

Late that Saturday night, under the cover of heavy rain, Seth slipped an envelope (aptly titled 'rent money' in Russian Cyrillic) into the landlady's mailbox before making his way across the parking lot, meeting up with Ursula.

The combination of pattering rain and the heavy traffic gave Seth a hard time following Ursula's instructions as per their plan, but by the time the pair reached Domodedovo, he had pieced it together:

He and Ursula were to arrive in Venezuela, change flights in Caracas, and get into the United States, Alison and Geoffrey doing the same, save for Panama being their stop.

Upon hearing his companion repeat it, Seth found it to be a very half-baked plan.

However, Ursula seemed quite confident in it.

"It will be fine," Ursula said reassuringly "You don't think we're using actual passports, do you? Besides, the only reason I had Geoffrey and Alison separate from us was to pick up your weapons."

Entering the airport and boarding the plane itself with no problem, Seth realized that, a woman as intelligent as Ursula would have thought something this potentially dangerous through. And after all, the average person in the SC didn't strike him as terribly intelligent.

Upon disembarking at the Caracas airport, Seth could not shake the suspicion that there was something extremely unsettling about the city itself. Despite the modern trappings of the facility, Seth found himself, fully aware of her own common sense, considerably more protective of Ursula than usual, paying specific attention to any concealment or shadows, feeling very relieved that their connecting flight was only two hours later.

Shaken awake by the plane's descent, Seth found himself endowed with a sense of relief and confidence at the fact that he had set foot on American soil, without staring down the barrel of a weapon. Remembering the spectacle of the SC agents patrolling public places, as they emerged into the terminal, Seth motioned to Ursula to follow him into the crowd, concealing them in the human sea.

Seth and Ursula had somehow managed to avoid verbal communication for the remainder of their stay in the airport, the latter only speaking to rent a small, nondescript automobile and the former finally speaking when they were far afield of the airport:

"That wasn't so bad, now was it?" Ursula asked playfully

"True, it wasn't," Seth answered "I halfway expected to be arrested stepping of the plane."

His relief at SC stupidity aside, more important matters suddenly returned to Seth's mind:

"Where are Geoffrey and Alison anyway?" he wondered

"Somewhere in Nevada," Ursula replied "They went to get your weapons, just in case."

It was only at that moment, Seth understood the magnitude of his friends' loyalty:

Alison, Ursula, even the timid, law-abiding Geoffrey were all willing to risk everything, including their lives, just to aid him in his quest for revenge.

" _I'm not letting their risks go to waste,"_ Seth thought resolutely

The next seventeen hours amounted to little more than a half-awake haze for Seth:

He didn't really mind the fact that Ursula had to disguise him as a collection of random items covered by a tarp in order to avoid the SC checkpoints.

For the coverless periods, Seth had realized just how much for granted he had taken such a beautiful country, his heart heavy with guilt as he realized that he had regarded America as little more than a replaceable landmass.

Dragging his mind from its slumbering state, Seth had deduced that he and Ursula were somewhere in southern Oregon. Finding it something of disconcerting that his companion had chosen to stop in such an isolated area, (at midnight no less) a good distance from any settlement. Although, this concern was quickly alleviated by the sight of two familiar figures entering the vehicle's rear:

"I thought we'd never get that suitcase back!" Alison groaned

"Well maybe it would have gone a bit smoother if you hadn't insisted on being so friendly with the woman behind the counter," Geoffrey replied stonily

Attempting to hide his amusement at their continued (albeit restrained) bickering, Seth returned to feigning sleep, quickly fading into an actual rest.

Aside from an incurable ineptitude with all things automotive, Seth quickly found a new reason for disdaining travel by road, as the journeys acted as a sort of mental sedative, leaving him drifting in and out of sleep throughout the trip.

The gentle humming of the engine becoming maddening after twenty hours, Seth almost shouted in relief at the vehicle's halt. Adding to the fact that this was a dingy, strange neighborhood, Seth could not shake the notion that there was something especially suspicious about it:

"Why is it so hot?" Geoffrey gasped, dragging the weapons suitcase behind him "its night!"

"What did you expect?" Seth asked "It's late June in southern California, what did you think it would feel like?"

"The weather really doesn't't bother me one way or the other," Alison chimed in.

He disliked extreme heat immensely, but Seth's main concern was the fact that most of California's residents would have him surrounded by fifty SC agents if he so much as showed his face for more than thirty seconds.

As Ursula led the three to the nearby warehouse, Seth found himself gravitating towards the shadows more than he would have six months ago.

Rapping her knuckles against the door, Ursula was answered by a small-fair haired woman, with whom she shared a brief Russian conversation, before motioning the others inside the building.

Seth, Alison, and Geoffrey followed Ursula into the building, the last still having slight trouble with the suitcase. Even for a warehouse, this place is depressing, Seth thought, disturbed by the patches of light dispersed through the floor.

"Ursula!" called a large, heavily accented man "My little cousin, how are you?"

"Better than one would expect after being awake for twenty-two hours, Sergei," Ursula replied "This is Seth, he seeks your assistance."

"Ah, Seth!" Sergei said, extending a large hand "Ursula has told me much about you. Is the story about Chechnya true?"

"Yes," Seth answered nonchalantly

"You are a very brave man, or a very foolish one."

Easily over seven feet tall, the thing Seth found most noticeable about Sergei was his jovial tone, the same traits mirrored in his eyes. Seth found this quite endearing, as the last person he was acquainted with of similar proportions had sprayed light machine gun fire in his general direction.

"So my friend, what brings you here?" Sergei asked

"Ursula told me that you could help me with something important," Seth replied gravely

"What might that be?"

"I would tell you, but I would have to cut out your vocal cords and blind you."

Sergei let loose a hearty laugh, but the smaller man's face remained firm.

"Oh, that," the large Russian said, a look of remembrance dawning on him "You really want to go through with this?"

"Of course."

Sergei led the group to an office on the far side of the building, giving the nearby windows a quick glance before entering himself.

The room contained all manner of weaponry, from firearms to blades. Seth was sure he saw a few explosive devices placed on high shelves.

"Ursula tells me that you are in the business of assassinations," Sergei said his tone considerably more business-like

"I wouldn't't call it a 'business', " Seth said airily "But yes, that's the general idea."

"I've got exactly what you need."

Sergei placed a strange-bodied, long-barreled pistol and accompanying holster on the desk:

"A suppressed variant of the Ruger Mark Three," he introduced "This weapon, chambered in the .22 Long Rifle caliber, is next to silent when fired. It should be sufficient for your needs. Even with the recent ban on everything, the necessary ammunition shouldn't' be hard to come across."

Alongside, the Ruger, Sergei placed a Glock on the desk:

"This one uses .357 Sig," he informed "Keep this as a reserve weapon in urban areas."

The arms dealer then placed a placed a sleek, scoped, black rifle alongside the pistols:

"The M40 should work well for you, as far as destroying distant targets goes," Sergei explained "Although, given the fact that its chambered in 7.62 NATO, it might be a little harder to find magazines."

"Thanks," Seth said, holstering the pistols, "Anything else I should know?"

"For the love of God, don't get caught with these! You know the new penalty for arms dealing is death, right?"

"I figured as much."

"Come back here if you need to practice."

"One more thing," Seth added, dragging the suitcase near the desk "I have a few weapons in here that I haven't done the best job of taking care of."

Sergei pried the case open, examining the Winchester:

"These are some fine weapons you have here," he said proudly "Why do you want to part with them?"

"I just need someone to hold on to them for a few months and some maintenance."

Despite his updated collection of weapons, Seth found that more than a few problems remained:

He realized that transporting the rifles would be troublesome.

For this purpose, Geoffrey suggested a covered umbrella stand for the rifles:

"What are the chances that the SC will place any real scrutiny on domestically produced umbrella stands?"

Seth was tempted to write this off as some outlandish idea, but failing to see any better option, agreed to the guise.

Ursula had managed to procure a relatively inconspicuous apartment complex several miles from Sergei's place of business. Fortunately for the four, the staff asked few questions and allowed payment in cash.

Seth found the apartment itself, a step up from his first one in Moscow, but not quite up to the quality of the one he had left behind recently, the sub-par maintenance of the rooms being a testament to this:

"Hmmm, only two bedrooms," Ursula said curiously "I was sure that-"

"No its fine," Seth interrupted "You and Alison take one, and Geoffrey the other."

"What about you?"

"The couch should be enough. After all, it's not like I'm getting that much sleep."

Seth's assessment of his next week proved, unfortunately for him, quite accurate:

He was grateful for the fact that Sergei had cordoned off a sort of makeshift firing range in the warehouse next door. However, he could have done without Alison and Ursula constantly altering the building's lights:

"You did say that most of these assassinations would be at night, right?" Alison asked

"I never said that," Seth replied irritably, loading another magazine into his M40 "But it makes sense."

Seth also found himself spending many caffeine-fueled nights arguing with Geoffrey over the choice of his first target:

"I still say it would be best to pick off the SC officers first," he suggested

"I don't think so," Seth replied, taking another gulp of coffee "The politicians are the main problem here. Many of the SC officers can be replaced quickly, the Congress-scum can't."

"You have a point there."

Even despite the stressful preparations, by that Sunday night, the sheer complexity of the plans left Seth feeling good about his chances for success.

Sergei had presented him with a foot long machete, the final three inches being reminiscent of a knife, along with some advice:

"I cannot stress how important this is," he said gravely "Always collect the brass casings."

Furthermore, Seth and Geoffrey, despite many hours of tense arguments bought on by an excess of caffeine and a lack of sleep, decided on a target for the assassin.

"Senator Conan Olsson of Vermont," Seth announced "This bastard was one of the original co-sponsors of the bill that created the SC."

"If that is the case, wouldn't't he be under heavy protection at all hours?" asked Ursula

"This guy is really arrogant. He insists on traveling without any armed bodyguards."

"Sounds like you couldn't't have picked a better target. Good luck."

"Olsson should be leaving his room at about one. I figure I have about a three minute window to off him, collect any evidence, and get out. Wait for me about two blocks away and a right turn."

"I understand. I'll remind Geoffrey and Alison to collect anything we might need, because we obviously can't stay in the area."

At around midnight, Ursula dropped Seth at a point about three blocks from Olsson's hotel:

"Good luck, and be careful," she reminded

"I'll be fine," Seth whispered "If you don't hear anything about a dead Senator by one-thirty, get back to the apartment and get ready to leave the state."

"What about you?"

"I'll find my way back. I always do somehow."

Without a doubt, a man clad in a trench coat and fedora loitering around a luxury hotel's lobby late at night was a very strange sight.

Seth likely did not help his attempts at appearing unassuming by frequently adjusting his belt. He preferred to keep the Ruger Mark Three's holster on his left hip for quick removal and access by his dominant right hand. The Glock 32 on his right side as a lower-priority weapon.

As per Seth's prediction, a balding, absent-minded looking man emerged from the elevator on the lobby's far side. Taking into account that it would appear even stranger for the specter lingering around for the past hour to just flee at the sight of an old man, Seth casually strode through the main doorway, heading for the shadows near the parking lot.

Surely enough, the Conan Olsson led made his way into the parking lot, arrogant stride about him the whole of the way.

Disgusting. Who did this man think he was, Seth thought Repulsive as he found the air about Olsson, Seth steadied his right hand, drawing the Ruger Mark Three, waiting for his prey to enter leave the last light he would bathe in.

The comfort and near silence of the weapon, his eyes adjusted to darkness due to imprisonment and nighttime shenanigans, combined with his ease at the deed, Seth took a second to notice the corpse, (formerly known as a Senator) lying face down in a pool of its own blood.

Scolding himself for his recurring momentary lapses in concentration, as well as his failure to finish off Olsson faster, Seth collected the four brass casings, clinging to the shadows as he fled the scene.

As per the plan, Seth found Ursula, Geoffrey, and Alison waiting for him two blocks away, all crammed into a compact car, countless items accompanying Geoffrey in the back.

"So, how did your assassination go," Alison asked with the air of one inquiring about the weather

"I didn't get caught and I got away," Seth replied breathily "I'd say it went pretty well."

"We obviously can't stay in this city. In three hours, they'll have the whole area cordoned off," Ursula reminded "Where should we go?"

"A couple of states over," Seth answered

"Why."

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

"They're pretty sure someone murdered him," Kemp said, scratching his chin "Not that it's any loss, but I wonder..."

"Maybe it means what we think it means," Reeve replied cryptically "Is a diner really place we want to have this conversation?"

"It's out of the way and Adam wouldn't't stop complaining until we got something to eat."

"For such a skinny kid, he can really put it away, can't he?"

"Any luck convincing the Commandant?" Kemp asked, lowering his voice slightly

"Not really, " Reeve replied, scowling at his bacon and eggs "Although, Farbon seems to be on the same page as us. I can only hope he's more influential than he lets on. How about the other services?"

"Depends. Most the officers in the Army are where we are as far as the SC goes, Navy still has their head in the sand, and the Air Force probably hates them most of all."

"My point is," Kemp said, lowering his voice as to be obscured by his son's silverware "Is that we have to get in touch with that assassin. I don't care how, but we have to do it."

"I know exactly what you mean," replied Reeve "I have this feeling that the SC is really planning something really nasty."

The fifteen hour drive to Colorado gave the four ample time to discuss matters from the trivial to the deadly serious: As the subject of disguises came up, Alison, Geoffrey, and Ursula all concluded that they would have relatively easy times disguising themselves, Geoffrey even going so far as to suggest Alison dress in drag some of the time.

The group further came to the conclusion that feigning ignorance (and decent proficiency in other languages) of English would greatly enhance any potential disguise.

The constant Russian language studies still fresh in his mind, Seth also possessed slight knowledge of German (and a few phrases in some unknown Chinese dialect) as well.

Alison confessed to only having a working knowledge of a couple of languages:

"What? English and some French is all I really needed."

"Are there any languages which you can pass yourself off as a native speaker?" Seth asked

Taking one hand off the steering wheel, Ursula began to count the tongues of her fingers:

"Obviously English, Arabic, Mandarin, Hindi, and I can make myself understood in most Slavic languages."

Astonished as to how one person could retain all that information, Seth almost forgot about Geoffrey's input on the subject:

"Is it even possible to keep all that straight in your head?" Seth asked

"Of course it is," Geoffrey replied "It was relatively easy for me to learn Latin and Arabic."

A very confused Seth thought back to his experiences with the Arabic language, recalling flag designs and strange, serpentine characters.

Even if he could have pronounced a few phrases, Seth expected learning the characters to be an endeavor of at least a decade.

"Did you just say it was easy for you to learn Arabic?" Seth asked

"Well, my mother was from Lebanon." Geoffrey replied softly "Of course you noticed that Fahim isn't a French name, right?"

Curious as to how a man with a French father and Lebanese mother would have Geoffrey's appearance, Seth decided to drop the topic, as his friend's French mutterings seemed to indicate a good deal of irritation..

Perhaps due to abuse during captivity or out of necessity, Seth never had much of an appetite, preferring countless small bites of the steak and mashed potatoes.

Stopping for a quick meal also was quite telling about his companions:

Geoffrey, despite his small stature, possessed quite a voracious appetite, easily (and quickly) consuming a meal twice the size of Seth's. Ursula however, seemed more partial to a salad.

"She sure has a lot of energy," Seth said "Come to think of it, I have never seen her eat or drink water."

"Of course she does," Alison replied, one eye on the other woman "She has to have quite a lot of energy to have a body like that. Of course, it helps she's naturally built like that."

"Alison, if you don't mind me asking," Seth began gingerly "Why are you so concerned about your body? You look fine."

"You're kidding right?" she replied flatly "I'm built like an ironing board."

However, Seth was dismayed to learn that none of the four had any real experience with mechanics. Any familiarity with automobiles would have greatly shortened their late-night stay in the desert of Eastern Utah.

Geoffrey exiting in a vain attempt to try and diagnose the problem, the sinister appearance of the nearby ghost town leading Seth to keep one hand on his weapon.

Alison, Geoffrey, and Ursula had progressively worse times at attempting automobile repair. Seth was fairly certain that Ursula's "repairs" caused smoke to emanate from the hood:

"Alright, you try it now," Ursula said tiredly "I've been at this for an hour and I've made it worse. I need some sleep."

"I can barely reassemble weapons," Seth reminded "How good do you think I'll be at this?"

"Just do it," Alison said grumpily "We haven't done any better. How bad can you be at it?"

Five minutes of tampering with the engine block saw Seth eliminate the smoke at the expense of misplacing several components while doing so.

Alison's poor control of the flashlight along with her myriad of suggestions failed to make his task any more pleasant:

"I told you I would make it worse," Seth groaned, attempting to fish out some of the missing parts

"You were better at it than Ursula," Geoffrey reminded "You two get some sleep, I'll try to fix this again."

A horrible cracking sound reverberated throughout the night sky, seizing Seth and Alison's attention:

"What was that?" Seth asked breathily, pointing the Ruger Mark Three in the vibration's general direction

"It's probably nothing," Geoffrey said exasperatedly "Ignore it/"

"Are you kidding me!?" Alison scolded "That could have been the SC!"

"She's right you know. I don't know for sure, but I would assume that they have more than one of these camps, and this area would qualify well."

"If it's bothering the two of you so much, go find out."

The few stars out the only source of light, Seth would have greatly preferred Alison not to point the flashlight in the direction of every unidentified noise:

"Can we get this over with," Alison requested "This can't have been that big of a town."

"Wait a second," Seth said "Are you afraid of the dark?"

"Of course not! What makes you say that?"

"No reason. I just thought it strange that a grown woman who's probably stronger than most guys I've met would be this jumpy."

"Well it's doesn't't look like it was exactly a gated community in it's day, now does it?"

She had a point there, Seth thought. At this point, the "town" resembled a junkyard with small buildings dispersed throughout more than anything. The settlement's atmosphere itself reminded him of his recent trip to Grozny, the latter far more lively.

Unsure of its origins, Seth detected the vibration once again. His theories on the sound's origins proved flawed by quick examinations before Alison focused the beam on what appeared to be an old general store.

"How did you miss that?" Alison asked

Seth remained silent, approaching the door with small, silent steps.

Hand on his weapon; he motioned Alison next to him, his companion focusing the light at the door's center.

Inhaling deeply, Seth drove his foot into the door, sweeping the width of the room with his weapon before he and Alison focused their respective tools on a blanket in the room's center:

"Hey, what did I do?" a voice asked sleepily, its owner rising from the floor "You two aren't't cops, are you?"

The figure revealed himself an unkempt, lanky man. His long, dirty hair and flighty air about him gave Seth the impression that he was attempting to imitate the horrible fashion of some equally horrible decade.

"What are you doing here?" Seth barked, weapon focused firmly on the other man

"Well it's a long story and one I'd rather not tell in mixed company," his target replied "Just put the gun down before you do something we'll both regret."

"Who's 'we'? Who's to say that you won't attack me the second I turn my back on you?"

"Fine! I'll empty my pockets!"

"You do that."

The young man turned out his pockets, scattering receipts, crumpled dollar bills, and coins:

"See, I don't have anything, you tight-ass," he said calmly

"I prefer Seth, thanks."

"Okay then, Seth. My name is Verraad. Verraad Thorn," He introduced "Wow! Who's this beauty with you? Don't tell me you two are-"

"Of course not! He's just a friend!" a flushed Alison interrupted

Unwilling to steer this conversation in a very awkward direction, Seth decided to inquire further of the man's circumstances:

"What are you doing sleeping in a ghost town anyway?" he asked

"Like I said," Verraad replied, collecting his scattered belongings "It's a long story that I don't feel like repeating. You two wouldn't happen to be on your way to New Mexico, would you?"

"Of course it wouldn't be a problem," Alison chimed in, her normally cool tone returned "Is that fine with you, Seth?"

His better judgment advising him against aiding particularly strange people, (especially in light of recent events) Seth figured that a SC collaborator stationed in the desert would be better compensated for his trouble:

"Alright, fine," Seth relented "Does a car blowing steam everywhere mean anything to you?"

Verraad chuckled arrogantly: "Why don't you give me something difficult to do?"

Tales of his travels capturing Alison's rapt attention, for the first half of the return journey, Seth insisted on following behind the two, weapon at the ready.

The group returned to the wreck to find a rather frustrated-looking Ursula laboring over the still-steaming engine block:

"I don't like to admit it," Ursula said, wiping her brow with her sleeve "But I have no idea what the hell I'm doing."

"Wasn't it smoking less when we left?" Seth asked, finally holstering his pistol

"Exactly."

"Did Geoffrey have any better luck?"

"He's been sleeping for the past hour or so."

"Not important. This guy should be able to help us."

"Who the hell is this?" Ursula asked dismissively

Verraad smiled licentiously: "I'm Verraad, but you can call me whatever you like, babe."

"My eyes are up here," Ursula growled "If you like looking at my chest so much, the knife in my pocket can make it the last thing you see for the rest of your life."

Verraad said nothing, merely taking an exaggerated step towards Seth:

"She's kind of...frigid, isn't she?"

As per his promise, Verraad did deftly repair the engine within the next half hour, small talk with Alison and Seth dispersed throughout the period:

"And that's how I ended up traveling across the country with just the clothes on my back and two hundred dollars to my name," Verraad finished, his story's end coinciding with the engine's restoration

"That's amazing," Alison replied absentmindedly "You're quite an interesting character, Verraad,"

"Ah, anyone could've done it,"

"So Ursula just told me the engine was fixed," Geoffrey said drowsily, rising from his cramped quarters "We can get out of here soon, right?"

"Yeah, thanks to this guy," Seth replied "Just as soon as we put everything back"

Brow slightly furrowed, Geoffrey polished his glasses for a few seconds before replacing the spectacles:

"Seth, Alison" he began, questioning tone evident "Why did you bring this ape with you? I don't see much use for it."

"You want to say that again, little man?" Verraad snarled, one hand now grasped around Geoffrey's collar "Because if I'm not mistaken, that last comment you made wasn't exactly flattering."

"Ainsi le fagot pense qu'il est intelligent?" Geoffrey muttered

"I have no idea what you just said," Verraad replied, releasing his grip "But I'm going to let it slide for now.

Although perceptive of an abusive statement from the Frenchman, Seth, in light of their good fortune and his own fatigue, remained silent, merely sinking into the driver's seat and restarting the machine. The empty features of the desert in concert with the drone of Alison and Verraad's animated conversation produced a sort of calming effect on Seth.

In fact, this serenity on more than one occasion, required Ursula to turn the car's radio to full volume for a few seconds. Despite his drowsiness and ringing ears, Seth was quite proud at his accomplishment: Managing to survive in a country where half of its inhabitants wish you dead is not a claim many can make.

XVIII

"Vibrant". "Sprawling". "Hip": All adjectives used at some point to describe the city of Boulder, Colorado. Seth on the other hand, perhaps due to the combined influences of stress, fatigue, and the rising sun in his eyes, found the town as a constantly expanding form of visual torture. By the time that the group had arrived at the (conspicuously rented out, thanks to Ursula) motel, Seth was almost more concerned with finding a suitable napping spot before being caught by the CS:

"You know it wouldn't kill you to help us with all this stuff, right? " Alison grunted, dropping a large box

"Yeah, just a second, "Seth growled tiredly before taking a sip from his vodka

"I thought you said you were trying to quit? "

"I said I was trying. I never said I was succeeding"

True to his word, Seth eventually began his share of the illicit cargo's transport.

Finally finished with the task, Seth joined his friends in one of the rooms, shortly collapsing onto the nearby sofa.

The full might of the sun's glow awakening Seth several hours later, he found himself in a plain, slightly cramped room, his companions engaging in varying activities:

Ursula sat at the nearby desk, alternating between sharpening one of her knives and scribbling on several different sheets of paper.

Alison lounged on one of the two beds, engrossed in a portable video game of some sort.

Apparently, Geoffrey and Verraad had learned to be at least civil to one another, as they were carrying on a (slightly tense) conversation.

"Alright," Seth interjected, "What exactly is our plan?"

Ursula gave a sinister grin: "I'm glad you asked," she replied "In three days from now, two of your country's ministers are giving a speech about possible solutions to the so-called threat. In an open field. Draw your own conclusions."

Upon realizing all the possible variations of the plan, Seth began to mimic Ursula's menacing visage:

"Wait, we're going to need a decent vantage point if we don't want to end up on the wrong end of a SC firing squad, right?" he asked

"I've rented out an old house near the field," Ursula informed, the same expression unmoved from her face "The forest surrounding is not so dense to hinder us greatly, but still enough to give us some concealment and get out before they can figure out what happened."

"So, I guess we should go over this with Geoffrey and Alison?" Seth asked

"Not with him around," Ursula sneered in Verraad's general direction

Although he found her acknowledgment slightly uncouth, Seth had to concede that Ursula had a point in this regard: They had known the man barely twenty-four hours. Providing him with any inkling of a sensitive, extralegal plan such as this could be disastrous for all parties involved.

"Let's try this," Seth whispered, shielding his lips from the room's other occupants "You and Alison can go scope out vantage points, escape routes, and things like that. Geoffrey and I'll spend some time figuring out if we can actually trust this guy or not."

"Oh alright!" Ursula relented "After all, if I can't trust a man who's trash-detecting skills kept him alive for so long, I'm in a lot of trouble."

With Alison and Ursula off charting key points , Seth produced a small bottle of oil and an old cloth before removing his Ruger Mark Three from its holster and beginning to disassemble it. Blocking out the somewhat forced conversation shared by Geoffrey and Verraad, Seth began to swab the components of the weapons with the fluid.

Although focused intently on cleaning the various corners and parts of the device, Seth could gather that Geoffrey regarded interacting with Verraad as quite a chore.

A considerable amount of tension was lifted from the room as their conversation ceased:
"That's an interesting gun you've got there," Verraad began, leaning over the desk "What is it?"

"A Ruger Mark Three," Seth answered apprehensively "Why?"

"No reason. Just never seen one before. Come to think of it, I'd actually like one of my own."

"What do you use?"

From a compartment on his belt, Verraad produced a large, silver-bodied pistol before laying it on the desk next to Seth's disassembled weapon:

"This," he said proudly

"Please tell me you're kidding," Geoffrey replied dismissively "That's design is almost a hundred years old."

"Oh, this is rich! A guy from France talking about good gun choices. That's like a cat giving a fish advice on breathing underwater!"

"Perhaps I'm biased due to my service, but I'm more partial to the a specific model of the Beretta 92."

"Please tell me you're kidding: If something screws with that slide safety at the wrong time, you're dead!

"My colleagues don't seem to share your views on the matter. After all, the weapon's been in service since before either of us we're born."

Some of Seth's concern at Verraad's potential for betrayal had evaporated due to his readiness to discuss such a sensitive, potentially extralegal topic so readily. Although this warming towards the man was in no small part due to his personality, as demonstrated in an incident outside near the vending machines:

"I hated that asshole ever since I laid eyes on him," Verraad sneered before spitting off to his side "Mathir Li, who really fell for his game anyway?"

"Idiots," Seth replied flatly

So engrossed in the conversation, Seth failed to notice Verraad's peculiar gaze:

His curiosity piqued, Seth turned around to find a woman of around twenty strolling across the parking lot, struggling to contain her effects in her book bag:

"Move!" Verraad roared at the woman, knocking Seth over in the course of his sprint.

Hands poised backwards to break his fall, the unpleasant sound of rifle rounds against metal assaulted his ears. His balance corrected, Seth drew the Glock 31, surprised to notice that Verraad, in addition to motioning the woman to cover, had already begun to return fire, sending the attacker scrambling for cover on the second story.

The barrage halted, Verraad paused, kneeling to reload his weapon.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seth detected something.....unusual about the railing of the balcony twenty-five yards to his right:

"Get down!" Seth called, reflexively repositioning himself before finishing the would-be assassin.

"Didn't notice that," Verraad remarked, still quite aghast at the rifle-clutching corpse some four yards away from him "Thanks,"

"Don't mention it," Seth replied coolly, sheathing his weapon

"What happened here!?" Ursula shrieked, quite visibly upset at their apparent inability to understand the concept of discretion

"Are you all OK?" Alison inquired, searching Seth and Verraad for any injuries

"Oh, hey babe," Verraad replied calmly "This little lady over here got into a bit of trouble, we had a scrape, and your boy Seth here ended up saving both of our lives."

"Of course I expect this kind of thing from Seth: Its your motives for helping I don't trust." Ursula snarled

"You alright?" Seth asked, extending a hand to the woman

"Been worse," she answered, raising herself to her feet "Although it is quite an interesting feeling, being the target of an assassin and surviving."

With her frizzled auburn hair, diminutive frame, and seemingly hurried manner of dress, the hitman's would-be target reminded Seth of some kind of poorly maintained doll.

"Trust me, it gets old fast," Seth said grimly "More importantly, who are you and why would anyone want you dead"

"I have no idea," the young lady answered in a perplexed, transforming into rambling tone "Who has anything to gain by assassinating a Linguistics student? It makes so little sense to expend that sort of energy on someone so insignificant? But where are my manners, I'm Natalka, by the way."

Introducing the woman to his group and himself, a part of Seth was somewhat amused by Natalka's silent rebuff of Verraad's advances in favor of a rapt, bordering on worship attention paid to Ursula, a fascination that remained apparent well into their return to the building:

"I don't care that people say your accent is strange, I still love it," Natalka said dreamily "Where exactly in Russia did your parents come from?"

Ursula gave an exasperated sigh, briefly massaging her temple before replying:

"My father grew up near Moscow," she answered "While my mother's family hadn't left the area around Kazan for about five hundred years. As far as I know, most of them are still there."

"So your mother's family is from Tatarstan? By any chance are you-"

"Don't go there," Geoffrey interrupted flatly, consumed in one of his lengthy books "Shortly after we met, I bought up this exact topic with her and she threw a textbook at my head. Its been four years and she still gives me grief about bringing it up."

Natalka, clearly puzzled as to how Geoffrey was aware of her intended question, nonetheless received the hint: Both Ursula's grim, hostile glare and Geoffrey's complacent expression warned her not to press the topic any further.

Seth, on the other hand, found his new companions, (Verraad in particular) Perhaps because he had saved both of their lives, quite agreeable, conversing for hours in the motel's vacant lobby:

"Yeah, my dad actually wanted me to go to Princeton, but I just decided academia wasn't for me," Verraad stated with the air of one speaking of the weather "Instead, on my eighteenth birthday, got some clothes, food, and the five hundred dollars I had stashed, ditched my dad's place, and spent the next three years wandering the country."

"Really?" Seth replied, a child-like awe apparent in his tone "I had considered doing something similar after college. Not seriously, but it was in the back of my mind for a while."

"What stopped you?"

"I was raised to thoroughly think about the potential consequences of my actions.

That, and I'm just not much of a risk-taker by nature."

"I can't imagine going through life like that. There's so much you can see and do if you just stop playing by other people's rules for a while."

Seth took a protracted sip of his soft drink:

"My recent experiences have taught me differently," he said flatly "They've taught me that one momentary, stupid mistake can and often will get you killed."

Surprisingly, the night before the planned execution of his and Ursula's plot left Seth (in comparison to his previous questionable activities) quite calm. Perhaps the fact that his new companion Verraad, upon discovering his and Ursula's seditious indiscretions,

commented in earnest about the idea, even going so far as to offer to take part.

"I still don't trust him," Ursula whispered crossly "Why would he display so much interest if he wasn't a spy?"

"Well," Seth began tentatively "If Natalka's word is anything to go by, he relieves stress by stabbing a voodoo doll of Li. I can't imagine a spy being stationed out in the middle of nowhere, with no other purpose than to tail members of foreign crime syndicates and their associates, and put his life on the line to help a wanted man."

"Alright, you kind of have a point. But if I notice anything weird with him, I'm giving him two extra nostrils....in the back of his head."

As the day of the plot's execution dawned, Seth wasted no time in his preparations:

Every inch of his M40 rifle (scope included) was polished and cleaned, as well as multiple checks for correct function of the weapon.

"Come on, relax a bit!" Alison implored, sliding a plate of bacon to Seth "What are you so worried about, anyway?"

"Who says I'm worried?" Seth growled, taking a drink before his expression soured "This is kind of plain for vodka, isn't it?"

"That's because its water," Ursula replied flatly "If we're going to do this, the last thing you should be doing is drinking."

"Fine, fine. No alcohol touches these lips until this is over. What's the plan again?"

"We're keeping it simple:

Once the main targets show up, we take them down, along with any other targets of opportunity. While security is still trying to figure out what exactly is going on, we take that three-minute window and get the hell out of there, well before they can cordon off the area."

"Wait, won't security be patrolling the immediate area around the stadium?"

"Geoffrey and Natalka are plotting out their routes right now. Of course, the latter assumes they're just going out."

"So let me get this straight:" Alison interjected "You had Geoffrey, under the guise of asking Natalka on a date, map the security workers' patrol routes?"

"Essentially, yes" Ursula replied casually "I'm not terribly worried about her catching on.

She doesn't exactly seem to be the perceptive type. Besides, if it comes down to it, we can-"

"Hopefully, this will have resolved itself before it comes to that," Seth interrupted, eyes fixed downward

Geoffrey and Natalka returned a couple of hours later, the former handing off a series of map-like sketches to Ursula:

"The furthest patrol route isn't close at all to the point you specified," he informed

"Great. Anything else we should take into account?" Ursula answered enthusiastically

"Don't make me go out with that woman again. Seriously, that was the longest, most awkward three hours of my life."

At first glance, Seth was quite unimpressed by Ursula's much-vaunted "vantage point".

Being little more than a small, vacant, two-story house surrounded by overgrown plant life of all sorts, perhaps this skepticism was somewhat founded.

However, as the pair prepared their weapons, Seth came to appreciate the simplistic utility of the structure and its surroundings:

The surrounding foliage, while overgrown, was hardly enough to impede their aim, but still enough to provide the pair with some (in conjunction with their green clothing) camouflage.

"And you're still sure you want to go though with this?" Ursula inquired tentatively

"It's still not too late to change your mind."

"I've gone this far, haven't I?" Seth replied flatly, loading a magazine into the M40 "Wherever it leads me, I might as well see it through."

Quite contrary to his experiences in Uzbekistan and Chechnya, a sort of unnatural calm fell upon Seth as he aligned his sights with the suited, bloated bureaucrat some eight hundred yards from their position:

"Ursula, take out those two guys on the edges of the podium," Seth growled

"Sure," she replied, adjusting her PSG1 accordingly "Any reason in particular?"

"Pretty sure they're coordinating security for this area. Offing them should give us a couple more minutes to get the hell out of here."

Barely a second after depressing his weapon's trigger, Seth gave a slight smirk at the suited figure dropping to the ground, clutching his chest through the blood-stained jacket.

Readying the rifle once again, Seth seized the opportunity to fire in concert with Ursula, one of the thinner expectant speakers lifelessly slumping off his chair.

His next intended target already (courtesy of his accomplice) already lying dead some four yards from the podium, Seth wasted no time in returning to the assault, his round slamming the remaining politician in the side of her neck. Angrily muttering every profanity he ever recalled hearing, Seth inadvertently directed the magazine's final shot some ten feet from his intended target.

"That's enough! Let's go!" Ursula said triumphantly

"I'm not even sure I got the last one!" Seth answered irritably "As far as I saw, it was a neck shot."

"Good enough. We don't have time worry about this, remember?"

Realizing he possessed no rebuttal to this fact, Seth joined Ursula in a swift collection of brass the brass casings before replacing their weapons to their makeshift containers.

As planned, the pair had vacated the property within two minutes, shoving themselves into the back seat of the car, making both Geoffrey and Natalka extremely uncomfortable:

"How did it go?" Alison inquired, turning from the driver's seat

"Don't talk, drive," Seth said shortly, still wary of Natalka's ignorance of the plot and potentially destructive reaction

Without another word, Alison complied with the command, keeping a casual speed as not to draw attention.

The band of outlaws escaping town without incident, some four hours outside of town, after establishing Natalka's unconscious state, Seth and Ursula prompted Alison to stop by a reservoir, disposing of the incriminating weapons:

"I'm not really sure how much this will really help," Seth said "Can't they test the ballistics on the wounds?"

"We were wearing gloves, right?" Ursula asked rhetorically "As far as your government is concerned, that house is vacant and we collected our shells. If they had any idea of our positions, if what you said is any indication, we'd be dead."

"I guess, but we're still not in the clear until the truth about the SC gets out."

Tabitha Li slowly circled Ariel Costa's desk her heels piercing the terrifying silence. Her only acknowledgment of his existence an occasional cold glare. Not a warm woman by any stretch of the imagination, Tabitha Li's sky blue suit seemed to add a particular air of aloofness to her demeanor:

"It is impossible to describe just how furious I am with you right now," she said after ten minutes' silence "If I were Prifti, I would start thinking about how I would furnish my new office."

"Ma'am, it was a fluke!" Costa exclaimed, a uncharacteristic fear staining his voice "It won't happen again, I promise!"

"Are you aware of how poorly this reflects on our organization and our government as a whole? Two representatives, one Senator, and two cabinet members dead in three minutes."

"Perhaps we could use this opportunity to resurrect the right-wing boogeyman?" Costa suggested meekly

"Do you believe beauty is inverse to intelligence?" Li asked, her tone somewhat less tense.

Despite (or perhaps in accordance with) his arrogant nature, there were but two things in existence that Ariel Costa feared: (In that order) Tabitha Li and death.

This was only compounded on by his precarious professional position, as well as the fact that his employer's rhetorical question was either a stealth insult, or a trap so that he would inadvertently insulting her:

"This is far too sophisticated to be the work of a disgruntled citizen. This was carried out by someone resourceful, competent, and most of all, dedicated."

"Yes, ma'am!" Costa replied "I agree completely! Shall we increase the budget for counter-sniper training?"

"If you could get your lips off of my ass long enough to let me-"

Ariel Costa found himself relieved, yet somewhat disappointed that the beautiful, yet domineering, intimidating head of the SC had left him with a mere "Could it possibly be-" muttered under her breath.

Stopping off at a motel by an exit some six hours from Boulder, the group stopped off at a motel to further refine their plan of action. A small, two-bed, twenty-by forty room would be sufficient for some conversation and a few hours' rest.

On the insistence of Seth and Ursula, the discussion over their plan of action waited until Natalka was soundly asleep:

"That was pretty nice," Verraad complimented "A lot of people might talk the talk, but you're the only one I know who actually had the balls to go through with it."

"I'm not trying to prove I'm tough," Seth answered tiredly "I'm just trying to improve the situation the only way I know how."

An unusually silent Ursula, after two hours of tuning out her companions' chatting and intermittent snoring, reviewing several scribbled-upon sheets of paper, finally spoke up:

"After going over your vague outline of a plan," she said "I think our best bet would be to get in touch with my cousin and her husband."

"Why? What makes them so special?" Verraad snorted, still dismissive (or unaware) of Ursula's questionable administration

"Given the fact that your social life probably revolves mainly around fleabag motels and half-conscious, drunken bouts of debauchery, I'm not surprised you haven't heard of them."

"Do you two mind?" Seth groaned, keen on nipping another Geoffrey-style shouting match with Verraad in the bud

"Sorry," Ursula replied, her tone softened somewhat "Vesela and Drago Kasun are probably two of the most influential, er....."

"So, what exactly do they do?" Seth inquired, only to be met with a you-know-this-already stare.

"Oh, Vesela's your cousin?" Natalka chimed in, her slumber an apparent ruse "That works out great for me! I need some input on someone from Vulkovar for my thesis, and although Drago left as a teenager, I think he can help me with this..."

Natalka's impassioned rambling about the complexities of the various Serbian dialects already grating on him, the last thing he wanted was to hear the fawning interviews of Tabitha Li from the "news" media:

"Turn that off," Seth snarled "There's nothing really to be gained from it."

"On the contrary," Geoffrey answered calmly "Even with all the drivel, her face and body language can tell us a great deal."

"What do you mean?"

"Depending on whether she and her subordinates display subconscious signs of fear, anger, or apathy, it may give us more insight as to how best to proceed."

Much to Seth's dismay, the Frenchman had a point.

Even so, continuing to watch the woman who had spent the last seven months (alternatively) enslaving, torturing, and attempting to murder him bask in the sycophantic attention she was receiving held about as much appeal for Seth as observing dust collect on a coffee table. With the added appeal of imbuing him with a seething, horrible rage.

Come to think of it, dust had probably been responsible for more positive experiences in his life than Tabitha Li, he thought drowsily: The former, at the very least, had gotten him out of a midterm exam back in high school which he had failed to study for.

XIX

Despite the stimuli around him, Seth did eventually manage to sleep that night.

However, his experience asleep was likely as bizarre as the past few months of his life combined:

Finding himself in a large, high-ceilinged room covered in soft, white mats, a mixture of terror and anticipation fell over Seth as he spotted Tabitha Li lounging in the room's center, alternating her mischievous glances between himself and the dagger he held in his right hand.

Under any other circumstances, Seth would have already lunged for the woman with the intent to take her life, thereby eliminating the source of so much of his own (and that of so many others) suffering. However, for this point in time, perhaps due to the lighting or general surreal atmosphere, Seth could not help regarding this mass murderess as anything outside of this otherworldly siren beckoning him.

Gingerly proceeding over to his uncharacteristically vulnerable archenemy, Seth's mind scarcely had the opportunity to register its shock as Li wrestled him to his back, rapturously running her left hand down the length of his body.

Intending to open his mouth in order to register his disbelief, Li merely raised a lithe index finger to Seth's lips:

"Don't talk," she whispered breathily, simply lowering her lips on to his, flowing into a deep, impassioned kiss.

Surprising to Seth was with whom he shared the kiss. Incomprehensible to Seth was that he found himself reciprocating the act with equal desire, his hands mimicking his partners' in exploring every inch of her body within reach, the only pauses for Li to relieve him of his shirt, and Seth responding in kind, relieving the woman of her skirt as well.

To see his deadliest enemy, lying semi-nude on her back, smirking at him expectantly was far from provoking. On the contrary, he found the sight.... _enticing._

Even temporarily disregarding her statuesque figure, Tabitha Li's red, lacy undergarments only increased her appeal in Seth's eyes.

Returning to his partner's lips, Seth slid his own lips slowly towards her neck, his teasing eliciting hushed moans from Li:

"Come on, little boy," she taunted, guiding his dagger-clutching hand towards her stomach "Is that all you've got?"

If these events were simply bizarre, the happenings thereafter could only be adequately described as the pinnacle of abnormality:

As if the most natural thing in the world for the both of them, Seth plunged the dagger into Li's toned, bare stomach, creating no wound, only heightening the breath of the pair. As if commanded by some primal instinct, Seth removed the dagger before plunging it twice more into the previous point, his partner's moaning becoming noticeably more audible.

Falling into a rhythm of removing the weapon and stabbing with it, Seth disregarded his disbelief at Tabitha Li bucking her hips against the dagger in favor of losing himself in the strange, slowly elevating waves of pleasure.

Once again overtaken by that primal urge, Seth hastened his use of the weapon, his enemy's moaning melting into shrieks of joy, the apex of which bought an overwhelming sense of peace over him as he slid into the embrace of Tabitha Li.

The events of the past year, his pursuit by the secret police, and the bickering among his friends in these trying times, were somehow, at this moment, of no concern to Seth.

Even the fact that he lay with his archenemy seemed was lost about his almost unnatural calm.

Awakening to find himself on the floor and sweating considerably, Seth merely rose as not to disturb his now-sleeping companions and started towards the door, his boot striking what appeared to be a large rucksack:

"So, what are you doing up at this hour?" Verraad asked sleepily "You looked like you were having a pretty good dream."

Giving some actual thought to the imagery of the aforementioned dream, Seth quickly shifted the topic:

"I just need a drink and a shower," he replied

"Okay, but Alison told me the water heater's broken."

"Really, that's perfect."

Slightly after four that morning, Ursula awakened the group to review (or rather tell) them about their further plans:

"Alright Geoffrey," she began, an unusual energy about her voice "I need you, Alison and that guy to-"

"I have a name," Verraad interrupted sleepily "You may be hot, but at least use my name."

"I need you, Alison, and that perverted asshole to take Seth, Natalka and I to the nearest train station," Ursula resumed in a deadpan manner "And to dispose of the weapons we've been using. In forty-eight hours, we'll meet up at Velesa and Drago's restaurant in New York."

"I don't think that Sergei will be that happy about us just tossing the weapons he gave us." Seth chimed in

"Oh, he'll be fine with it," Natalka insisted "His and Marina's whole business is illicit products. In fact, he'd probably be grateful: Less things to be traced back to him."

Although somewhat disturbed by her intimate knowledge of criminal activities of eastern European expatriates, Seth failed to find any flaws in Natalka's logic.

As per the plan, Seth, Ursula, and Natalka were dropped at the nearest large train station, the two women carrying two small suitcases between them.

"You sure you don't need anything?" Verraad asked

"Not a thing," Seth answered confidently, running a finger down the sheath on his thigh

"I need you three to get out of here before we end up facing down a firing squad," Ursula said calmly.

Contrary to what Seth would have preferred, Ursula led the trio to a point, quite briskly, before motioning her companions into a women's bathroom:

"What is it?" Seth inquired impatiently "That train leaves in half an hour, and we still have to go through security."

Ursula smiled deviously:

"I have some things that can help us around that," she replied, removing a garment resembling a small, disassembled, black tent.

Natalka wore an expression of instant comprehension, accepting a similar garment from the older woman.

"And these will help us how?" Seth asked, false, dismissive curiosity evident in his voice

"You just worry about getting into costume," Ursula replied, the mischievous grin still apparent

Handed a navy-blue suit, white skullcap, and a pair of spectacles, Seth complied with Ursula's command, disregarding her leering at him for the time being.

Her insistence on the subject of their clothing soon revealed itself not to be merely nitpicking: Seth was shocked that, for the first time, his experience with SC agents had actually been somewhat pleasant. Their uncharacteristic courtesy (to Seth) baffling him to the point where he failed to notice the halted train was three inches higher than the platform itself. His front teeth the sorest they had been in quite some time, Seth's long stride allowed him to quickly rejoin his companions halfway into the compartment.

"I'd really rather we not be bothered here," Seth remarked, one eye turning suspiciously toward the door

"Relax," Ursula reassured him, removing the veil "This train is almost empty anyway, and the nearest passengers to us are six cars down. Besides, that is a pretty nice disguise you have there."

As if to (grudgingly) acknowledge her good point, Seth bitterly slumped into his seat.

Natalka gave a satisfied smile from underneath her veil, removing a series of papers marked by strange, vaguely Hellenic letters :

"I guess this is as good a time as any for this," she said, a tone of mild excitement saturating her voice "Finally, I have some time to give these a proper review."

"What are you so excited about?" Ursula inquired, wearing an expression halfway between bewilderment and annoyance "I can make these characters with any word processing program."

"No silly!" the younger woman replied playfully "It's the Glagolitic alphabet! One of my professors got her hands on an old manuscript from 11th century Bulgaria. She couldn't't make heads or tails of it, and knew I love Slavic languages, so she lent it to me to see if I could find anything."

Natalka and Ursula both consumed in their respective reading materials, (Respectively, the strange manuscript and a book in German he could not understand) Seth occupied himself with the scenery of the prairie rushing by his window, spending the next several hours drifting in and out of sleep, the monotony only broken by a progressively heightening argument in the next car over:

"What was that?" Seth asked groggily, instinctively reaching for the blade sheathed on his thigh

Ursula yawned loudly:

"Don't worry about it," she replied sleepily "If it doesn't't concern us, we shouldn't't be involved, remember?"

Even as her sentence was punctuated by a series of suppressed gunshots, Ursula remained unusually calm: "Alright, those could be problematic,"she conceded

When Seth and Ursula found went to the next car over, the scene was not particularly distressing, just strange:

A beautiful, dark-haired, pale woman of Northeast Asian descent ,clad in a blue, blood-stained dress, standing over a deceased CS agent with her weapon drawn:

"One of the fundamentals of being a gentleman," she said coldly "Is keeping one's hands to himself."

Ursula rolled her eyes:

"Yee bravada yeshche bolyee iskusstvennym, chem yee sis'ki," she groaned nastily

"To be honest, ma'am," Seth replied incredulously "I think that's the least of your problems."

"I appreciate your concern," she the woman answered nonchalantly, sauntering away from her kill "But I can take care of myself."

"No, you don't understand. If you're going to take down one of these bastards, you have to know what you're getting into ..."

Not surprisingly, an abridged recap of Seth's ordeal with the rouge agency helped to change the mind of their new acquaintance fairly quickly:

"Oh," the woman muttered, what the little color she had draining from her face "That's....unnerving."

"Unnerving?" Seth asked in a mockingly thoughtful tone, draping the body in his suit jacket "I still have the scars from the burns they gave me! Compared to what they have in store for you, I got off lucky."

"I have an idea, but don't really want to know what you mean by that...."

"If you want to avoid ending up in a ditch or a whorehouse for the SC, you should come with us," Seth advised, sliding the gruesome bundle under a seat "We're having a meeting of sorts. Made up of people dedicated to putting this whole mess right."

Advancing on Seth, the woman remained silent, her stony gaze merely fixated on his resolute expression:

"Are you certain about that," she asked at last "You realize just how few people will believe you, correct? That even the slightest misstep or stray word to any random stranger could be the death of you?"

"Doesn't't matter," Seth replied calmly, a hint of a grin about his face "I'm partially responsible for things getting as bad as they are now. And I'm going to do everything in my power to set it right. Even if it costs me my own life."

The woman's expression finally softened into a smile:

"Well, aren't't you courageous," she said, extending a hand "I like that, Mister...."

"Casey. Seth."

"Yong Jin Yi. Call me Yi."

"Oh, and who might this be?" Yi inquired coolly, sauntering in the red-haired woman's direction

"What's it to you?" Ursula snapped, quite noticeably irritated by the older woman's violation of her personal space "Ursula. That's all you need to know."

"Well Miss Ursula, I think that we shall have quite the interesting relationship..."

Despite Ursula's less-than warm reception given to their new fellow, Natalka seemed to take a genuine interest in Yi's experiences:

"Seriously!?" Natalka exclaimed, inadvertently tearing a several sheets of paper from one of her many notebooks "You're from North Korea?"

"You say that like I'm from Mars," Yi replied, running a hand through her hair

"It's just that's a notoriously difficult country to get out of and..."

"Well there are always ways of doing these things..."

"Will these two just get a room already?" Ursula groaned, eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling

"I think it's kind of cute how she gets so into these things," Seth answered "Kind of like a kid who reads her mom's interviews and decides she wants to be like her."

"Yeah. Cute like a rabid squirrel.

" _Something tells me this is train ride is going to seem really long_ ..." Seth thought tiredly

Mathir Li, running his fingers through his (now noticeably greying) hair, hastened his pacing through his office. The events of the previous six months seeming to have aged him six years, Li was at his wits end with his work load:

The media feeding frenzy over the assassinated lawmakers, the panic from the legislators themselves, each seeking to secure his or her own hide, and mere political squabbles blowing up to gargantuan proportions left Li (sometimes literally) ripping clumps of hair from his head. With his constant, hushed mutterings mulling over his feasible options and general lack of focus completely removed an appointment with an important visitor from his mind:

"May I intrude?" bin Ahmed inquired softly, his cane rustling against the Oval Office carpeting

"What do you want?" Li replied, agitation apparent in his voice "Oh, it's just you."

The president slumped into his chair, beckoning the elderly man into the opposing seat, his startled demeanor taking on a hint of irritation:

"You're screwing me, old man," he said, rubbing his right fingers across his brow "You never planned for your scheme going this awry!"

"You are a politician, correct?" bin Ahmed asked softly "I just assumed you knew the game well."

"You know damn well I was promised a cushy, eight-year term and possibly something even better if this went well," Li fumed, an index finger quivering "And the media..."

"That should be no concern of yours. They are still, by and large quite fond of you and will not reveal anything too damning. That I can assure," bin Ahmed replied firmly

"Chess?"

"Umm... I haven't got a set around."

"No, it's fine. I bought my own."

From his robes, the elderly man removed a small, magnetic chess set, swiftly setting the pieces down to their designated positions:

"You see," he said, beginning the game "Life is much like this game: Whatever the distractions, one must keep focus on your ultimate goal."

"I suppose you're right," Li conceded, sliding a pawn nonchalantly

"By the way, have you considered my offer?"

"What?! Are you insane?! Do you have any idea what kind of chaos would have to go down for me to even propose such a thing!?"

Bin Ahmed propelled a bishop towards the board's right-hand side:

"Well, the offer still stands. Just let me know when you feel it prudent," he said dejectedly "That's checkmate, by the way."

"What!? That was only five turns!"

"I already told you, boy. You lack focus."

Contrary to his expectations, Seth found he preferred New York City to conceal himself in: The large number of people on the streets, in concert with his disguise, provided him with ample opportunity for concealment, barring any careless mistakes.

Wasting no time, the group set out according to Ursula's directions, arriving around eight that night to a poorly-lit, somewhat dilapidated neighborhood:

"Are you sure this is the place, Ursula," Seth asked, an eyebrow raised at his surroundings

Yi scoffed:

"Maybe if I was a drug addict. Maybe,"

"Yes, I'm sure this is the place," Ursula snapped "And maybe if you could stop being a bitch for thirty seconds, we would have been there by now."

Halfway down the block, Ursula turned to a small, brick-colored window tucked away between two larger shops. Her knock was met with a latch on the door sliding open:

"Lozinka?" came a hushed voice

"Cervena nebo," Ursula answered, her words prompting the door open.

Initially finding themselves in a small, closet-like room, the group was led by the trench coated door man down a flight of stairs. What Seth found at the bottom was quite an interesting surprise:

The restaurant itself consisted very large, well-lit room, it's brick walls decorated with monochrome photographs and assorted Yugoslavian paraphernalia, a large number of people milling about and excitedly chatting. If not for the dire situation, Seth would have found the place quite appealing to merely relax with his friends for a night.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Seth asked, craning his neck towards Ursula

"I'm fairly sure," came the subdued, somewhat monotonic voice of a woman

"Vesela!" Ursula exclaimed "How are you?!"

Shifting slightly to his right, Seth found Ursula embracing a tall, dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties with unusually thick eyelashes.

"Never better, little cousin," Vesela replied in her calm, soothing tone "And this must be the notorious Casey. How are you?"

"Been better," Seth said "Now, what exactly are we meeting here for?"

Vesela gave a conspiratorial glance towards the dim stairwell before leading the four off to a table in the room's southwest corner:

"Can I you anything?" she inquired warmly

"No, we're fine," Ursula answered, finally removing the robes from her regular clothing

"Just a salad," Yi said

Seth opened his mouth, intent to request some sort of alcohol, but remembered that intoxicating substances are not exactly conductive to his high-risk lifestyle:

"I'll have a glass of water," he said sourly

Barely five minutes passed before Geoffrey, Alison, and Verraad reunited with the group

Dragging Geoffrey away from the conversation, Seth, although rightfully annoyed at Verraad's advances towards Yi, was extremely relieved at the news that their plan was flawlessly executed:

"Went off without a hitch," Geoffrey whispered, handing Seth a black M1911 pistol "Sergei told me told me to give this to you. A gift, he said."

"I would have thought he'd be pissed about his equipment being at the bottom of a lake," Seth said, lowering his tone to match his friend's

"On the contrary: He told Ursula he's being watched by your government more closely than usual lately. He's actually trying to get rid of a lot of stuff he got back in 2006."

Eager to rejoin the conversation and catch up with Alison and Verraad, a nagging question still held on to Seth:

"So about Verraad," he began "Does he just reflexively flirt with anything female?"

Geoffrey sighed:

"Pretty much," he replied "On a slightly related note, he said his first girlfriend was a woman about fifteen years his senior and that she somehow resembled you."

"He mention any names?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. He said her name was Tabitha."

Perhaps becoming increasingly paranoid, some mental math and Verraad's reported statements about the woman's features led Seth to an odd conclusion:

"You don't think Verraad's old girlfriend was...?" whispered Seth, his mind immediately turning to his deadly nemesis

"It's probably a coincidence," Geoffrey answered, matching Seth's hushed tone "But if it's bothering you that much, I'll see if I press him for some more information."

After about half an hour of observation, Seth was taken quite aback by the number of people attending: People from all walks of life lured here by the promise as he.

Most of them, he had never met in his life, some on the other hand, he had never expected to see again:

"Seth!" shrieked a woman's voice, her arms grasping his torso "Thank God you're alive!"

A short glance behind him revealed to Seth that the arms belonged to Ivy Franklin accompanied by her spouse, somewhat haggard-looking, but still overjoyed

"I could say the same to you," Seth replied calmly "If they're willing to use this much time and energy to come after me, I would expect half of their budget was dedicated to you two."

"Wait, who are these two anyway?" Geoffrey inquired, puzzled by Seth's warmth

Seth's introduction of Ivy and Eric Franklin as the two people who had saved (both directly and not) saved his life melted much of the apprehension away from the conversation. The couple even seemed to gain some slight approval from the notoriously distrustful Ursula.

However, the night did not merely bring reunions with old friends, but also more intriguing developments in business relationships, the least of which Seth would have expected as he lounged in a barstool:

"Excuse me," said a bespectacled, hairless man "Is this seat taken?"

"No, not at all," Seth replied, somewhat disconcerted by the man's nervousness

"Want anything to drink? I'm only having water, so I have a bit more money on me than usual."

"No, no thanks."

The man readjusted his glasses before turning to face Seth:

"Is it true that you went to Chechnya, broke into a rebel leader's home and fought your way out of town?" he asked finally "And the Moscow Theater Massacre?"

Seth's perceived awkwardness morphed quickly into suspicion.

The man's demeanor suggested an extreme discomfort with the current situation, as if his life was endangered. The knowledge of his activities over the past few months suggested he was less than trustworthy, and with the lifestyle Seth currently led, one careless word could lead to an early grave.

"They ring a couple of bells," Seth answered, left eye raised slightly "Why?"

The man rose from his stool, extending a hand:

"Seth Casey, correct?" he asked

"Yes," Seth replied, although puzzled proceeding to shake the man's hand

"Sergeant Major Brian Kemp. I want to thank you, Mr. Casey, for having the courage to stand up to these butchers, even though you know it may very well cost you your own life. I look forward to working with you further."

"Ah, it's nothing. I'm just doing what I was raised to do and correcting my own mistakes."

Other encounters, on the other hand, were not nearly as cordial, despite the strange position of a stairwell for said meeting:

"I was waiting for you to show up, boy," came Jenifer Cropper's voice "I thought you we're avoiding me."

Without warning, Seth shot his hand at the woman's neck, placing his pistol at her chest:

"So, do you want to tell me why exactly you threw in your lot with Li before I give you the ability to breathe through your neck?" Seth fumed "And you have the nerve to show your face here!?"

His would-be victim merely gave a strained chuckle:

"I think you've been out of the loop for a while..." came her pained reply

"Casey, right?" asked Floyd Reeve "What the hell are you doing? Cut it out!"

"Just about to stamp out a cockroach," Seth replied sinisterly "You know who this is, right?!"

"Yes, I know! Now knock it off!"

His gaze lying still on the stern officer's expression, Seth (reluctantly) released his grip and holstered his weapon:

"You might be interested to know that cockroaches are notoriously difficult to kill," Cropper lectured, massaging her neck "By the way, I don't think it's conductive to threaten to murder your employer."

"Wait, what!?" Seth blurted out "That employer who sent me to Chechnya and that criminal compound was you?!"

"I had to check if your escape was just luck or not."

"But why exactly are you here?" Seth inquired "I'm still not entirely convinced that you're not here to spy on us and rat us out."

"Essentially," began Cropper, removing a few of her facial bandages, revealing her burns "The same reason as you."

At around ten that night, the excited conversation settled down considerably as the lights dimmed. The less-than excitable Seth was content to take little notice and finish his dinner until Ursula summoned him to the center of the room.

At the room's center, several of the rectangular tables had been pushed together in order to form one significantly larger surface, occupied by some fifty people, forty-three of whom Seth had never seen in his life. Taking a vacant seat between Ursula and Geoffrey, Seth waited quietly for further instruction.

As the last occupant was seated, a graying man clad in a leather jacket and circular eyeglasses rose from his seat:

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I am Floyd Reeve, Sergeant Major of the United States Marine Corps," he began, seeming somewhat uncomfortable with semi-formal situations such as this "I assume we all know the purpose of tonight's meeting; To address the horrendous conduct of the President's new security apparatus, known as the Security Committee.

Such a meeting would have been unthinkable such a few short years ago, but when we are faced with a government-media complex that seems either unwilling or unable to reign in the agency, what option do we really have?"

Eric Franklin raised his hand:

"There are many captains of industry and finance present at this little gathering of ours," he said "Perhaps we could orchestrate a bit of economic sabotage to put pressure on the government?"

"Bad idea," Kemp interrupted flatly "Our government at large is a corrupt, inefficient structure. The SC, on the other hand, is a malicious one. If things get too out of hand, it just gives them an excuse to divert money away from the remainder of the Federal and State governments and fund the SC more."

The debate, somewhat less intensified by the presence of Vesela and Drago's homemade Balkan cuisine, continued in this manner for some two and a half hours, eventually splitting into two factions:

The first favored gradual, engineered economic and political pressure to bring the SC and its leadership to its knees and eventually destroy them.

The second camp (which most of Seth's recent acquaintances, with the exceptions of Natalka and Yi) , however, favored a more proactive approach to the resistance, such as planning massive strikes, armed retaliations for violence against the populace, and staging armed "incidents" between SC agents and members of the military and state police forces.

Although, Seth, probably the occupant of the table who had the most experience with opposing Tabitha Li's secret police (with and without weapons) remained oddly silent throughout the debate:

"Mrs. Franklin, I respect you and your work," Reeve explained, his voice vaguely slurred "But that really isn't a viable option right now. Now maybe if-"

"What the hell do you mean 'not viable right now?!" Ivy Franklin interrupted indignantly "They're already rounding up and probably executing the so-called 'tinfoilers' who actually might reveal something valid and damning! If not now, when?!"

"God, will you two shut up!?" Ursula shrieked "You've been at this for half an hour and what has it accomplished? Nothing! There is no magic bullet solution that can solve this!"

"But I have a practical one," Seth finally chimed in "It's dangerous and hinges on an outraged reaction from about ten different sections of the American public excluding the common people, but I think it will work."

The table suddenly went silent, seeming to affirm its occupants' shared desire for an actual solution.

Seth exhaled deeply:

"Alright," he began "Both sides in this debate make good points.

But just starting an armed conflict outright just isn't an option."

"So what exactly should we do?" Reeve asked

"If the 'news' media won't listen, we make them listen by sending operatives to sabotage their equipment to get the truth out to a large number of people. If the SC wants to use American citizens as slave labor, have a National Guard regiment "out on exercises" at around the unloading point for the cargo. Some scum in Congress wants to empower the SC further or give them more funding? One of us should give him an extra hole in his head, follow?

The table broke out into confused chattering between its occupants, continuing for some five minutes before Kemp bought them to order:

"That's...actually a pretty good idea," he said "A little rough around the edges for my tastes, but a good outline, nonetheless."

"I love it!" Reeve exclaimed "Creates chaos while allowing a fair amount of control!

As well as leaving some plausible deniability for those of us in sensitive positions."

The confused conversation between the occupants quickly flowed into murmurs of general agreement, spirits considerably higher.

"So we have a general idea of what we're doing?" Eric Franklin inquired

"I believe so," replied Reeve jovially, raising his glass "To Seth Casey, the most hated man in America, the same one who's going to end up saving all of our asses!"

Flattered and somewhat confused by the toast, Seth drank nonetheless to his newfound veneration.

"So, I take it the party's back on?" Verraad asked, taking one of the quickly emptying seats near Seth

"You guys go, have fun," Seth answered tiredly, "Ursula, Geoffrey, I need you two to stay here with me."

In spite of the festivities around him, Seth, Ursula, and Geoffrey spent much of the night with ten others (Kemp and Reeve included) present at that fateful meeting, attempting to give this outline a bit more detail. Although the officers made clear that there was little that they could do in the plan's initial stages:

"We've got some influence as far as PR goes," Reeve explained "But you should only expect any real help from us if this thing goes hot."

"Only because the brass are complete whores," Kemp grumbled

"After a certain point, they're pretty much politicians."

"That's what I just said. They're complete whores."

Ursula's line of work and her authority therein made gave her special insight and expertise in sewing (and controlling) discord.

Geoffrey was more than willing to use his contacts in the French intelligence agencies to learn more about the internal structure (and weaknesses) of both the SC and the politicians supporting it.

Despite the template originating from him, Seth was less assured of his role in the coming conflict. His only real employment since college had consisted of photography and mercenary work:

"I guess you could describe me best as a glorified assassin," he explained

Kemp flashed an uncharacteristically sinister smile:

"That's perfect," the officer replied

However, after the initial successes, the meeting had somewhat intensified, largely over disagreements around effectiveness of tactics against the potential for loss of life.

The discussion got so heated at one point that Seth had to stop Geoffrey from tossing a steak knife across the table towards Kemp.

"You, know what? I think we should have a break. Just to cool off and clear our heads," Reeve said "How does an hour sound?"

Although this small section of the motley group had dedicated themselves to a common cause, all were clearly relieved to (for the time being) be rid of one another.

Exhausted both from lack of sleep and his comrades' bickering, Seth headed (naturally) straight for the bar, finding it to be tended by a muscular, shaggy-haired man of around thirty-five:

"Got any vodka," Seth groaned

"I'm sorry, we're all out," the bartender replied, his regret at odds with his warm tone

"Just give me some coffee then."

"So you must be the amazing Seth! Ursula and my Vesela have told me much about you," the bartender said jovially "I do not have anything to worry about, do I?"

"What?" said Seth "Not a thing, Mr..."

"Please, call me Drago," the bartender replied

Seth took several sips of his coffee, his desire for a quick boost of energy outweighing his dislike for extremely hot liquids:

"So Drago," he began "What's it like? Running your own restaurant, I mean."

"I couldn't't have asked for a better life," he answered wistfully "Cooking good food, spending time with good customers and friends, and making good memories."

"Isn't it a lot of work, too?"

"Of course it is. Even though it is a lot of work, it's all worth it."

After this conversation, Seth was seriously beginning to consider a career that let him deal with other people that didn't involve being shot at. God knows he needed some good memories to enter his thirties with.

Other guests were not as content to mingle, merely preferring to keep to themselves.

Such as Yi, whom Seth found in a corner near the kitchen, observing the other guests as a bored child does an ant colony:

"You know," said Seth, sliding next to her "We've been traveling together for a little more than a day, and we haven't really talked, you know?"

"Well, what are you talking about?" questioned Yi "We're talking now, correct?"

"It's just weird to me, traveling with someone I know nothing about apart from we have the same enemy."

"Well, I was born in the North Korean province of Pung'san to a party officer and his wife. When I was eighteen, me and my sister somehow got across the Chinese border, spent five years in Northeastern China before saving up enough money to move here."

Sorting through the information he had just received, Seth came across something unusual to him:

"Wait, your dad was a member of the Communist Party?" he said bewilderedly

"Yeah," Yi replied casually "I'm only in better physical shape than ninety-five percent of North Koreans because of that fact. What did your parents do?"

"Nothing of note. My dad was, like his father, in the Marines for a few years before hurting his back and becoming an electrician. My mom was a teacher for a while.

Now my grandfather on my mom's side was kind of strange."

"How so?"

"He spent fifteen years in the Japanese Army before and during the Second World War."

"What a long and distinguished career. So tell me, how many puppies did he kick?"

"Wait, what?"

"Never mind."

Finally, Seth was only bought to the unusually elusive Alison through lingering on the building's upper floors and the woman's distressed weeping, locating her and Verraad in a room one could mistake for a closet:

Hey, babe, why so down?" Verraad inquired softly "We should be down there celebrating."

Alison wiped the tears from her eyes:

"I know, I know!" she replied hysterically "But I also know how dangerous it is! If even what half of Seth tells me is true, half of you might not come back. And that's if his plan works! And what if it doesn't't? You'll have all thrown away your lives for nothing!"

Verraad joined Alison on the bed, draping his arm around her shoulder:

"Look, Alison," he began, retaining the soft tone "We all know that what Seth and those two military guys are proposing is risky and that some of us are going to die. Hell, why do you think the big meeting was held in some privately-owned, underground restaurant hours after closing time? But if they do die, they can go to their graves knowing they died for something noble, greater than them."

"But what if we don't win?" Alison asked "All that sacrifice, all those lives, they would all be gone for nothing."

"Not at all! Even if the plot does go south, what could be more meaningful than dying to give a wannabe tyrant a wound on his pride that he'll never get over and being an inspiration to people that didn't think they'd have the courage to stand up to the Security Committee?"

"Verraad, you're so brave..."

"Not really, babe. Just a man who believes in what he fights for."

As he swept the remaining moisture from Alison's face, Verraad lightly laid a kiss on Alison's lips, an act she returned with considerably more vigor.

Feeling somewhat dishonest for eavesdropping on his friends, that feeling began to morph into shame at borderline voyeurism:

" _I_ ' _ll leave these two alone for a while,_ " Seth thought " _Besides, I have to get back to the meeting._ "

As the celebration around them ebbed, flowed, and eventually dispersed, the partygoers retiring to their respective rooms upstairs, Seth, along with his nine collaborators, continued refining their grand plot to bring the rouge politician Mathir Li to his knees.

Seven more hours, four sore throats, and countless cups of coffee were required before they group had settled on a general idea:

The first group, led by Brian Kemp and Floyd Reeve, was to concern itself primarily with agitation among politicians, the public, and members of the military:

"Contrary to what I've said in the past," Reeve began, struggling to suppress a bout of yawning "There are a few good people in the legislature and judiciary. I'm sure they'll side with the people if things get too hairy."

The second cadre, was to be administered by the Franklins and their contacts, focusing on turning public opinion against the Security Committee:

"Our 'President' and his sycophants may have a complete stranglehold on the old media," Ivy said confidently "but they forgot to crush one massive source of information under their boot."

The third, and perhaps most vital to the overall success of the operation, was to be jointly chaired by Ursula and (to his dismay) Seth, using their respective less-than legal occupations to sabotage destroy things (and persons) of value to their enemy, stage raids against SC operations, and sew general chaos:

"What, you didn't think we could do this without you, right?" Ivy Franklin asked "Our success depends largely on you 'fixing' the media giants' equipment. You know, to broadcast things that the SC would find...unflattering."

"And do you think the guy who, after hearing about your teams sticking it to them, that he's just going to do nothing?" Reeve chimed in "After some SC goons burned his wife to the ground, killed his house, and raped his dog?"

Kemp took off his glasses, and shot his colleague a perplexed gaze:

Don't you mean..." he said

"No, I know what I said," Reeve interrupted complete seriousness evident in his voice

"I guess more people are depending on me than I thought," said an astonished Seth

"Damn right, they are!" Reeve replied "These folks are going to be done sleeping off all that food and booze in a few hours. We have around about seven hundred people in attendance. Pick your poisons, ladies and gents."

Kemp craned his neck towards the Franklins:

"The Fire Marshall would have an aneurysm just thinking about it," he remarked

With the meeting's informal dismissal, Seth quickly drifted off to sleep where he sat, reassured by the fact that a considerable number of like-minded persons shared his same goal of smashing the Security Committee. Now his most pressing matter would be selecting skilled, trusted friends of his to plan and lead these operations:

Of course, Geoffrey and Ursula would be essential, their lines of work giving them access to (respectively) a large amount of intelligence, weapons, and manpower trained to follow orders without much question.

Seth also considered appointing Verraad as the organizer of one of these many, semi-autonomous cells. Naturally, his top two choices would disagree, given their personal dislike for the man, but someone who was good with weapons and managed to trek across the country with little money could serve some purpose.

By the time Seth was roused by the renewed activity, the most of the conspirators understood the underlying assumption that their impromptu organization was to be divided into three branches: Public Relations, Intelligence, and Sabotage.

Ursula, ever enterprising, had already carried out orders to her underlings and cohorts alike:

"I just got off the phone with Sergei," she informed brightly

"Was the line secure?" Seth asked, ever vigilant towards potential threats

"Yes, it was a pay phone a couple of blocks from here. Everyone here will be long gone even if the SC catches on. Anyway, we have about two thousand men along the East Coast to spare for assassinations and general sabotage. Sergei's men are depositing caches of arms and explosives at secure locations."

"That's great!" said Seth sleepily "And Geoffrey?"

"You two should get going," he replied "I'm meeting an old friend of mine from the DGSE. He's bringing some information you might find useful. Which politicians would sympathize with us, which could be 'persuaded' to do so, and those that need to go if this is going to work."

"So we should meet-"

"Don't tell me where you're going. I'll find you."

On the subject of Verraad, Seth's companions were none too pleased at the suggestion.

But his reminder that they required talented, martially-skilled people used to living under the radar won out over their objections.

Verraad, on the other hand, was ecstatic:

"Finally!" He exclaimed "We're going to give the SC some payback!"

Alison pulled Verraad into a tight embrace:

"Just be careful," she reminded

"Alison," Seth began, his tone becoming more certain "Of course, we're going to have wounded. Some seriously.

I need you to gather up everyone here with medical experience and divide yourselves into cells. Ursula, your organization has safe houses, right?"

"Of course," the puzzled crime lady replied in a puzzled manner

"I need you to assign Alison's medic cells to the safehouses across the country.

We can't rely on hospitals to treat our wounded, as we've no way of knowing if they'll be turned over to the SC or not."

"That's....actually brilliant. I don't see why I didn't think of it before. I'll have Sergei send some men with semi-trailers for the wounded. They'll be completely unmarked.

If one of you flags on down and he asks for a password, give him the word ' _bela'_."

"Alright Seth!" cheered Verraad "Now you're starting to sound like a leader!"

Verraad's laid back, jovial nature aside, perhaps because he now felt responsible for the lives of people around him and not just a faceless mass, Seth did notice more of a decisive tone to his voice.

Only a couple of tasks remained before he could go out and do his part:

"Something wrong, Seth?" asked Natalka, concerned by his serious expression

"I need you to do something for me," Seth replied, his intonation matching his expression "Something important."

"What about?"

"You know that these cells are going to have to act largely independent of each other, right?"

"Yeah."

"But at some point, we'll have to communicate in some way. And there's some information that we cannot afford to have intercepted. So I need you to deliver the vital information between each of the branches. Don't use electronics and write down as little as possible."

"So I should use a code?"

"Exactly! In another language if possible."

And finally, the Sergeant Majors seemed to share his disdain for unnecessary communication:

"Don't go out of your way to contact us," Kemp instructed "If it's that vital, we'll find you"

"We're pretty much running in the same circles now," Reeve reminded "It shouldn't't be that difficult."

Finally, Seth and Verraad approached the corner of the room designated for their sabotage branch, the former mentally preparing to address the seventy-five individuals gathered.

Seth inhaled deeply:

Alright, I want to lay down some ground rules first," he began "First of all, we don't kill innocent people. Second, don't destroy any more than you absolutely have to. Finally, whatever your assigned task is, you should do it quickly, quietly, and well. Any questions?"

"I got one," came the sullen voice of a stocky, muscular man, his face largely obscured by his hat "What's our first target?"

Seth smiled malevolently, laying down a map of the United States, a point slightly off-center marked in red:

"The SC uses rail lines to transport political prisoners God-knows-where," he explained "I think sabotaging these freight lines in Nebraska will hinder their ability to just 'disappear' everyday people. Pick out ten among yourselves, draw straws for all I care, I don't want this to be a massive operation, just one big enough to let the SC know that they can't operate with impunity anymore."

Slipping away from the briefing, Seth pulled Verraad aside:

"I'm envisioning this taking place around three weeks from now. You and your six meet me in the in South Dakota's Badlands in two and a half weeks. Ursula told me some of Sergei's men operate out of Minneapolis. If you don't have enough weapons to arm six people already, stop by there."

"Right! Anything else?" Verraad questioned excitedly

"Divide the rest into five or ten-man recon teams: Scope out anything or any prominent people collaborating with the SC or installations vital to their operations."

Seth removed a small photograph of Natlka from his wallet:

"Get everyone familiar with her," he instructed "Make it clear she's one of ours and that she's the go-between for sensitive information between the branches."

"Alright then," Verraad confirmed "Good luck, my friend!"

"I'm through relying on luck. It can play a part, but I'm going off of skill from now on."

As Seth approached the entrance some thirty minutes after the departures of Ursula, Alison, the military officers, the Franklins, Yi, and Natalka, he was, much to his surprise, approached by his prospective fireteam:

"Yo, boss," came the somewhat irritable voice from earlier "You asked about us?"

Seth turned around to find the five candidates he had earlier requested, finding the voice belonging (the most prominent in his field of vision) to a somewhat muscular Asian man of average height. The man somehow reminded Seth of Geoffrey, although considerably more subdued:

"Brad Chea, at your service," he introduced, extending his hand

"Seth Casey," he obliged, returning the gesture "So, how much combat experience do you have?"

"Oh, not much. Just the last ten years of my life in the Marines, two of those in Force Recon."

"Look, I love the enthusiasm, but we can't strike just yet."

The small crowd fell into concerned chattering:

"Fair enough," Chua replied "We've waited this long for our payback. What's a few more days. What's the plan, boss?"

"Return home and go about your business as usual. Meet in two weeks in South Dakota's Badlands. If anyone asks, you just need some time to cool off."

Seth removed a considerably smaller map of the country from his pocket, circling a large number of points in green marker before passing it around:

"Memorized that all?" Seth asked

The five's murmured in general agreement, Chua returning the map to Seth.

"Good," Seth said, removing a lighter from another of his pockets, setting fire to the paper At those points, you'll find small stockpiles of weapons. Take what you need."

"And after that?" asked Brad

"We kick ass."

Three days of utilizing alternate means of transportation (including a charter bus when reaching Michigan) bought Seth to Rapid City, South Dakota. A small city ideal for a brief pause, Seth used the remaining cash that he had not left with Ursula to purchase several hundred dollars' worth of camping equipment .before setting out.

Disembarking again from a charter bus that night, Seth was pleased to find the area almost deserted. Armed with a flashlight and the Sergei's gift of a solid-black M1911 and corresponding magazines, Seth set off into the Badlands, in search of a suitable site to set up camp.

Over the next week, Seth was reassured by his relative lack of activity. Apart from searching the immediate area for members of his team, his only actual pastime consisted of reading. Despite his outward calm, Seth did worry about his friends:

Although highly competent in all their fields, the additional stress of the SC's presence did nothing to aid his worry. Compounding on this fact, was that his only company were deer, coyotes, large cats, and the occasional bison, all that came too close driven away quite easily with a shot or two.

Of immense relief to Seth were the sight of Brad Chua and an unidentified figure conversing in the distance:

"Hey, boss!" cried the former

Inviting the pair to camp for a meal, Seth was anxious to begin his preparations.

Chua's companion, a short, frail man who introduced himself as Isaac Stone:

"I'm an engineer," he meekly informed "My last employer was a demolition company."

"You know what," Seth began, tone indicating himself lost in thought "You have no idea how well that works out. What do you have on you?

"Mainly C4 and a little TNT, why?"

"Perfect. Just perfect."

Despite their isolation, Seth was still worried about the potential for detection, restricting his group's training regimen to nighttime and early morning, requisitioning an M40 to aid in the instruction. Although, only one incident had occurred that could be construed as a threat: Noticing an odd figure outside their tent, Seth went to investigate.

Already tired, on-edge, and even more cautious than usual he threw an open-handed strike at the figure. Within the next second, the figure had grasped Seth's arm, throwing him to the ground.

"So sorry, sir," said the figure, helping Seth to his feet.

Finally getting a good look at the man, Seth recognized him as one of the guests at the party: The man, although being physically unremarkable (apart from his strength), Seth was struck more by the presence of a long, shaggy beard and a small, black turban adorning his head.

"Are you alright, Mr. Casey?" he inquired

"Oh, yeah. That's barely a scratch as far as I'm concerned," assured Seth "I've been kind of edgy lately. Sorry for attacking you, Mr..."

"Tanvir Khatri."

"So, you bought your own weapons, correct?"

Khatri drew an M89SR, strapping it across his chest, before shifting a holster bearing a Browning HP:

"I did memorize the map," he confirmed "I would have arrived two days ago had I not gotten lost."

On the day of the planned assault, as the four packed the camping supplies, Seth recognized the last of his strike team's members, a tall, muscular man somehow familiar to (outside of Drago and Vesela's restaurant) him:

"Felix Bayer..." he introduced breathlessly "Sorry I'm late..."

"Not important. If you can fight, it's not a problem," Seth replied irritably "Alright, we're meeting in the town of Beatrice, Nebraska at midnight tonight. According to the schedules Ursula gave me, an unmarked freighter should be passing by half an hour later.

That should be one of the SC's trains."

The small town of Beatrice, Nebraska, although out-of-the way, would not have reacted badly to a traveller passing through. So the arrival of five strange drifters, all arriving at different points during the day, did not raise any eyebrows. However, these men were to strike the opening blow of a conflict that would shake the world to its very core for decades to come:

One eye on his watch, Seth loaded a magazine into his AK-105. Already 12:15, Seth had ordered Stone (with Bayer as his guard and lookout) to rig the tracks with an amount of C4 large enough to derail the train, but not so great an amount as to kill the unwilling passengers:

"Are you certain this will work, Mr. Casey?" Khatri inquired tensely, his M89SR's scope fixed on his prospective target area

"It should," Seth answered, the strange, pre-mission calm returning to his tone "Just remember: Our goals are to release the prisoners and kill the guards. If one of them starts to radio for reinforcements, that's where you come in."

"I will not disappoint you, sir."

As the visual and audio clues of the incoming train strengthened, four of the combatants took up their positions some seventy-five yards from the prospective blast site.

As he was handed the detonator, Seth watched the oncoming vehicle as some kind of prey, waiting for the perfect point of impact.

Finally, as the leading car pulled itself over the plastic explosive, a quick examination led Seth to press down on the switch, creating a blinding, yet contained explosion which (apart from some structural damage) had largely accomplished its task of derailing the train, as the horrible scraping and gnashing of metal attested to.

The conductor and two of his mechanics stepping out to survey the damage, Seth at last, signaled for his team to open fire on the SC operatives, Brad Chua and Felix Bayer firing on the trio from the west, himself and Tanvir Khatri from the east.

The hail of gunfire making short work of the engineers, the officer drew his pistol in a futile attempt to return fire at his nearest attacker, (Chua) Khatri's bullet fatally striking the officer in the neck.

"Get up on those crates and cover me!" Seth barked at Khatri, who proceeded to deftly scale the two-story high steel containers.

Concerting his movements with Bayer and Chua on the train's eastern half, at the sight of the disembarking, disoriented, but still armed SC agents, Seth (reminiscent of his first encounter with them) inched from behind the safety of the edge of a crate and sprayed the four operatives with the rounds that remained in his weapon.

Seth and Khatri, having proceeded down half the length of the train, (if the continued gunfire and screams were to be believed, their companions had a similar distance as well) the former had noticed the SC security guards had, for the last two engagements, an easier time advancing on his position:

"So sorry, sir, but my weapon keeps jamming!" Khatri explained, joining Seth in firing on an SC position with his Browning

"Here! Try this!" Seth replied, prying an FN FAL from the corpse of an officer

The new armament had the desired effect for Seth:

The addition of a second rifle enabled more efficient tactics for the pair, allowing them to meet up with Stone and Chua at the train's end some five minutes later.

Seth prying open the nearest car's door with some difficulty, ordered the able-bodied prisoners to stack their containers to facilitate an escape from the overturned car:

"Is anybody injured?" asked Seth over the sound of around one hundred clamoring voices "They'll be coming with reinforcements soon. Stone, Tanvir! Get the casualties by the back road! The password is _bela'!_ Brad, you're with me! Any of you in shape to do so, either get a weapon or help us with the other cars!"

Whether due to a sort of mob mentality or subconscious recognition of the situation's inherent danger, or a combination of the two, the trainyard evacuation proceeded in a relatively orderly manner, Seth and Chua overseeing and aiding the unloading of the cars, they and other newly-freed prisoners dispatching the scattered SC personnel foolish enough to intervene. The affair had somehow concluded itself within the space of five minutes, the last detainee escaping just a second after.

"One hell of a night, eh boss?" Chua asked casually

"You could say that again," Seth replied "Never thought being inside a semi-trailer could be this much of a relief."

"Any idea where we're going?"

"Minneapolis. We've got a couple of safehouses there."

"Ha, 'safehouses'. None of us will actually be safe until all of these assholes are either running for their lives or swinging from the nearest lamppost."

Although his experiences made him acutely aware Brad Chua was completely correct, Seth could not help but become very pleased with himself for the time being:

After all, he had just planned (and helped to execute) a considerable blow against an organization that a few short months ago, had him running for his life.

Anatol Muzzeinovitc took another protracted drink from his canteen, surveying the isolated training camp. Still somewhat irked by the failure of the Moscow incident, the hot, arid climate and desolate features of Pakistan's Baluchistan region did little to irritate him, more concerned with the finishing touches of another plot

"Yes, yes my brother. I'm aware that you said only to contact you by messenger" the One-Eyed Imam replied exasperatedly "But I just thought you should know, the 'Ramallah' and 'Nablus' divisions have almost finished training according to yours and Amir's recommendations."

Muzzeinovitc nodded in approval:

"Yes, it was generous of our brothers to lend us the men," he agreed "But do you believe the Americans will slip up that badly? Wait, what do you mean by 'They won't have to'?"

Silently surveying the scene of the only hours-old Nebraska incident, a dishelven-looking Tabitha Li was (quite successfully) non-verbally making her irritation with her subordinates known. The combined factors of the late hour and circumstances requiring her daughter Svetlana to accompany her probably contributed to her annoyance:

"So you see ma'am," continued Prifti, false calm apparent in his tone "Under any other circumstances, the security measures I proposed, would have worked flawlessly!"

Prifti's incensed employer simply swept an eyelash away:

"So, let me guess,"Li replied flatly "You watched me rake Costa's ass over the fire about the quintuple assassination a few weeks back and got so cocky, that you couldn't possibly imagine any of your screw-ups would manage to dwarf his?"

Prifti did not even entertain the idea of respectfully disputing something both parties knew to be completely true:

"Anyway," she resumed "We should be able to keep the impact minimal as long as-"

"Mom," Svetlana interrupted tiredly "It's late, can I go back to the car?"

"Fine. You there!" called Li to a rather sickly-looking agent "Walk her back to the limo!"

"I'm still skeptical about the media's ability to keep this quiet for too long," Prifti confided, his apprehension somewhat faded

"Don't be," Li scoffed "Although, if they can't, that old buzzard Mathir keeps meeting with might be on to something."

A shrill cry suddenly pierced the night's calm:

"GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU FREAK!" reverberated Svetlana's voice

Placing both hands on her brow, Tabitha Li ran them slowly down her face:

"Who did I just send her off with?" she inquired, agitation once again present and steadily growing

"Park?" Prifti replied "He's harmless. Although, there are rumors about some weird stuff on his work computer"

"How weird?"

"Well ma'am, let's just say if you want to get rid of your boss and have him put away for five or ten years, you'd borrow something from his hard drive."

"Just find her, you idiot!"

Because a caravan of semi-trailers is suspicious enough (to say nothing of their cargo) in and of itself, the train of massive vehicles had parted ways early in the journey.

Most of Seth's, Chua's, and Khatri's time was spent tending to the fifty or so wounded spread out among small mattresses. Needless to say, the trip was not exactly pleasant :

"How are they?" asked Seth, his vision impaired by the dim lighting

"Most of them will be fine," Khatri replied, pocketing a small flashlight "However, I am no doctor and eighteen of these people need medical attention as soon as possible."

"Where the hell are we anyway?!" Chua fumed "It's been four days since the raid, and I'm sick of being cooped up in here!"

From his brief periods outside of the trailer and conversations with the driver, Seth had concluded that they had taken a route south through Oklahoma and Texas, then swinging back northeast towards the former's border with Kansas.

Roughly a week after the raid, the truck arrived at the safehouse just outside Minneapolis.

It's appearance as a dilapidated, condemned, three-story building of no concern to the individuals who had spent most of the past week in the back of a semi-trailer, all of whom (including the liberators) wanting nothing more than an actual bed free of motion.

Fortunately, the darkness and relative peace of the neighborhood facilitated greatly the relocation of the wounded, albeit more slowly than Seth would have liked.

The three fighters returned to a hero's welcome, makeshift medical staff and the patients alike cheering their courage. Ursula literally threw herself onto Seth at the sight of his safe return, Verraad greeting him with a hearty slap on the back, others, although glad to see the SC dealt a considerable blow, were more subdued in their enthusiasm:

"So the conquering heroes return," Jenifer Cropper said sardonically "We've won this round, but we can't get too cocky."

"Nice to see you too," replied Seth in an equally acidic tone "I know, I know. What should be our next target?"

"I'm glad you asked that question. Ms. Filipov, please inform Casey about our latest developments."

Ursula beckoned the group of four into the kitchen, a map of the continental United States splayed across the table, multiple markings placed upon them:

"As you all know, "she began "The Franklin family and their contacts are attempting to distribute information to undermine and delegitimize the Security Committee. The internet is just an amazing tool for this type of thing. But there's a problem."

"What kind of a problem?" asked Seth

"There's a perception among many that events reported through the internet are, not entirely true. Even if we collected videos of the SC conducting public, summary executions, a large portion, perhaps a majority of the population, would regard the footage as fraudulent or mislabeled. And that's where you two come in."

"Us? What for?" inquired Verraad distractedly

"Your French friend and his team have been scouting out New York City for the past two weeks," Cropper resumed "If you and Casey could infiltrate one of the major networks headquarters, we could, theoretically, rig the broadcast equipment to display footage showing the truth about what the SC actually gets up to, whether the average Joe likes it or not."

"That's brilliant!" Seth exclaimed, surprised to hear himself agreeing wholeheartedly with someone he came very close to murdering "If we could get that stuff on the airwaves, the SC and all the slime in Congress that supported them would be finished!"

"Obviously, the footage would only be aired for a few minutes at the most," reminded Cropper "But the damage done to our enemies would be irreparable."

"Now the best time to do this would be the time of day with the most viewers," said Ursula "Geoffrey should be stopping by tomorrow morning, bringing with him a flash drive with the sort of damning footage required for this."

"So, let me get this straight," Me and Seth are going to infiltrate this TV studio, upload videos to their computer in place of their prime time programming, and get the hell out before anybody realizes what's going on?"

"So you do actually think with your head. Even so, I need you to start out for New York right away. Meet at Times Square at four in the afternoon five days from now. I'll send Seth after you tomorrow."

Following a good night's sleep and a breakfast that had not been wrapped in plastic for months, Seth woke to find a flushed, fatigued Geoffrey sitting on the bed opposite him:

"Did you get the footage?" asked Seth sleepily

"Yeah, I did," Geoffrey answered, sliding an envelope to Seth "There are three flash drives in the envelope, all of them showing an SC execution of 'fascists'. All you have to do is get to the control room and load the drives onto the computer in place of the regular footage."

"Thanks. I'm heading out to New York. We should be done by the end of the week."

"I don't see why you have to bring him along. He'll be about as useful as an anchor to a drowning man."

Turning to leave the room, Seth saw the strange sight of a raven-haired girl of around eleven collapsed on a mattress of in a corner:

"Who's this?" Seth asked "I swear, I've seen this girl before."

"No idea," Geoffrey replied tiredly "Before she left, Alison told me that they found her collapsed somewhere in eastern Montana a couple of days ago."

"Did we know whose kid this is yet?" Ursula inquired impatiently "You would have thought someone would claim her by now."

"Geoffrey and Alison have no idea who she is, how I God's name should I?"

Grudgingly inching over to the girl amidst his friends' bickering, Geoffrey recoiled noticeably upon inspecting the bracelet on her wrist:

" _Mon Dieu..."_ he muttered "Both of you, shut up and come here."

Complying with his command, Seth and Ursula failed to see his sense of urgency:

"I don't see anything," Seth said "She's wearing a bracelet, so what?"

Grabbing a nearby lamp, Geoffrey dragged the girl's wrist under the light.

Seth's heart sank as Ursula gasped:

" _Svetlana Li of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue,"_ read the medical bracelet's first line

"It's too risky," Geoffrey said resolutely, drawing his Beretta 92 and lowering it to the girl's head "They're going to be looking for her and we can't risk her running her mouth off about what she'd see here."

Conflicted a great deal, Seth, although realizing his friend had a very good point, something just sat badly with Seth about finishing off an unconscious child.

Rather impulsively as his Geoffrey readied the weapon, Seth lurched forward, twisting his friend's arm and weapon away from the girl.

"What the hell did you do that for!" Geoffrey fumed

"Let's just see if we can do anything that doesn't involve killing her, alright?" Seth said tensely, removing the weapon's magazine

"Fine, but remember Seth: In times like these, the line between compassion and stupidity is really thin."

Just as Geoffrey stormed from the room, the girl began to stir from her slumber:

"Where am I?" she asked drowsily "Who are you? How did I get here?"

"That's not really important right now," Seth replied, Geoffrey's words haunting him still "Are you alright? Some of my friends found you passed out a couple of states over."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just really thirsty."

Removing a bottle of water from one of the straps on the leg of his pants, Seth handing Svetlana the container:

"I know it's warm, but it will keep you alive," he reminded

The girl, accepting the water, drained the bottle of its contents within the minute:

"Oh, thank you!" she sighed "I needed that. Thanks Mr..."

"Seth is fine. This is my friend Ursula."

Offering the girl his last pre-packaged meal, the pair began to wonder how such strange circumstances had come about. Svetlana, however did not seem troubled by the amount of time elapsed:

"Well, my mom had one of her bodyguards walk me back to the car," she explained "I didn't like him trying to touch me, so kicked, scratched, and screamed. He was a lot bigger than me, so I did everything I could think of to get away. After that, I ran for a few hours, and the last thing I remember is waking up here."

"Well I'm glad you're safe, Svetlana," said Seth "Get some rest, I'll see with my friends about getting you back to your parents."

"Maybe you didn't notice," Ursula whispered huffily, dragging him into the hallway "But she's still Mathir and Tabitha Li's kid!"

"I know, I know!" Seth answered, his tone less severe, yet still annoyed "But the three of us just spent the past half hour talking and she's a good kid. And I sure as hell wasn't going along with Geoffrey's 'solution'!"

"Well what would you have me do? Make her one of us!? That's ridiculous!"

"I'm just saying there has to be a way to get her home without hurting her and not compromise our operations."

Ursula gave a defeated sigh:

"Ty takaya myagkaya ..." she muttered "Alright, alright. Get going. I'll figure something out. Tell that guy to get back here after you two are done here. I'll have this safehouse evacuated and burned to the ground while I'm at it."

Grateful that someone with Ursula's influence in the organization could see a compromise between pragmatism and compassion, Seth wasted no time, setting out before another perceived slight caused Ursula to change her mind.

Seth took his time arriving at his destination, as to avoid seeming anxious to carry out some scheme. Four and a half days' worth of alternating between buses and isolated corners of freight trains bought Seth just outside New York City.

His two pistols holstered in their regular positions, Seth melted into the crowd entering the city, proceeding as naturally as one would expect from a man in his position.

Gratuitous use of public transportation could have had Seth at Times Square within the hour. However, the pervasive presence of armed SC officers and the New York Police caused his route to change quite dramatically. After three hours of cat-and-mouse, Seth decided his best strategy would be just to use the crowds as his defense, concealing himself within the human mass.

Arriving at his destination some fifteen minutes past the scheduled time, initially, Seth had trouble locating Verraad among the cacophony of neon, automobiles, and people, spending another ten minutes before locating Verraad conversing with Brian Kemp and another young man, a collection of advertisements hanging overhead:

"There you are!" Verraad said "I thought you had been caught or something."

"Only reason I was late was to keep that from happening," answered Seth "Something wrong, Sergeant Major?"

"No, nothing really," lied Kemp "It's just the fact that, although a large number of people dislike Mahathir Li and his government, they don't see it as something that can be fixed at the ballot box."

"I think it's a little late for that," Verraad reminded bitterly "If they have no problem with butchering American political prisoners, rigging future elections would be like breathing for them."

"You are correct about that. Seth, Verraad, get going. We need that footage distributed to the people."

Bidding farewell to Kemp, (and the young man whom he introduced as his son)

Seth and Verraad started towards their goal, the first signs of the rush hour commuters aiding their short trek. The pair located their destination within fifteen minutes, the building's entrance tucked away under a black awning. Lingering about the lobby for several minutes gave Seth the idea with which to access the Broadcast Center's control room:

"Get rid of that security guard for about five minutes," Seth whispered "I'm getting us inside the building."

"Got it," confirmed Verraad "Have any preferences?"

"Anything that gets him on the other side of the building."

As he crept towards the two custodians, Seth smirked as he distinctly heard his friend's voice utter the word "bomb".

Stepping out from a slightly extended piece of a wall, Seth took one large step, silently bringing himself behind the two conversing janitors:

Drawing both the M1911 and Ruger Mark III, Seth drove the weapons into their backs:

"A sound out either of you and I blow your spines against the wall," he threatened

Hands extended in the air, Seth's poking with the handguns motioned the pair into the nearby supply closet. Turning to Verraad, Seth motioned him over with a flick of his neck:

"Will these guys work?" Seth whispered inquisitively

"Yeah, they should," Verraad answered

"Both of you, take off your clothes and hand them to him."

Although they custodians both complied with the command, Verraad had, for their trouble, struck the pair over the head, rendering them both unconscious before setting their bodies in a compromising position in the closet:

"Oh, that's mature," Seth said sarcastically, sliding the taller man's jumpsuit on over his thick, regular clothing

"Hey, we're at war," his companion reminded "I've got to have some fun."

Thankfully, the building was only three stories high, with the control room located on the top floor. However, any relief at the room's accessibility was soon shattered:

The closest comparison Seth could make to the room, with its multitude of monitors, wires, assorted switches and knobs was to the massive interior of a particularly intricate computer:

"Well, let's get to work!" Verraad said eagerly

"Well I would," replied Seth tentatively "But I hate most electronic stuff. Worse, I have no idea what any of this stuff does."

"How bad could you really be with this kind of thing?"

"In high school, I once accidentally created a virus that killed the entire district's network."

Gaping in awe at Seth's technological ineptitude, Verraad quickly found a solution:

"Look, I'll figure something out," he said "Just focus on keeping anyone out."

Not needing to be told to go with his strengths, Seth drew the M1911, circling the room's enormous perimeter in search of any other signs of life. A search which fortunately, proved in vain

"Got it!" cried Verraad triumphantly "The footage should air at seven tonight! Of course, they'll have it removed within ten or fifteen minutes, but it should do the job!"

"It's six right now," Seth reminded "And just a hunch, but we won't want to be anywhere near here once the SC figures out what's going on."

"Fair enough."

Proceeding with a somewhat urgent gait, the pair escaped the building without incident.

Somehow, Verraad had managed to charm a (rather unremarkable) woman on her way back to her office out of the keys to her black, angular compact car:

"How did you do that?" asked Seth, brows lowered questioningly

Verraad chuckled:

"You wouldn't understand," he replied arrogantly "Wish I could teach you. It's inborn."

"Oh, by the way, Ursula wanted you to come back to the Minneapolis safehouse."

"I guess she finally decided to stop lying to herself, eh Seth?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, it's just some errand. When we get to Minnesota, I'll drop you off there."

Save for stopping for fuel, the trip proceeded smoothly, consuming some twenty-two hours. Upon arrival, Seth exchanged Verraad as a companion for Brad Chua, Brian Kemp and his son Adam. Although Chua insisted on taking over for his exhausted commander, a nagging question continued to eat away at Seth:

"Did it work?" he asked, rubbing his eyes

"Like a charm," the Sergeant Major replied, grinning mischievously "Pretty soon, no one will be able deny what we've all known for months."

Lips reflexively cracking into a smile as he shut his eyes, even in spite of the movement and engine's noise, Seth would sleep well soon, knowing the efforts of himself and his friends had not been in vain:

"Take us to Sergei's place in LA," he said sleepily

XX

"Wow! So how did you escape from that Mexican prison?" questioned an awed Svetlana

Verraad merely grinned at the images this experience conjured:

"I'll tell you when you're older," he replied cryptically

True, days ago, Verraad balked at the idea of looking after the child, to say nothing of actually spending time with her. Although initially protesting Ursula "reducing him to a damn babysitter", Verraad could not help but develop this strange, vaguely paternal bond with a young girl he had only known a few days. In fact he almost regret the fact that they would have to part ways soon.

Verraad treating them both to ice cream, the requirements of his mission once again nagging him:

"Svetlana," Verraad said, in as serious a tone as he could muster "I need you to keep a secret for me?"

"What kind." the girl replied, nibbling at the frozen treat

"I need this little adventure of ours to stay just between us."

"Sure Mr. Thorn. But what about when my mom asks all these questions?

"Just tell her you were rescued by a handsome stranger."

Arriving at Sergei's warehouse after two days, Seth, although eager to jump back into the struggle against the SC, recognized his limitations, as did others around him:

"Seth my friend!" cried Sergei "I see your handiwork the other night! Brilliant!

What's more, is appearing on the internet faster than SC can censor!"

"That's great," Seth replied dismissively "But it's not enough. What more can we do for now?"

"Wait," reminded Kemp flatly

For the next few days, Seth did exactly that, taking advantage of the down time for a shower and rest not inside a tent or car seat. On the fourth day after his arrival, Ursula arrived, a very haggard-looking Natalka in tow:

"Oh, I'm just fine, Seth," the courier insisted

"Look, I know it's been tough on you," Seth answered regretfully "But you understand how important this is."

"Oh, that reminds me! Sergeant Major, Reeve's looking for you. He's in Kansas City and says it's urgent."

Although others who went through worse ordeals seemed no worse for the wear.

Other former political prisoners of the SC extremely grateful for the safe haven and medical treatment the warehouses offered. Including a hairless Asian man, with tufts of stubble dotting his chin, who seemed to Seth, oddly familiar:

"Uncle Iwane?" asked Seth incredulously

"Well, if it isn't Seth!" the man replied jovially "I haven't seen you since dad's funeral!"

"That was fifteen years ago, right?"

"Yep, and you've just shot up since then. How are your parents?"

Seth's heart dropped to his stomach: His single-minded focus on pursuit of his own goals had led to a complete disregard for the (likely) suffering of the very people who had given him life:

"We haven't spoken in quite a while," admitted Seth, shame apparent in his voice

"Not to worry, boy," Iwane answered "People don't recognize it, but my big sister's a fighter. Not to mention your father, fine man, he is. I assure you, nothing will happen to Maria as long as he's still breathing. Although..."

"What is it?"

"I am kind of worried about an ex-student of Maria's: That girl always seemed kind of...off, to say the least."

A week of constant observation of the crime scene photos from the railway incident (as well as the port firefight in Seattle a few months ago and the Moscow theatre bombing and its aftermath) had Tabitha Li on the verge of some sort of revelation, if not for one or two critical pieces of information. She had almost forgotten to punish Agent Park upon Svetlana's return.

The three incidents, while clearly organized and effective, lacked the refinement of traditional military training, apparently focusing on quick, powerful strikes and evacuation before the potential arrival of reinforcements. Her daughter's preoccupation with her portable music device suited Li well, except when seeking certain information:

"And who did you rescued you again? "she inquired skeptically

"A handsome stranger, "Svetlana replied bashfully

"Describe him."

"Well, he was around six feet tall, kind of muscular, with this short, messy brown hair."

"Is that so?...."

Shooing her daughter, Tabitha Li began to compose a letter in her fluid, graceful handwriting before calling for a rather...subpar (under any other circumstance) agent. Although just a theory, even following up on it could yield some very valuable information.

An unkempt, gaunt young man of around twenty stumbled into Li's makeshift office:

"You called, ma'am?" he said, somewhat uneasily

"Ah, yes, Agent McKay," Li confirmed "Come closer."

Apparently anticipating some sort of punishment, McKay inched towards his superior, intent on delaying the expected penalty

"McKay, you and I both know that your performance is legendarily subpar," continued Li, sealing an envelope before lightly spraying it with a perfume smelling vaguely of amber and tuberose "In fact, I've killed men over far less than your failures."

"Please, Please!" McKay pleaded "I'll do anything! Just don't throw me in one of those camps!"

"Although, you have shown a remarkable aptitude for recognizing faces and tracking people. If you and your team search every dive bar, whorehouse, and sleazy motel from here to Seattle, find a certain man and give him this envelope, I might be willing to let your past infractions go."

"Um...sure... What does he look like?"

Relaying her daughter's description of her mysterious protector, Li was somewhat confounded at the speed which McKay departed her presence with.

Dialing a seldom-used number, she cursed silently at the pre-recorded answering machine message:

"Costa, for the next few weeks, I'm going on a little vacation," Li informed "Don't screw up any more than you already have."

Over the next week, the angst at the extended isolation and lack of contact with many of his friends had strongly abated; the reunion's becoming increasingly common, most congratulating him on his success with the execution footage:

"Congratulations," Yi conceded, somewhat less coldly "Although I must admit; One-eighth of the time, I expected you to have to fight the overwhelming urge to rape and dismember a prostitute."

"Wow, thanks," replied Seth sarcastically "I just wonder how you act towards men you don't like."

"I just got word from a DGSE detachment in Brussels," informed Geoffrey, a sadistic grin forming across his face "Nearly all of the Belgian members of government with American assets have begun to withdraw them."

"So?" replied Seth, unable to see how this pertained to him

"It means they see something big about to go down! It's not just the Belgians either:

The Dutch, Swedes, Danes, Norwegians, and Finns all agree that things are going to hell.

The English and German MPs and ministers are even starting to do the same!

That was some job you two did, with the studio. None of the SC's leadership was expecting this to get out, let alone the massive protests either."

"From what I hear, it's not just those pinko protesters for hire, either. Just everyday people pissed off at what's going on."

On the subject of the protests, Ursula had the interesting idea of having one of her agents fire at a member of the SC riot police on the scene in hopes of provoking retaliation against the crowd. Seth was somewhat troubled by this, but could see the potential benefits to it:

"Come on, we don't have that kind of luxury of taking the high road!" Ursula reprimanded "I've already had it done during the protests in Omaha, Oklahoma City, and Phoenix. It worked flawlessly."

"So tell me, Miss Big, Bad, mafia Don-ette," mocked Yi derisively "What happens if people get killed and your organization gets fingered for it?"

Stomping angrily over to Yi, Ursula threateningly stuck her finger in the other woman's face:

"Listen here, missy," Ursula snarled "Just because you have a big ass, _sis'ki_ as big as your head, and the attention, which you probably get off on, of ninety percent of the men here, does not, I repeat, does not, make you an expert at anything worth knowing!

You don't tell me how to commit murder, extortion, fraud, money laundering, and arms smuggling, and I won't tell you how much you should be charging your johns per half hour, deal?

Yi merely responded to the string of insults with a scoff, and a path set in the other direction.

"So, do you think we've heard the end of this?" Seth whispered

"Not a chance," answered Geoffrey

Although, not all of Seth's comrades were in as good of spirits:

"This is just insane," Alison remarked irritably "We have thirty doctors for...what, four thousand people across the country? And, as far as I know, only five of them are surgeons. Not to mention the lack of really sophisticated medical equipment..."

Uh, Alison?..." Seth interrupted softly

"Oh, yeah, your uncle. Apparently he caught something from the water in one of those SC camps. Just make sure he takes those antibiotics, and he should be fine in a few days."

"Wait a second," Geoffrey interjected, a smirk creeping across his face "You grew your hair out, didn't you?"

"So?" Alison replied calmly

"That alone wouldn't be suspicious, except that you're wearing lipstick and pantyhose as well. Are you trying to impress someone?"

Being a very intelligent man, Seth was sure Geoffrey had caught on to the object of Alison's affection, even without Seth being the gossiping type:

"Alison, he's fine," reassured Seth "We just talked a few days ago."

"I know," she replied, a slight crack starting to appear in her cool façade "Just can't help but be concerned, you know?"

"Knowing him," chimed in Geoffrey with a hint of disappointment "He's having the time of his life."

Even on not terribly partial to highbrow areas such as Crescent Park, Maine, even Verraad Thorn had to concede that the combination of the forest, sea, and general atmosphere of the area. Particularly impressive to him was the classy resort to which he received an invitation.

Verraad took a deep whiff of the envelope, once again reviewing its contents:

Meet me at the place where I made you into a man.

\- T

While never caring much for fragrances of any sort, the perfume belonging to one of his ex-lovers simply drove him wild, identifying the scent immediately upon receiving it from a bartender in Reno. He would later swear the fragrance was an aphrodisiac of some sort.

Returning to suite 50a, the room, although stylish, upscale, and spacious, was not the main attraction for Verraad:

"Wow. Twelve years, and you've gotten even sexier," he remarked

"You're not looking so bad yourself," Tabitha Li replied playfully, lounging on the sofa.

While having a fondness for older women for quite some time, Verraad marveled at just how attractive this woman was: Her figure, distinctive, symmetrical face, scarcely-buttoned night shirt, and black stockings all aside, Li's attitude and her bearing made her irresistible to him.

"Go on, get comfortable," Li flirted, filling wine glasses for the couple "Those clothes look so very heavy."

Verraad grinned lewdly:

"Don't worry, I intend to," he answered before sipping his drink "So tell me, Tabitha:

Did you want me for something?"

"Of course I did, baby," Li cooed sensually, straddling her younger lover's leg "I just thought we could pick up where we left off, that's all."

"Now, I really like the sound of that," Verrad replied "So should we go-"

"Here, there, anywhere. It doesn't matter."

As the fall approached, Mathir Li scarcely bothered to even look at a reflective surface:

Large clumps of his hair that had not already grayed had gradually begun to fall out.

The face that he, in his youth spent so much time and money maintaining ravaged by wrinkles and fine lines. The truth was, the president had serious plans to abruptly retire to some remote location without telling anyone.

"What's wrong, boy?" bin Ahmed inquired, mock concern evident in his tone "You seem to have even more stress than usual."

"That is an understatement," Li muttered, expending a fair amount of energy suppressing his rage

"And to think: I offered you a chance to have this all go away and finally have those ingrates respect your authority."

"About that...I need you to do one thing."

"And what might that be?"

"Mobilize them. All of them. Nothing's concrete yet, just have this 'invincible legion' of yours ready."

"As you wish, my friend."

In an homage to their first meeting, Verraad and Li spent the next five days indulging in the resort's fine dining, spa treatments, and other assorted luxuries, with no regard to either of their commitments or responsibilities. Of course, the fact that the bulk of this time was spent in the bedroom was no coincidence either, as Verraad (obviously) would place less of an emphasis on critical thinking:

"Hey, what's wrong baby?" Li asked softly, running an index finger down her partner's torso "Why do you look so down? You've got me, right?"

Verraad sighed resentfully:

"Look, T, it's not you," he reassured "It's just that conversation we had at dinner last night. About what we believed in. I mean, we probably know each other better than anyone else does, but other people I know....I don't know a thing about their beliefs."

"I know exactly what you mean: Some time ago, I knew this woman pretty well. Her name was Maria Takenaka. Always acting so serene and pure, like I wasn't good enough for her. And do you know what else she did?"

"What?"

"She thought I was coming on to her, and she said I was 'confused' and that she'd pray for me."

"Unbelievable! People like her shouldn't be allowed to reproduce."

"Oh, but she did. She went after this dumb grunt named Leon Casey who got hurt in Lebanon. I'm not sure how much of this tripe she passed on to him, but it's probably a fair amount."

Attempting to gather his very hazy thoughts, Verraad (hesitantly) reflected on the information his lover had shared with him: Was Seth, a man whom he had fought and bled alongside, merely using this crusade against the Security Committee as a front to establish some kind of nightmarish dystopia? Why did those two military officers have so much influence on their organization as a whole? Further fueling Verraad's suspicions was the fact that Seth rarely, if ever spoke about his beliefs.

Tabitha Li, on the other hand remained ignorant (or perhaps was aware all along) of the young man's inner conflicts:

"I don't want to think about those awful people right now," she moaned "I want to think about us."

Sayid al Seif bin Ahmed never had much patience for these newfangled broadcasting technologies, nor was he terribly fond of addressing large crowds. True, the position of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia's Grand Mufti sometimes required speaking before a great number of people, but for bin Ahmed, the idea of addressing hundreds of millions of young Muslims all over the world, whether from Indonesia to Bosnia, or the United Kingdom to Kenya, even with his decades of practice, still represented an intimidating proposal for him. Nonetheless, as the cameraman signaled that five seconds remained for the broadcast, bin Ahmed reviewed his speech one last time and reflecting on the chances of the plan's success:

" _O young believers! Dar al-Islam stands at a crucial junction! The wretched inhabitants of the Great Satan seek once again to return to their rapacious ways! Their warden of a leader proves no deterrent for these beasts! Allah alone knows what sort of savagery the Americans shall release if they are removed from their chains! Should that occur, no believer anywhere shall be safe! To this end, I, and my colleagues at al-Azhar have authorized a particularly short-lived hudna with the American government, authorizing our warriors to engage the American insurrection and prevent any further damage to our realm. O ye who believe! Go forth to the very heart of that satanic land, and punish the enemies of Islam who fail to recognize their place!"_

Although unable to directly place the origin of the notion, for the past two weeks, Seth had, in the back of his mind, found himself dwelling on the idea of a shocking revelation or catastrophic, game-changing event being imminent. Even in spite the quite visible precautions taken by him and his colleagues. However, very few seemed to share his pessimism:

"Oh, how much worse do you really think this can get?" asked Ursula, marking points on a map of the United States "Things are mainly going our way."

"Although, you have lost quite a few of your organization's members, "reminded Seth "And not just long prison terms either. They're not coming back for sabotage, real or imagined against the SC."

"Acceptable losses. Truth is, this whole ordeal has been less costly on manpower than I expected it to be."

"How costly were you expecting this to be?"

"Outside of a few enclaves in New York, I was ready to sacrifice the entire the Atlantic Coast network."

Geoffrey, although lacking Seth's sense of urgency, shared the sentiment somewhat:

"I just got word from the DGSE detachment in Marseille," he informed seriously "Something weird's going on."

"How weird?" asked Seth cautiously "As in effecting our operations?"

"A fair number of the _banlieues_ are have become unusually quiet since last Friday.

It's not just France, either: They're noticing the same thing in Belgium, the Netherlands, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and Germany as well."

"What does this have to do with us?"

"I hope nothing, but I'm going to keep an eye on this, just in case."

Although, one definitely strange thing, Seth noticed, was Verraad's behavior upon his return: The normally jolly, loquacious man, after a three-and-a-half week absence, merely gave his comrades nods of general acknowledgment, sulking off towards some isolated corner of one of the warehouses:

"Okay, something's wrong here," said Seth concernedly "He's been back four hours and barely said a word to anyone. Hell, he didn't even try any of his pickup lines on you."

"Yeah, I noticed," replied Yi icily "I almost miss them, too. He was getting pretty creative with some of them."

But there was one incident in particular, the late in the night when Verraad returned, that shed some light on his newfound taciturn nature. His curiosity piqued the sound of Alison shrieking hysterically emanating from the building's second story:

"Who is this woman!?" she cried at a figure, which Seth, upon adjusting his angle, found to be Verraad

"She's no one," lied Verraad "Just an old friend of mine that I had some unfinished business with."

"Do you think I'm stupid!? You didn't think I'd notice the perfume on the letter?!"

"Look, Alison. It was a moment of weakness. It didn't mean anything."

"Oh, so something did happen!"

"Alison...I'm sorry," Verraad consoled "She was an old girlfriend of mine and she sent me that letter. I didn't mean for anything to happen, but one thing led to another and-"

"Stop talking, "she sobbed "Just stop talking..."

"I'm sorry. I just don't know what came over me."

"I think we both know exactly what came over you."

Still attempting (in vain) to comfort Alison, Verraad decided to change the topic:

"Alison, I need to know something," he said softly "Do you trust me? To do the right thing, I mean."

"Well, none of the guys I've been with would have come clean about cheating on me with their old girlfriend," replied Alison, her deluge of tears mostly abated "So, kind of."

"How many people in your life can you really say that about? That are really honest with you. I mean, you've known Ursula for what, ten years? And has she ever really talked about her life or beliefs with you?"

"Well, not really..."

"Or Seth and that little sh-, I mean Geoffrey. You've known them an even shorter time and do they keep a lot of secrets from you?"

"Well, I never really thought about it."

"Verraad, I don't understand, "said Alison, her sorrowful tone changing to one of curiosity "What exactly are you talking about?"

Verraad scanned his surroundings thoroughly:

"All I'm saying," he began quietly "Is that maybe our 'friends' aren't exactly who they say they are"

The morning after, Seth felt it wise to relay an abridged form of the conversation to a distracted Ursula, who concerned herself more with weapons shipments to New York:

"So what, it's just talk," she stated dismissively "Do you do everything you say you're going to do?"

"Of course not," answered Seth "But still, it's kind of a weird thing just to have a casual conversation about?"

"We've got three days to oversee the transport of all these crates to Vesla and Drago. If it's bothering you that much, we can talk on the way there. But for now, I just want to get this done."

Although his cause for concern was likely, as far as most he had recently spoken with, unwarranted, even after hours of mental gymnastics in search of a logical explanation, amounted to nothing.

Spending the entirety of the morning on meetings and conference calls, Ariel Costa had somehow managed to avoid the red-inked envelope addressed to him, since five that morning. Eager for a respite from the chaotic, yet tedious routine of the past several weeks, (A large, angry protest there, an assassination attempt on a pro-SC public official there) Costa finally relented, tearing open the envelope to examine its contents.

Upon scanning the paper, Costa's expression of fatigue melted into his traditional arrogant smirk:

The letter, while having no return address, gave locations of arms stockpiles, hideouts, and prominent individuals sympathetic to the uprisings within the government, military, and private sector. With this triumph certain to be attributed to him, his position in the Security Committee would remain secure for decades to come.

Perhaps this day would not be so terrible after all, he thought, giddily dialing his two superiors.

Never as vocal or vitriolic in his distaste for the military administration as his Marine Corps counterpart, Brian Kemp, after a particularly frustrating meeting in Washington with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, had come to strongly reconsider his relatively passive opinion of the brass:

All of the JCS members (with the exception of Commandant Edgar Boyce) had, upon Kemp's "hypothetical" question on a murderously wanton secret police force serving as the president's enforcement arm, had either treated the idea with a sort of arrogantly dismissive tone or an active denial of the very possibility.

Astoundingly, the Army Chief of Staff, General Frank Connor, had suggested the possibility of Military Police collaborating with the Security Committee in the interest of "public order". Thank God very few of the military members buy into this, Kemp thought. If that were the case, the Sergeant Major would have, in all likelihood taken his automobile into the garage, shut the doors, overdosed on sedative cold medicine, all the while "forgetting" to turn the machine off.

Intent on taking his mind off of the insanity with an early dinner, Kemp reached for his vibrating mobile phone, displaying a hastily-typed, (apparently) urgent text message from his son:

" _GET OUT OF TOWN! NOW! IN FRONT OF BUILDING WITH CAR,"_ read the message

He set off in a gait, while quicker than usual, was not fast enough to attract unwanted attention.

Out in front of the building waited, surely enough, an agitated-looking Adam Kemp behind the wheel of his father's car.

"What's got you so worked up?" Kemp inquired, taking the passenger's seat

"Enough of our stuff for a few weeks is in the back," explained Adam quickly "We've gotta lay low for a while I'll explain on the way there. I sent that Reeve guy the same message."

"Is there something I should know about, Adam?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

A sore-headed General Frank Connor had grown accustomed to meetings getting somewhat heated, but this one was probably the undisputed monarch of all unpleasant conferences: A shroud abruptly removed from the general's head revealed himself in a cramped, sterile, eight-by-ten foot cell, flanked by two SC guards, extremities bound to a chair.

"So, I guess you know why you're here, right?" Tabitha Li sneered

"What's the meaning of this, Madame?!" asked Connor indignantly

"I know it's hard for you, but stop playing dumb for a few minutes. I know everything."

"About what?!"

"One of your subordinates has become quite the troublemaker in recent months.

I thought the Sergeant Major was subordinate to the Chief of Staff?"

"Kemp? What's he have to do with this? His talk at the meeting a few hours ago was strange, but I didn't think anything sinister of it."

Li laughed a dismissive, condescending laugh, turning for the exit:

"Wow, you really are as stupid as Reeve claims," she remarked incredulously "Although I must agree with him that you and your kind of officers are wastes of oxygen. But that should only be a problem for two more minutes at most."

Brigade General Ernesto Machado of the Cuban Revolutionary Army could not help but be amused by the irony of his present situation:

All his life, the socialist government of Cuba had prepared him and his peers to fight to the death against the awaited American invasion.

Now, with two battalions of his own troops, he, along with countless others from across the world, had been invited by that very same government to put down the uppity American population.

The late summer's nostalgic humidity of Portsmouth, Virginia bolstering further the morale of his and that of his troops, undaunted by the spectacle of seven thousand angry citizens.

Receiving a megaphone from his assistant Major Quiones, Machado cleared his throat with anticipation:

"Citizens!" the General called "You have been ordered by your government to desist in your destructive, reactionary activities! If you desist immediately with these seditious acts, you will suffer no penalty nor shall any harm come to you!"

The warning only incensing the crowd further, prompting five minutes of jeers and curses at the foreign troops:

"Sir, they're not standing down," Quiones stated fearfully "If anything, they've become even worse."

"No matter," replied Machado stoically "Give the order."

Within ten seconds, the three thousand Cuban soldiers discharged their weapons into the unruly crowd, the evening calm shattered by the sounds of Kalashnikov fire and the screams of their victims.

"We warned them, did we not?" Machado asked

"Indeed, sir," Quiones replied, somewhat less hesitant "My question is why Havana has restricted the expeditionary battalions only to the port cities?"

"We simply don't have the manpower, equipment, and morale for any heavy combat.

Now, word has it that the Nablus and Ramallah divisions have been dispatched to the southern United States. I almost pity the Americans that attempt to resist them."

For some reason or another, Seth felt the idea of an unmarked, white van was the most suspicious of any vehicle to use for illicit activity. Although, Ursula pointed out that they had not, in the hours since departing from Los Angeles, been molested by law enforcement.

However, the events to come would prove far more disturbing than any routine traffic stop: Passing a truck stop near the Oklahoma-Arkansas border, Seth was shocked and mystified to find an erratic, harassed-looking Natalka, scarcely avoiding striking her with the vehicle. Naturally, the two, encountering their friend in such a state, rendered assistance:

"What the hell were you doing!?" scolded Ursula "You could have been killed!"

"We can't stay here," Natalka replied quickly "Things have gotten bad. Really bad."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" asked Seth "Things can't be getting much worse than they already are."

"Yes, they are! And we can't stay in the South! Can't go back to Sergei's either!"

As if exhausted by her (seemingly) delirious ranting, Natalka passed out in Seth's arms:

"Did you get any of that?" asked Ursula, eyebrow raised suspiciously

"Only a little," Seth answered grimly, placing the unconscious in the rear of the van "But from what I did get, something's gone really wrong."

Natalka did not seem to be alone in her panic:

Two hours into Arkansas, the pair were pulled over by a middle-aged state trooper who seemed to be under a great deal of stress. His pragmatic side expecting a need to murder the man where he stood, Seth was more shocked by his words:

"Look, I don't know what you kids are doing here," he said, right eye glancing off to his side "But you can't stay here. I'm going to pretend I didn't see you. Just get back to your homes. It's not safe out here."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" inquired a relieved Seth, despite his alarm at his awaited answer

"These guys up at the Tennessee border. They look like military, but I'll be damned if they're American. Threatened me in what I'm pretty sure was Arabic before their commander came up and told me pretty much the same thing in English."

"Wait," Ursula interrupted "What th-"

"Already shot my brother-in-law dead for 'mouthing off' to em' And to top it all off, word just came down from Little Rock that they'll treat any interference the same way a cop treats a perp with a gun!"

"Well what do you suggest we do?" asked Seth, now visibly worried "We really need to get to New York."

"Try going through the southern parts of Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania," the trooper suggested "I know that they're more of those guys, and it might take longer, but they might not have set up regular patrols around those areas."

Heeding the warning, the pair significantly altered their course towards a distinctly southward bent. Seth, attempting to take his mind off of the situation by spending the remaining journey tending to Natalka, his stomach knotted at the idea that something truly was catastrophically wrong. Perhaps he should have said something earlier?

"I have noticed something strange," Ursula said "Now that I think about it."

"What's that?" asked Seth, resting a lukewarm towel over the unconscious woman's forehead

"For the past four days or so, I haven't been able to get in touch with any of the regional bosses of the organization. It might be nothing, but usually, if try to contact someone, it doesn't go unanswered."

"Do you think something happened to them?"

"No, not the ones who pay attention, anyway."

Twenty four hours elapsing before reaching the general area (three of those spent attempting to throw off the enhanced security) of the restaurant. Seth and Ursula both noticed the area of Drago and Vesla's establishment seemed considerably more abandoned

Before a strange encounter with a familiar face, Seth had questioned if they were in the correct area:

"Are you sure this is the place?" inquired Seth, struggling to make out the familiar shape amidst the sparse streetlights

"Yes, are you blind?" replied Ursula shortly "You've been here before. We don't have time for this. We just need to get some of Drago's men and-"

"Get the hell inside before anyone sees you," Geoffrey advised flatly

"Wait, where have you been all this time," asked a thoroughly bewildered Seth "And get inside where? Everything's closed."

"Montreal," Geoffrey replied, his tone remotely more urgent "But that's not important. We have to get back to the restaurant."

"We found Natalka half-dead and ranting about something somewhere in Oklahoma. If you'll help me with her, just lead the way."

Ursula was correct in that the general area was correct:

Halfway down the block, Geoffrey led them to that familiar sliver of a building, the few windows boarded up. Leading his friends down the (also covered with false floorboards) familiar trapdoor, the unanimously sullen demeanor of the occupants confirmed to Seth something was horribly wrong:

"Finally," Kemp sighed "Thank God you showed up alive. I still don't know how we got past that security in one piece."

"Wait, so something is wrong?" asked Seth hesitantly, setting Natalka in a nearby booth

"You could say that. Admiral Scott and the rest of the Joint Chiefs of Staff are dead.

That alone wouldn't be a problem-"

"Normally that'd be a good thing," Reeve snarled

"But..." resumed Kemp

"Oh, but there's always a 'but'," said Seth exasperatedly

"I think you should sit down for this. In fact, we all should."

The protocol of last month's meeting (several tables combined) being the unspoken agreement, Seth and Geoffrey aided in the endeavor, including the disposal of a table which Floyd Reeve had put his fist through.

As preparations were made for the demonstration, members of the first gathering began to gradually stream in: Around ten minutes after Seth's arrival, both looking very dirty and ragged, Brad Chua and Tanvir Khatri stumbled down the stairwell:

"Well, where have you two been?" asked Seth, shoving a table from the supply closet "I doesn't matter if you can help me with these."

"We got into a firefight just outside the city with these assholes speaking Spanish," Chua replied, holstering his pistol "Tanvir here got shot in the leg a few times a couple of blocks away."

"Really sir, I'm fine. I barely feel them," Khatri assured, fastening his now very red, makeshift tourniquet "We killed the few that pursued us and their comrades did not get a good look at us."

"I don't care," scolded Seth "Have you seen how much blood you've lost? Brad, get him and Natalka to a couple of beds. Did any of the doctors come with you."

"Fraid not, boss. The doc one that did got a couple of extra holes in his head during the fight."

"Well, I just got word that most of our safehouses got raided," informed Vesela bitterly "Somehow, the SC caught on to our operations there."

"Dammit," Ursula muttered "That probably explains why I haven't been able to get in touch with Sergei or any of the other bosses."

"And we have no idea how many survivors might show up," added Seth "Do we have anybody here with medical training."

"I know someone," Alison chimed in

Vesela and (uncharacteristically) Ursula pulled the woman into an embrace:

"You're alive!" exclaimed Ursula "I'm concerned about Sergei, but I was worried sick about you! Where were you anyway?"

"Around one of the Denver safehouses," Alison answered, pushing the two women away "I just got in yesterday."

"I guess it's lucky you left when you did," said Vesela "According to one of Drago's contacts, that safehouse got raided a few hours after you left. I know it's kind of short notice, but we've got some wounded here, one pretty badly."

"Say no more. I'll get right on it."

But over time, the relative few that returned to the restaurant and their condition suggested far more than merely the Security Committee getting a lucky break:

"I told you, you old buzzard," snarled Yi, "We could have been here four hours ago if you had listened to me and left this guy behind!"

"Maybe this is strange to you, young lady" Iwane snapped, not nearly irate as his companion "But I was raised to value loyalty. This means, not leaving an old friend and colleague to his certain death."

Through the bruises and swelling, Seth could determine the figure his uncle and acquaintance was a short, somewhat muscular man in his mid-to-late forties, his dark hair cropped into a short, military fashion.

"Uncle Iwane, Yi," greeted Seth bewilderedly, M1911, drawn on the unconscious figure

"What brings you two to travel together?"

"Long story," answered Yi "But your uncle insisted on shooting these SC agents roughing this guy up."

"And you thought it would be a good idea to bring this guy here...why?"

"That's what I tried to tell him!"

"You can put your gun away, Casey, "commanded Reeve "He's with me."

"When I learn who he is," Seth replied crossly

"First Lieutenant Andrew Salamanca, United States Air Force. You see, the only reason Lieutenant Salamanca is in such a precarious state is because he was interested in striking a blow against the SC."

"So is a third of America, that doesn't mean he's trustworthy."

"It seems that if I hadn't blown off our meeting scheduled for earlier today, he wouldn't be in this state. I guess once he wakes up and I explain, the farthest thing from his mind will be ratting on us"

"Fine."

"Come on, there's something we have to show you."

.

With barely a tenth of the previous gathering's members at the restaurant, naturally this one would be considered less lively. Taking a seat between Ursula and Geoffrey, Seth, as all the others, turned his attention to the projection, displaying a map of the continental United States, several red and green dots scattered throughout the display:

"Alright," Brian Kemp said tiredly, extending a pointer "These red dots mark the Ciklon Syndicate safehouses raided by the SC in the past week. And the green dots represent the protests being held."

"Why are most of the green dots crossed out?" Geoffrey asked

"I'm just about to get to that."

The screen went temporarily blank before the map's place was taken by video footage:

"This is from a protest in Houston over the SC," informed Reeve, quivering in anger

The reason for his rage soon became clear to the others:

The footage displayed a (certainly not American) figure in military garb, standing atop an armored vehicle of some kind, demanding the citizens stand down.

Shortly realizing his commands had no effect, the commander gestured at the troops surrounding the protesters, opening fire on the lot of them.

"This one's in some town in Georgia," Kemp stated bluntly, his expression pained:

The ten-minute video displayed what appeared to be two (once again) non-American platoons, gathering the small town's residents into the town square, systematically executing the town's populace before breaking out in jovial Arabic cheers.

"And one from South Dakota. Retaliation for a couple of potshots taken at them," introduced Kemp grimly "I've never seen these BDUs before, either."

This fifteen minutes of footage showed a small, rural town cordoned off by the foreign (apparently Chinese or North Korean) battalion, the denizens of the town almost all suffering from difficulties breathing, excessive perspiration, and muscle weakness.

The elderly and children shown appeared on the verge of death.

The exhibition of recent foreign operations inside the United States continued for the next hour or so. The reactions of the reluctant audience ranged from horrified, to twitching in rage like Seth and Reeve:

"Wait a minute?" said Yi, interrupting the uncomfortable silence "How did the SC get those names anyway? And the locations of the weapons caches and safehouses?

You burned the records of those last month, right?"

"Of course," Geoffrey answered "I know don't think that highly of me, but I at least know how to cover my tracks. Ursula, I heard you telling Alison earlier that you couldn't get in touch with any of your people."

Ursula produced an address book from her pocket, all the numbers under the "Work" section marked with a red "X":

"Haven't heard from any of them in almost a week," she confirmed "This is starting to get suspicious."

"Well, maybe if you had been a bit more careful..." Yi suggested

"So you're saying this is my fault!?"

"Who was the one with the most to keep track of?"

"Well maybe if you spent more time pointing out flaws than being all 'Me love you long time', you could have gotten over yourself long enough to point out how sloppy my organization is!"

Although this level of discourse was to be expected from Ursula and Yi, it was quite possible that the moment's heightened stress level in combination with their venom, soured the precedent for following conversations:

"I told you we should have acted on this earlier!" Ivy Franklin scolded "But you insisted we had time!"

"Oh, cram it, you old bat," Reeve snarled "Excuse me for not having the resources of the entire United States Military at my disposal!"

"What the hell do you mean 'old bat'!? You're older than I am!"

"She's got a point!" Chua insisted irritably "We have to act against these bastards now!"

"Shut up!" shouted Kemp "Do you even know the first thing about how operations are authorized?"

"Probably more than you. I'd probably be better at not being a half-assed father, too."

"Take that back, asshole," growled Adam

Despite the chaos created by the arguments and restarting footage, Seth searched his mind diligently for a solution to the problem for which he was largely responsible for:

"Hey, Geoffrey," he said "Have you seen Verraad anywhere?"

"Not for a few weeks," answered Geoffrey "Under normal circumstances, I would probably say 'good riddance', but these are not normal circumstances, are they?"

"That they are not. You got a good look at some of those troops in the videos.

Any idea where they're from?"

"I'd bet my life on a third of the troops shown being Turks or Arabs of some kind.

Chua said some of these guys spoke Spanish, so I'm pretty sure they're Latin American.

Although I wouldn't put it past some troublemakers from Spain to see America taken down a bit."

But in the face of their greatest impasse, an earth-shattering revelation came from a source which no one had expected:

"What's going on down here?" asked Natalka sleepily "It sounds like a war's going on here."

"Close enough," replied Geoffrey bluntly "Or at least the opening stages of one."

"Natalka, are you sure you should be out of bed?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm great. Before I forget, there's something I have to give you.

A couple of weeks ago, I ran into Verraad somewhere in Texas. He told me to give you this."

Fearing the white, unmarked envelope, Seth's dread turned to confusion and finally to fury at the letter's content:

"What's it say?" Natalka asked gingerly

Seth inhaled deeply, mentally preparing himself to recite the letter as neutrally as possible:

" _Hey, Seth,_

I didn't want it to come to this, but I don't really have a choice.

I don't have any illusions about the SC and what their continued existence will mean for America. But I'm not too thrilled about your motives either.

You never shared with any of us what exactly you're fighting for:

Liberty, freedom, or your own selfish desires?

Let's talk about the company you keep: A drug-trafficking, pimping mafia head with the blood of hundreds of thousands, if not millions on her hands, a crooked French intelligence officer with a major chip on his shoulder, and a couple of Latin American military dictator-wannabes. These don't sound like the allies of a freedom-lover.

So, naturally, your ulterior motives come into question, as well.

How do I know that you're not ready to throw in with these guys too?

Before you tear up this letter, I have to make one point:

I've come to the conclusion that your idea of freedom and mine are very different.

I, and quite a few others in the organization would have loved to continue working together, but our goals are just too opposed. Besides, your crazy mother would probably have me declared a witch and burned at the stake.

Nothing personal,

Verraad

Still having the emotional clarity to realize that destroying the letter could also destroy vital clues; Seth slammed the letter onto a nearby table, sulking over to the still-feuding parties:

"ALL OF YOU JUST SHUT UP!" he shouted "QUIT ACTING LIKE KIDS FOR TWO MINUTES!"

Taken aback by the force with which the message was delivered, the others quickly acquiesced to the demand

"Seth just got some new information," translated Geoffrey "Something that could solve this. Alison, Natalka, Ms. Jong, did Verraad behave strangely when you last saw him? Strangely deep in thought, perhaps?"

The three women nodded:

"Verraad did say something strange last week," Alison confirmed "Something about not really trusting you, Seth, or Ursula."

"When he got back from wherever the hell his last mission was, I said he didn't hit on me like he usually did," added Yi "I didn't really think anything was wrong, but looking back on it, he was acting oddly."

"Merely conjecture," resumed Geoffrey "But the week before our safehouses and major arms caches are raided, and these troops are deployed, a highly influential figure in our organization disappears. Known for being a personable and tenacious bastard, who stated to a close confidant that he didn't really trust many of his fellows and behaved strangely the previous week, is it possible that this same man leaked the information and defected to create a splinter organization?"

"You don't mean-" Alison interrupted

"That's exactly what he means," confirmed Seth grimly, tossing the letter before the combined tables "Look for yourself if you don't believe me."

As the table's occupants crowded around the letter, all traces of the pervious din drained from the room:

"That son of a bitch," said Adam "I knew there was something wrong with him!"

"Me too," Franklin conceded "But I just couldn't put my finger on it."

"Goddammit, can this night get any worse!?" fumed Reeve

"Well, now that you mention it-" said Geoffrey cautiously

"WHAT!?" cried the crowd with the exception of Seth

Geoffrey exhaled deeply:

"Did any of you ever think about those sabotage team operatives?" he asked, fiddling with his glasses nervously "Maybe all of their disappearances weren't due to death or capture, but willful defection to Verraad's cause?"

"That would make sense," Ursula said agreeably "Seth mentioned to me a couple of times that his short-term memory was awful: There's no way he could have memorized that map in the short time that he saw it."

"And this," began Chua, switching on a television set which displayed the aftermath of the bombing of a media corporation "looks really familiar to me. No lingering, just do the damage and get out."

"And these assassinations of two Senators," added Seth "From a long distance with a lot of cover, taking a couple of minutes at most, then getting the hell out.

That's exactly what I would have done."

"It means the responsible parties had intimate knowledge of your methods," Geoffrey confirmed "Knowledge only someone that fought alongside you would have."

Several minutes of tense silence marked by reflection, fear, and suspicion followed the ominous realization:

"I think there's only one question on all of our minds right now," said Kemp finally "That is, what exactly do we do now?"

"Good question," replied Reeve, an uncharacteristic tone of uncertainty in his voice "I guess, with foreign troops on American soil, attacking our citizens for God only knows what purpose, Congress might have to authorize a military campaign to drive them out, put an end to the SC, and begin impeachment proceedings against whoever voted for this. Ideally, a few state governors could mobilize their National Guard units to deal with the foreign soldiers."

"Do they have that authority?" asked Alison

"With a situation like this, it's anyone's guess."

"Reeve and I will try to press at least some members of Congress on this," confirmed Kemp "Last I heard from our guys, Cropper was in the DC area. If we meet up with her, maybe some of her contacts can bring it to a session. I hope they'll give some authorization to kick the bastards off of our soil."

"You've got to be kidding, dad!" Adam said incredulously "DC is going to be swarming with those troops! Do you know your chances of getting through and staying under the radar?"

"Do you honestly believe anybody in Congress will bring it up unless pressed about it?"

"You have a point there."

"Get me some kind of rifle," commanded Seth "I'm going with you guys. And going to end this."

Massaging his forehead, Geoffrey slowly ran his hand down his face:

"Seth, think about this," he said "If it's not safe for our people to show our faces in most cities, how do you expect to get through the American capital undetected? Hell, they'll probably have SC agents on every corner. The best thing for us to do right now would be to wait and plan."

Desperately seeking to poke holes in Geoffrey's logic to no avail, Seth grudgingly resigned, promising his friends not to do anything irrational.

Still, Seth's disappointment and anger at Verraad, his suppressed rage at his enfeeblement in face of the situation, and general sullen demeanor made the next week seem considerably longer than it actually was. Although, his increased abuse of alcoholic beverages probably did not improve his mannerisms:

"Seth, I know you're upset, but you can't keep sulking around like this," Geoffrey explained

"Why do you think I'm upset?" asked Seth bitterly

"You've barely said a word for the past three days and all I've seen you do is sulk.

Look, I know you're mad about Verraad. I am too, but you can't just sit here and complain to yourself. Ursula, Vesla, and Drago have gotten some more intelligence from their Washington network. We're going to review it and decide on a course of action.

Are you coming or not?"

"Fine, let's go."

The reports from the syndicates remaining enclaves on the East Coast were quite telling, however profoundly disturbing in their implications:

"One of our dealers in suburban Maryland had his safehouse raided, his underlings on the scene killed, and most of his stash stolen," Vesla informed, looking even paler than usual

"Tens of thousands of dollars' worth of rifles, handguns, and explosives all gone."

"This doesn't sound like it was SC to me," Ursula remarked

"You'd be right about that, "confirmed Drago, sounding unusually somber "Worst of all, these reports don't seem to be unique: Teams of four or five break into the building from all directions and act quickly to kill or incapacitate anyone, then steal whatever they came for. So far, it's only been weapons or survival supplies, all within about three to five minutes."

"Mean anything to you guys?" inquired Ursula

"I want to say so," answered Seth "But it might just be coincidence. After all, if things are going to get half as bad as I think they will, It would be wise to have at least a small stockpile of weapons, ammo, and supplies on hand."

The remainder of the reports, although as varied in their contents from assassination of a Supreme Court justice to (who ruled the existence of the SC constitutional, an action Seth could understand) the massacre of ten unarmed Illinois National Guardsmen (something he was completely baffled by) left Seth somewhat more certain as to the motive of the attacks and their perpetrators:

"Explain to me how this 'National Guard' works?" asked Geoffrey, wiping down his glasses

"Essentially a reserve force under joint administration by the Army and Air Force," Seth explained "Each state, along with DC and the territories has an Army and Air National Guard. Normally, they answer to the state governor, but the president can take over their command in times of emergency. Why do you ask?"

"He only mentioned it in passing, but for some reason, Verraad said he distrusted them even more than the police."

"You aren't honestly implying-"

"Be logical about this, Seth. We're not really sure what kind of lengths this guy would go to in order to accomplish his goals."

Clearly, Seth still had difficult processing the ramifications of his friend's betrayal:

Anger, sadness, but above all, confusion had dominated his bearing of late.

Was the root of Verraad's betrayal solely for ideological reasons?

Or did a personal grudge against him play a role, he wondered

Whatever his true motives were, more than a few members of their organization seemed to concur with the renegade:

"I heard something interesting a couple of weeks ago," informed Yi

"What?" asked Seth shortly, certain that this was not good news

"The general sentiments in the letter Verraad sent you sound kind of familiar to me.

In fact, more than a few people resented a lot of things about your influence in this organization."

"What do you mean 'resented'?"

"Well...some were really suspicious of your mob connections, others saw you as nothing more than a common thug, and a few even claimed the only reason you and Ursula were conspiring with those two officers was to carve out influence and wealth in a coming military junta."

"And you know this...how?"

Yi turned her gaze away from the pair, sighing deeply:

"I know you're going to want to strangle me for telling you this," she warned

"I don't think there's much you can say to make me feel worse," Seth replied, taking a long drink from his bottle

"Verraad actually invited me to defect with his group. It wasn't just me either.

I know he went to Alison first and a few others. I know he tossed the idea around with at least forty people."

Astonishingly to both Yi and Geoffrey, Seth failed to rise from his seat, curse at her, or even scowl:

"And how did you respond to his offer?" he asked, a forced calm evident in his voice

"To be honest, I had seriously considered it," Yi confirmed

"Let me guess: You thought I the only reason I was throwing in my lot with Kemp and Reeve was to be like my dead 'pyscho' granddad and murder a bunch of people, right?"

"When you put it like, that you make me sound like a spiteful, irrational bitch."

"No, I'm just being truthful about your personality. If I disgust you so much, leave. See if I care."

Loathe to allow a further escalation of this conflict, Geoffrey quite forcefully escorted Yi from the room.

Even his attempts to draw his attempts to draw his attention (which did not involve alcohol) away from Verraad came to remind him of the traitor. Even an innocuous conversation with his uncle revealed some surprising truths:

"A couple of weeks ago," began Seth "You mentioned one of mom's students and that she was kind of...out there. What exactly did you mean by that?"

Ingesting the last of the antibiotics, Iwane turned his back to his nephew:

"I suppose it's not surprising Maria wouldn't mention this," he said "It is very bizarre, after all. Yes, this young lady had both her beauty and her brains going for her.

Her greatest flaw is that she was kind of..."

"Eccentric?"

"I prefer 'completely and totally out of her mind',"

"What was her name?"

"If it sounds familiar to you, don't be surprised."

Iwane finished off the remainder of his water, as if putting of divulging some horrible truth:

"This girl's name was Tabitha Hannigan," he informed "As far as I know, she changed it after she got married."

"Wait a second," interrupted Seth "Are you trying to tell me that Tabitha Hannigan is-"

"Exactly."

Infinitely disconcerted to learn his nemesis was a former student of his mother's, Seth had come to the realization that the treatment he had been singled out for by the SC, may not have been a coincidence. Could the organization's obsession with him be (as well as practical reasons) motivated by the sick mind of its mistress, Tabitha Li?

"Look, Maria, Seth's fine, I'm sure of it," Leon Casey reassured

"I know, I know," replied Maria anxiously "I'm confident in our son, mainly because you taught him to be so resourceful, but with all the horrible things going on right now, of course I'm going to be worried."

Her long, dark hair trailing behind her, Maria's kind eyes and soft facial features blessed her, even in her mid-fifties, with a beauty not unnoticed by most men and even more than a few women. Even with her presently sullen state, the woman's radiance somehow illuminated the dark, sterile holding room.

"Hey, Maria," said Leon "Remember when Seth was nine and he fell about ten feet from that tree and broke his arm?"

"Of course," she replied, a considerable amount of tension still apparent in her tone "I was worried out of my mind."

"I was too, but do you remember how he said 'Hey! I'm not supposed to have thrown this out for another sixty years!"

Maria giggled:

"It surprised me how well he took it," she answered, a suggestion of a grin about her face

"Or the time he was fourteen and had his appendix taken out," Leon added

""My stomach was hurting so badly, I wanted to have a bottle of aspirin for dinner'," Maria quoted, her smile widening at the memories of her son

"Look, Maria: If Seth could breeze through things that would make most other kids his age break down, I'm sure he can handle anything even these crazy times will throw at him."

Lovingly sweeping his wife's remaining tears, Leon hardly paid attention to the foreboding sound of women's heels impacting against the ground:

"Oh, how sweet," came a sarcastic, familiar voice "Honestly, you two make me sick."

"If you had told me the awkward, chubby teenage girl with glasses would be responsible for the things I've seen here, I would have thought you were crazy," said Leon angrily, ushering Maria behind him "So, Miss Hannigan: I take it life hasn't been good to you."

"How dare you talk to me like that!" snapped Tabitha Li "It was always a mystery to me what Maria saw in trash like you."

"How about a soul?" Leon snarled, suddenly grasping for the woman's throat

Through a combination of reflexes, muscle manipulation, and raw physical strength, Tabitha intercepted the strike, snapping Leon's wrist and the small, already weakened bones of his left knee before forcing him to the ground.

"You really are as stupid as I thought," said Li derisively, her handgun inches away from Leon's forehead "If I pulled this trigger right now, it would be doing you a favor.

Or did my little volunteer program over the past few months fail to get that message across?"

Still troubled by a back injury which led to his discharge from the Marine Corps nearly thirty years ago, the past five months of the apparently pointless labor regimen had taken its toll on his lower body, leaving him scarcely able to stand for more than half an hour.

Completely aware the threat was eliminated, the younger woman continued her assault, stomping on Leon's shattered knee, striking and digging her fingernails into his face, a twisted smile taking over her face:

"You really disgust me, you know that?" Tabitha growled breathily, dilated pupils locked firmly on her prey "Nothing more than self-important vermin. Your family's probably been that way for generations."

Shooting Leon twice in his good knee and holstering her weapon, Li continued her abuse, further tearing at the wounds on his legs and face, suppressing an overwhelming urge to giggle childishly

"As far as I know, that mongrel you call your son got himself killed," she lied, her face considerably more flushed "Good riddance as far as I'm concerned."

Already quite distressed, Maria became quickly overwhelmed by her husband's shrieks of pain and the twisted insinuations of her former student:

"Tabitha, stop this!" she cried

Miraculously, Li halted her attack on the battered man and strode over to Maria, her sadistic grin now replaced by an expression of contentment

"Tabitha, please! "begged Maria, beginning to tear up "You're a mother too! You have to understand! I need to know if my son is alright! What do you want!? I'd do anything just to know that he's safe!"

"Maybe he's safe, maybe not," the ex-student said mysteriously "Just how badly do you want to know about him?"

"I told you already. I'll do anything just to know that he's safe."

Maria was understandably shocked and horrified that the woman she knew as a brilliant, but troubled teenage girl had begun to grope her, and clearly enjoyed it much more than she did:

"Tabitha!? What are you doing!?" she exclaimed "Don't touch me like that!"

"You know that you have the most beautiful body?" Li whispered "More than twenty-five years and you look like you haven't aged a day."

"Why?!"

"Because for all the time that I've known you, you've put on this air of self-righteous purity. I despise that purity. There are few things I love more than corrupting innocence ."

"Stop it!"

"Fine."

Immediately keeping to her word, Tabitha Li strode over to the crippled Leon, placing her weapon against his forehead:

"Have it your way then," she said stonily "I guess you can be without both your beloved son and your husband."

Her former pupil began making slow, exaggerated movements, pulling the trigger as if it were some sort of precious china. To Maria's relief, for the first few "shots" from the weapon lacked any rounds. After repeating the torturous motion, Li finally loaded the handgun, raising the now-loaded pistol to Leon's head:

"Alright! Fine! I'll do it!" cried Maria "Just don't hurt him and tell me my son is safe!"

"What exactly will you do for me, Ms. Maria?" asked Li, smirking lecherously

"Anything you want from me!" Maria conceded tearfully "Use my body however you want! Just leave my family alone..."

Maintaining the same arrogant grin, Li put away her weapon, returning to the nearly-broken woman and bringing her jaw into a fingered grip:

"I think you'd be amazed at just how gentle a lady like me can be," Li cooed malevolently, forcing the older woman into a rough, biting kiss.

The past week yielded some intriguing developments for the quest to dispose of the SC:

In response to the "pacification" actions of one of the foreign brigades (either Turkish or Bosnian as far as Seth knew) in his state, the Governor of Oklahoma had ordered the brigade to stand down, giving them forty-eight hours to comply and turn themselves in.

Naturally, the formation's commander refused, the brutal operations continuing as prescribed. Not even three hours after the ultimatum's expiration, did the governor mobilize the 45th Infantry Brigade Combat Team in to restore order. Since it was a given that the foreign forces were on American soil with the President's blessing, the potential ramifications were anyone's guess, as a telephone conversation revealed:

"This development works out really well for us," admitted Seth, in his best spirits in weeks "But how exactly is Li going to sell this to the country? What's left of his credibility should be in the toilet by now."

" _Wish I knew, kid,"_ replied Reeve _But the fact remains is that we're kind of in uncharted waters here. After all, who could have foreseen a sitting president using foreign troops against American citizens?"_

"So will this push the other state governors and Congress to act against the SC too?

It's pretty clear that these guys are getting their intel from them."

" _It's looking more and more like a possibility. Of course, I don't have much faith in the 'opposition' party either. If they haven't even tried to use their majority in the House to impede the SC, I wouldn't expect much."_

"I just hope most of us will live to see these bastards swinging from lampposts."

" _We may very well be in the right direction: Congress is convening tonight for a special session. Wish I could speak for longer, but Kemp's kid gets pissy when someone uses his phone for too long."_

In the chaos following the deployment of the hostile forces, the restaurant had become considerably more barren:

Yi and Natalka had both been sent on reconnaissance missions by Geoffrey, who had left for Rejikavik to meet with one of his sources. Alison and the surviving medical personnel had scattered to the remaining safehouses in the Northeast to treat the ever-growing casualties whom were concerned about being turned over to the SC if treatment at traditional medical facilities was sought. Meanwhile, most likely due to lack of sleep, most of Seth's remaining company was not exactly amicable:

" _Yebla huesos!"_ shrieked Ursula "How many defected with him?"

"No idea," Vesla replied anxiously "From what our remaining guys were able to gather based on reports of the raids, he took at least seventy-five people with him."

"You have to remember that a fair number of people will hear him out," Drago reminded "Let's say only one out of every hundredth person who sympathizes join with Verraad, that could cause some problems for both the SC and us."

Desperate for some conversation not related to the horrible betrayal he had suffered, Seth attempted once again to question his uncle about the young lady named Tabitha Hannigan. For some reason, Iwane remained somewhat ambiguous on the topic, giving only hints as to the woman's state of mind. However, Seth being slightly more generous with his alcohol loosened his uncle's lips:

"Oh, you asked about that Tabitha chick, right?" asked Iwane, slightly slurring his words "Like I said, the girl was out of her mind!"

"How out of her mind?" replied Seth, somewhat amused by his uncle's low tolerance for alcohol

"Ever had a stalker completely obsessed with getting you into bed? Might want to ask Maria about that."

"Seriously?"

"Just as sure as we're sitting here. Poor girl thought Maria felt the same about her.

Actually went to the trouble of taking my sister to some fancy restaurant and get her to break up with Leon."

"So when mom told her off, I assume she didn't take it well."

Iwane downed another shot of the liquor:

"Right you are," he confirmed grimly "Leon swears on his life this girl tried to kill him more than once. Did he ever tell you how his left leg got broken?"

"No, he didn't," Seth answered, attempting to conceal the morbid curiosity in his tone

"Apparently, Miss Hannigan, borrowing her father's car, 'didn't see' Leon as she was backing out into the street. Or why he quit smoking? It had to do with a little incident involving a cut gas line in his apartment. One that he had just checked the other day."

"Wow. I've heard of people getting crushes on their teachers, but this is just insane."

Given her single-minded focus on his capture, her unreturned affection (which apparently was more destructive in nature than a mere schoolgirl crush) for his mother, and her simmering, murderous rage directed at his father, Seth began to question if Tabitha Li's insistence on his pursuit had some ulterior motive. More than just seeking a man who knew too much, Li may have begun to regard him as a trophy of sorts, thought Seth.

Upon further reflection, Seth realized that he, in a sense pitied the poor bastard who ended up with her.

Mahathir Li, even for a man as skilled in deception as him, had begun to show noticeable cracks in his façade. Considerably more cracks than could be expected from a relatively healthy, middle-aged man: Usually, he could have counted on the media to cover for the inconsistencies in his carefully-crafted life story, mocking them as either malevolent or insane. However, the many inconsistencies in his records had not gone unnoticed by a large amount of the populace, whether they admitted it or not. To say nothing of his suspicious guests:

"I would earnestly recommend that you get some more sleep," bin Ahmed advised, slouching somewhat against his cane

"No, three or four hours of sleep is working fine for me," the president replied sarcastically "Pretty much the only thing keeping me from swallowing a bottle of painkillers is the fact that your foreign legions are actually doing their jobs."

"Yes, and quite admirably, if I do say so myself. Although, the local governors of your country would disagree with this assessment."

"I'll say. Thanks to those uppity hicks, this is going to be dragged before friggn' Congress. And then what?!"

"I would assume that they would order your removal."

His patron's quite clearly growing, the bin Ahmed had begun to question if the president had relapsed into some of his old vices:

"Not to mention the fact that those peasants are on to our scam!" ranted the executive further "I'm not even sure that little brat me and that bitch Tabitha posed with for those insipid campaign photographs is even my kid!"

"I thought it only tactful to inform you that your daughter is missing," said bin Ahmed

"Apparently, somewhere in the state of Indiana, while her chauffer was indisposed, she stole one of his sidearms and fled. Smart girl. These are interesting times we live in."

"Great, just perfect. I don't have time for this bullshit now."

Dank and claustrophobic, lurking in the basement of the United States Capitol building is not exactly how Brian Kemp saw spending the past twelve hours:

"I didn't even know this place had a basement," he complained "Much less that we'd be spending most of our day in it."

"Just be grateful we got in at all," Reeve reminded, his flashlight darting around the corridors

"Wait," said Adam "I think I heard something!"

The three men, fully prepared to overpower any unwanted company, received had received their company, but perhaps their terror was unwarranted:

"Wow, you're afraid of the dark?" inquired Jenifer Cropper sardonically

"Give me a break, Cropper," groaned Reeve "Your face is terrifying enough in a normally-lighted room. In this light, I thought it was the damn Cryptkeeper!"

"So what's the plan?" asked Kemp nervously "The hearing's going down, right?"

"You got it. Congress meets in about an hour. Someone's coming down here in a bit to get the slides."

A further half hour of lurking the basements, half-heartedly in search of an exit.

The sound of hurried footsteps soon echoed throughout the cavernous structure.

It soon became clear that the feet in question belonged to a small-statured, jittery man of around seventy, clad in the traditional Congressman's suit. Unsurprisingly, the two Sergeant Majors were not impressed by their country's alleged savior:

"I'm glad you decided to join the right side, Doctor Richard," said Cropper said

"I never thought the day would come where we would be working together," Richard conceded, his tone somewhat cautious "Normally, I wouldn't trust you, but we have a common enemy."

"Who's this?" asked Kemp, confused at Cropper's choice "And why is he going to save us all?"

"Dad, don't worry," his son reassured confidently "John Richard's alright. Hell, he's been raising awareness about this sort of thing for decades!"

"You bet I have, son. But the fact remains that we can't use this exit: The corridor up there is crawling with SC agents."

The dank, circular confines of the basement provided a challenge for the motley band:

While in agreement that the southern stairwell had to be avoided, the dim lighting and homogeneity of the design impeded this effort.

"Give me the data," John Richard commanded, unusually firm in his tone

"You don't trust me not to drop it or something?" replied Cropper

"I just want it on my person. After all, you four can't exactly afford to show your faces."

After another ten minutes of wandering, the group had reached the northern stairwell.

Suddenly, a single gunshot shattered the monotony of the search.

Reeve, Kemp, and Adam all turned to investigate, still on edge, ready to overpower a prospective attacker. Only Reeve seemed not to display any signs of distress at the sight of Jenifer Cropper's lifeless body lying on the floor as John Richard held the remaining three at gunpoint:

"Doctor Richard! What the hell are you doing!?" shouted Adam

"Nothing personal boy," the Congressman replied "But I can't let you three leave here alive."

"But we're on the same side! We're fighting for freedom, the exact same thing as you!"

"Oh, really? I've learned that the best thing to do when two convicts are fighting is just to let them tire each other out. Maybe there are some things dear old dad 'forgot' to mention about his intentions."

"You bastard," snarled Kemp, quivering in rage "All that talk of standing up for the American people against the 'system' was a big lie!"

"Easy there," Reeve advised, restraining his friend "Just wait hold on and don't do anything stupid."

"I'll make sure these videos get to the public," reassured Richard "Late-"

The discharge of three gunshots prompted Brian Kemp and his son to throw themselves against the narrow walls, in hopes of avoiding the rounds and taking down the treacherous Representative while minimizing damage to themselves. However, the sight of John Richard slumping lifelessly to the ground, was quite baffling for the Kemp men:

"Wait, how did he-" began Kemp, turning the corpse over and observing the wounds

"It's nice to see you again," Reeve said, (apparently) staring off into the distance "Representative Hawk. Still as good a sharpshooter as ever, eh?"

"You know I hate it when people call me that, Reeve," came a calm, proud voice "It's Colonel Hawk."

The voice belonged to a man of a dignified, powerful standing in his mid-sixties, his curly hair complete in its graying:

"Gents, I'd like to introduce you to Colonel Alex Hawk, USMC retired," introduced Reeve proudly "This tough old bastard made my stay at Parris Island interesting to say the least."

"How else were we supposed to whip you malcontents and slackers into shape?" taunted Hawk playfully

"I want to thank you for saving our lives," said Kemp at last, shaking the elder man's hand "But how did you know to find us here."

"Ah, I was just doing an old friend a favor and it led me here," replied Hawk

"I didn't trust Cropper and I damn sure didn't trust Richard," interjected Reeve "So I just had someone hated by the military brass in his day and now hated by the Washington establishment, keep an eye on them."

"Not to worry," said Hawk, pocketing the disc from Richard's corpse "In ten minutes, these guys are about to get the show of a lifetime. And then they'll have no choice but to vote to force the SC and all of its supporters out."

"I guess we'd better get out of here," Reeve answered "The SC agent that you took that gun from is probably starting to wonder by now."

"Just keep the getaway car running for me."

Despite both the SC and his former companions surely seeking his (and those of his companions) head, the stress that went along with that pursuit, and the fact that him and three comrades had just opened fire, massacring a bus filled with federal employees and the responding police officers, for the first time in months, Verraad Thorn felt truly free, he and his fellow defectors seeking to bring down both sides in the conflict:

"Serves you right, "snarled Verraad, kicking one of the officer's bodies "Pigs."

His group preparing to scatter from the vicinity of the isolated overpass, one of his companions spotted something very odd lurking behind a nearby building:

"Hey, Verraad!" called the man "What about this kid?!"

Dashing over to investigate, to his surprise and horror that "kid" was none other than Svetlana:

"Svetlana!" he exclaimed "What are you doing here?! Your parents must be worried out of their minds."

"Sure they are," the girl answered sarcastically, hints of moisture in her eye "I was worried about you! My mom said that her people had just come down really hard on these resistance guys."

The girl tugging at his heart strings, Verraad was torn between his duty to eliminate his country's enemies, and his strange, almost-paternal concern for Svetlana:

"She goes with us," he commanded "Even if only for a while. You know how unsafe things can be for a girl her age. And some really crazy things have been happening lately."

"The hell are you smoking!?" inquired the second, masked companion angrily "We're already behind schedule on getting to California! We don't need a twelve-year old, ninety-pound load with us!"

Stomping over to the man, Verraad raised his M4 to his companion's head "She...Goes...With us," he snarled "Do you understand me?"

"Loud and clear," confirmed the comrade, his mask hiding his fear

In spite of the stress of being a young girl far away from her home, and the knowledge that there would, in all likelihood, be more much more violent, Svetlana felt contented at Verraad's protection and concern for her wellbeing. In retrospect, Svetlana would come to see Verraad as more fatherly than Mahathir Li ever could be.

Even the fact that the issue of foreign troops being used to suppress Americans was getting press had cheered Seth up considerably. Geoffrey's return bought as well interesting information: Upon his return, the Frenchman set down a black, unmarked briefcase on a nearby table:

"Read these," he commanded, removing a small stack of documents from the case "Only reason I took so long is because the only MI6 translator that would do all these is a notorious perfectionist."

The papers, records of various criminal investigations ranging from money laundering, fraud, and extortion, to obstruction of justice and forgery. The documents originated from such a diverse collection of states as the United Kingdom and France, to India and Singapore, the only common thread among them the name Frank Dunbar listed under prime suspects:

"Who the hell is Frank Dunbar?" asked Seth, still scanning the files "He must be a real dirtbag."

"You should know this," Geoffrey replied sourly "If my sources are to be believed, Frank Dunbar is your president's actual name."

Initially, Seth was tempted to openly laugh at the idea, but taking into consideration the president's extreme, compulsive deception, made the notion seem less and less outlandish. Given the holes in (which admittedly, Seth had not paid much attention to) his life story, it would not have surprised him in the least to learn of at least some kind of felonious activity occurring.

"Do you have any photos of the main suspects?" inquired Seth, sensing an imminent, important discovery

Geoffrey smirked:

"Casual or mug shots?" he asked, removing a file folder from the briefcase

"Either will work."

Of the photographs matching the fifteen names which appeared most often, most of them did not stand out in the least. However, one in particular caught Seth's attention at once:

The picture portrayed a man in his early thirties, although curly-haired and paler-skinned, seemed somehow familiar. But the conceit in his gaze and arrogant smirk made Seth certain of the reliability of Geoffrey's sources

"When and where was this taken?" questioned Seth one last time

"Malaysia, sometime in 1985," Geoffrey answered "It mean anything to you?"

The exact notion may have escaped Seth, but another of his comrades provided new insight into the case:

"Yes, I do remember this man," Tanvir Khatri confirmed " As a young man, I accompanied my father on one of his business trips to Kuala Lumpur."

"Did you notice anything odd about him?" asked Geoffrey, pen and notepad readied

"Apart from the fact that he was somewhat darker-skinned than in the photograph, he seemed to be unnaturally nervous, as if he had something urgent to do. He kept talking under his breath about 'the damn papers' for some reason."

"Is that all?" inquired Seth, sounding vaguely disappointed

"He dropped his passport as he brushed by me in the airport. Apparently, Mr. Frank Dunbar had quite a time getting back to his native Britain."

With the news of the (albeit party to a great deal of stalling) special Congressional sessions and the fact that Mahathir Li was probably himself guilty of multiple felonies, Seth had failed to notice that he had not even looked at a bottle of alcohol in three days:

"I think you'd be interested in this," said Yi, placing her phone in front of Seth "The governors of Indiana and Arizona have activated their parts of their National Guards to put the bastards down."

"What's Li going to do?" Seth balked "Have the military put down the National Guard for stopping foreign troops from attacking Americans? Even he's not that stupid!"

Soon after, the party sent to Washington (Hawk in tow) had arrived, flushed and winded, but all looking very pleased with themselves:

"Well, we did it," informed Kemp breathlessly "We finally stuck it in their faces so they can't ignore it."

"All right! Excellent!" said Seth "Geoffrey's sources just proved for us that "Mahathir Li" is in fact, the biggest crook ever to hold office in Washington."

"Wow! That's some claim!" Reeve conceded "Can we see em'?"

"Of course! In fact, after you're done with them, I was going to have Geoffrey take them to Vesela and Drago and make as many copies as possible."

However, others were less pleased with the current turn of events:

"Who the hell is this," asked Ursula, halfheartedly leaning against her PSG-1 "And do I need to turn this on him?"

"Careful there," warned Reeve "I want to introduce you to the magnificent bastard who made our current good fortunes possible: Colonel Alexander Hawk."

"Pleasure to meet you all," Hawk greeted

"No, it's all mine," replied Ursula impatiently "Now can anyone tell me who the guy in the coma on this bed is? Seth's uncle and that bitch bought him here a couple of weeks back. Said he pissed off someone in the SC."

A dark-haired man of average height, his meticulously-planned clothing was matted with blood and dirt. The stranger seemed unresponsive to any sort of prodding or spontaneous, loud noises (or even combinations of the two such as dragging the bed across the room).

"Now, what I don't get," began Seth, listening for a heartbeat "He's clearly alive, but he's showing absolutely no response. Where's Alison, anyway?"

"Last I heard from her, she was in Nevada," informed Ursula "She went with some doctors to try to treat the wounded at one of the safehouses there. That woman hates mobile phones for some reason."

"Well now that the S has officially HTF," reminded Reeve "I think that might be able to break our radio silence."

Finally, the group received their awaited response:

Groaning slowly, Salamanca opened one eye, searching his surroundings:

"Ow, my head," he moaned "Where am I?"

"Good to see you awake, Lieutenant," greeted Iwane

"Takenaka? What are you doing here? Can someone tell me just what's going on now?

I have a feeling I've been out for a good while."

"Just get some more sleep," advised Reeve "I'll explain at dinner."

By dinner that evening, the topic of concern had shifted mainly towards how their foe would (in theory) be removed from his perch:

"So Li's getting the boot, right?" asked Natalka, perplexed as to how this could turn out differently

"Who knows?" Kemp replied "It's been two days and Congress is still dragging their heels over this."

"Can't the states themselves bring charges against an official?" inquired Chua "Maybe I'm not remembering right, but I think there was something along those lines."

"Yes, but that asshole Lain will probably use his power as Majority Leader to hold up the process."

"I do not believe that will be a problem," said Drago, a mixture of fear and anticipation present in his voice

A brief minute of television viewing revealed that, in spite of the enhanced security measures, Senate Majority Leader Joseph Lain had fallen victim to an assassin's bullet.

Naturally, no one present shed any tears over the demise of one of the SC's most enthusiastic supporters, but speculation abounded as to the motive and identity of the assassin. Seth's group was no exception to this:

"Wow, people really have started to lose it," remarked Reeve "Maybe they realized we're finally out of that awkward stage."

Perhaps this assassination was the work of an average, disgruntled citizen. Someone particularly wronged by the SC, Seth thought. Although the possibility that the killing was linked to one of the defectors from the organization remained firmly in his mind.

There was a strange, palpable mixture of optimism and fear in the air as to what the coming unrest might bring. Seth, realizing there was little more that could be done for now, began to mentally plot his next course of action.

XXI

As the boiling heat of the summer gave way to the crisp, cool air of September, Seth and his group doubled their efforts to bring down the rouge president and his enforcement arm: While the governors of Indiana, Oklahoma, and Arizona had mobilized National Guard units (joining them during the month were New Mexico, South Carolina, Ohio, Missouri, and Georgia, a unit from the last soundly defeating a Pakistani division during a skirmish on the border with Florida).

"Things really seem to be getting interesting now, don't they?" remarked Ursula

"I'll say," Alison replied "As far as I've known, politicians see their constituents as potential dangers to their jobs, never their lives."

"In this case, that's a good thing," reminded Hawk "If members of Congress actually start fearing for their lives, this stalling on the SC matter won't last nearly as long."

Meanwhile, Geoffrey, Yi, and the Franklins had been working tirelessly with their contacts to spread the information about the shady, extra-legal dealings of the White House's current occupant:

"I had an old friend of mine working at the Chinese embassy in Kuala Lumpur look into the records for Frank Dunbar," informed Yi "Records of this man are strangely hard to come by."

"Dammit, so you came back empty-handed?" Seth inquired irritably

"Not in the least. She just sent me something really damning."

Placing an unmarked file folder on the nearest table, Yi revealed the folder to contain several worn, yellowed, but still-legible sheets of paper:

"Apparently, nearly all of the relevant documents were either 'lost' or intentionally destroyed. Probably by Dunbar himself, "she speculated "The few I was able to get my hands on show evidence of a Malaysian man named Mahathir Li fathering an illegitimate son with an American woman named Maya Dunbar."

"Meaning?" replied, Seth unsure as to where she was going with this information

"Mr. Dunbar traveled with a British passport until around 1987. The man we currently know and revile as 'Mahathir Li' applied for an American passport applied for and received an American passport in 2003."

"So that must mean-"

"That the man himself is not just a fraud, but guilty at least one charge of fraud."

"Well, for once I have some good news," said Ursula proudly

"What is it?" Seth replied, sensing some sort of (albeit helpful) troublemaking

"Your legislature has finally begun inquiries into the Security Committee's actions and those of their leader."

"That's great! But I don't understand: Pretty much all of Li's party is going to close ranks around him and the 'opposition' are notoriously spineless and corrupt. Why would they just start now? Is the pressure really getting to them enough for them to abandon their cushy retirements and Swiss bank accounts?"

"You're forgetting that I can be very influential if I so choose."

Seth chuckled maliciously:

"So you bribed a third of them and recorded evidence which will lead to their future prosecutions, threatened another third of their family members, and the rest just fell in line after that?" he speculated

Ursula shrugged:

"Pretty much," she confirmed "Although at times, it got a bit bloodier than that."

"Let me guess: A guy woke up with a horse's head in his bed."

"No, actually he woke up wearing as like a mask."

Although Seth seemed to have largely gotten over the initial shock and disgust at Verraad's betrayal, since the early days of that September, Seth had forgone alcohol abuse for a potentially even more self-destructive vice. A fact which did not go unnoticed by some of his more perceptive colleagues:

Late one night after a suspicious, extended absence, Seth was finally caught by Floyd Reeve, his sunglasses replaced with conventional spectacles:

"Hey, Casey," called the Sergeant Major, pulling the younger man aside "I've been back to this place four times in the past month, and you've never been around. What gives?"

"Nothing, "lied Seth, placing his M40 behind him "I was just out for a walk."

Reeve chuckled amusedly:

"You know that you are a terrible liar, right?" he said "You and I both know how dangerous it is to just aimlessly walk around with no purpose. Now what were you really up to?"

"Fine, fine," conceded Seth "Every night, I've been going out and taking a few shots here and there at the Turkish detachment deployed here. It was just killing me to sit around, doing nothing while everybody else was out risking their necks."

"That's really noble of you. Stupid and reckless, but noble. If it's bothering you that much, I've got something you might be interested in."

From one of his jacket pockets, Reeve produced a crumpled letter, the space below the text displaying a detailed, map-like diagram:

"The layout of a large SC detention facility in northern California," explained Reeve "A friend of mine is an officer in the Oregon National Guard. One planning a 'training exercise' in the general vicinity a few weeks from now."

"Go on..." Seth replied, spirits rising alongside his tone

"Only problem is the facility is staffed by a Brazilian artillery battalion, and a notoriously trigger-happy one at that."

"So you're saying you need me and a few guys to get in there, disable the artillery, kill the communications officers, break out the prisoners, take over the armory, and then get the hell out?"

"Exactly."

"Perfect! We'll leave in an hour or so!"

However, Seth's initial enthusiasm was deflated somewhat by the fact that he would be able to take (at most three others) and that according to Reeve, a battalion could be manned by three hundred to thirteen hundred men. Still, he failed to see himself and his teammates deviating from the context of a stealth mission, the chaos of a prisoner uprising, and the fact that support would be at most, half an hour away, made the task appear less daunting:

"Alright, some real action!" exclaimed Brad Chua "It was killing me just taking potshots here and there."

"You and me both," Seth replied grimly

"Well, sir," began Tanvir Khatri "I can now be completely truthful with you when I say that I am ready to get back in the field."

With two prospective members eager and ready, Seth would have preferred an even number (or multiple of five) of operatives for the undertaking. Just as the three were about to depart, an unexpected volunteer offered his aid:

"Hey!" called Adam "I'm going with you!"

"What are you saying!?" a shocked Kemp replied "Of course you're not! This isn't one of your little schemes, Adam. This is war. It's legitimately dangerous."

The younger Kemp sighed exasperatedly:

"Look dad," he began "I know that I've been a slacker pretty much my entire life. I may not have Julia's brains or Jeff's determination, but I know for damn sure that I'm not just going to sit around doing nothing while you stick your neck out to avenge our family!"

"I know it's not my place," said Seth "But knowing that someone you care about is in danger, and knowing that there's something you can do, but are unable.

That's a horrible feeling."

"Come on, let the kid show what he's made of," coaxed Reeve "Casey and I already went over this: Mainly it's nothing more than infiltrating the camp, disabling the artillery, freeing the detainees, and raising hell, then getting out. Your boy wouldn't even need to get in the line of fire. All he'd need is a rifle or something."

"Besides, dad. Even if you tell me not to it doesn't matter. I'm not a little kid.

I'm a man who can decide what he's willing to fight for."

Brian Kemp's steely demeanor gradually softened as he approached his son, his expression changing from one of defiance to pride:

"You know, you're right," he said, shaking his son's hand "You are a grown man, old enough to make his own decisions about his beliefs and be willing to die for them. You've proven yourself more than capable in these crazy times, and I'm damn proud of you for all of it. Stay safe out there."

"You've got it, old man," Adam replied affectionately, embracing his father "I'm gonna make you, mom, Jeff, and Julia all proud."

The stress of occupying the office of the President of the United States alone would take a noticeable toll on anyone: But the specters of almost every lawmaker, bureaucrat, and functionary in Washington clamoring for protection from a Security Committee already taxed to the breaking point, an increasingly restive population, an increasing number of state governors mobilizing their National Guards to do battle with the expeditionary forces, and hearings underway about his own (as well as that of Congress) culpability in the entire affair, Mathir Li had come to see the idea of one of his pens as a makeshift mate for an electrical outlet to be an increasingly appealing one....

To say nothing of the monthly, increasingly provocative visits from his "benefactor":

"Well, Mr. President," bin Ahmed "It seems that this whole situation has become a complete and utter failure. Or should I say, Mr. Dunbar? Was your mother's family truly so loathsome, that you attempt to this day to cling to the father that abandoned you as a child?"

To bin Ahmed's surprise, the president, despite looking extremely fatigued, failed to respond (to what he would have normally perceived as a grievous sleight):

"Give the emergency order," the president commanded flatly "You are my mediator. Send the diplomatic cables to the owners' capitals."

"It took you long enough. I would have expected someone of your manipulative caliber to have required it a long time before."

"I'm a politician," reminded Li "I prefer subtlety much more, but at times, a forceful method is needed: The expeditionary troops are to occupy forty-eight of the state capitals and demand compliance from their governments. Alaska is too out-of-the-way to bother with, and half of the Hawaiian state government has been covering for me this whole time. I owe them a debt of gratitude for that."

"Alright, bin Ahmed," began Li "I know you want something for your trouble."

"I am very intrigued by this 'National Security Agency' of yours," answered bin Ahmed innocently "Perhaps I might tour their headquarters?"

"Fine, sure, whatever. If you can pull this out of your ass, I'll give you myself a guided tour of Vandenberg."

The violent, often lonely life of a revolutionary left little opportunity for a social life.

However, Verraad Thorn, in between raids against Security Committee agents and other government employees, along with commanding officers in the National Guard, served various roles among his comrades: His interactions ranged from brotherly to oddly paternal regarding the young girl Svetlana.

But nothing could quell the man's lust for life: Not the knowledge of being pursued by three of the most influential armed factions in North America, the isolation from the allies he had abandoned, nor the cool, lonely forests of northern California would shake his convictions:

"Alright boys," began Verraad, anticipation dripping from his words "The other cells that passed through the area have all reported a large SC holding facility, garrisoned by a battalion from Brazil."

"You're kidding, right?" replied a tall, bulky fellow defector "Even if we get the drop on them, there are only six of us worth a damn in battle. We'd get slaughtered eventually."

"I know, but detachments from Oregon's National Guard have been conducting an unusually large number of training exercises. All we have to do is infiltrate the base, disable about half of their artillery pieces, and harden their radar so that they'll expect the NG. Just like we, and all the others have been doing since the split: Get in, complete the mission, and get out. Any questions."

Verraad's six combat-ready companions murmured in general agreement.

"Hey, Blum," called Verraad, addressing a wispy, somewhat effeminate man "Come here,"

"Something wrong, Verraad?" Blum replied "It's not like you to be nervous about a mission."

Verraad placing his arm around the younger man, the two set slowly off into the forest:

"That Svetlana," he began "She's a good kid. At first, I was kind of wary about bringing her with us, but I think it's done me some good."

"What's your relationship to her anyway?" inquired Blum "She your kid sister or something?"

"No. It may sound weird, but I've kind of been her babysitter off and on for the past few months."

"What did you bring me out here for, anyway?"

Verraad, exhaling deeply, removed his arm from Blum's shoulder:

"If for some reason, I don't come back from a mission," he said heavily "I need you to get Svetlana back to her parents."

"Well, well," replied Blum, traces of concern noticeable in his tone "What bought this on?"

"Nothing in particular. It's just that this is a dangerous business, and I want to make sure she'll be taken care of if I'm gone."

"It's kind of a weird request, but okay: I promise that I'll take care of her if you can't do so."

"Thanks man."

"So remind me where exactly we are again?" said Seth "I spent the last couple of hours asleep."

"Northern California, somewhere in the Klamath Mountains," Chua reminded "The compound's about half a mile up ahead."

"It's friggin freezing out here!" complained Adam "Can we just get this over with?"

The temperature was not the only foreboding factor for the mission's success:

The heavily forested mountain range was very isolated and lacked almost any sources of natural light, and even the slightest chance for precipitation could potentially hamper the group's progress.

Although potential advantages of the adverse conditions were not lost on some:

"Granted these conditions are not favorable," noted Khatri "But keep in mind that even with the use of night-vision devices, it will still be difficult for a battalion-sized formation to monitor all potential entry points for a large facility surrounded by forest."

"Yep," Chua replied "Five guys in dark blue clothing aren't exactly easy to spot."

While the complex was only half a mile from their position, Seth's group decided to time their arrival to coincide with a late hour and the resultant reduced patrols, as well as allowing the National Guard unit in question the necessary time to locate the position.

Similar to the area where Seth was held, the Brazilian-garrisoned complex consisted of a number of buildings of varying size and a large, clearing, all enclosed by barbed-wire fences. Seth reminded his team mates that, while they had a fair amount of cover, the camp could not be approached lightly:

"What time is it?" asked Seth tensely "I lost my watch a few months back."

"Ten-thirty," Adam replied, taking his focus away from his few prospective targets and M24 Sniper rifle "Dad said the 82nd Cavalry Regiment should be on maneuvers in this around midnight."

"Perfect. We should begin in about half an hour. That should give us time to get in, disable the artillery, release the prisoners, break into the armory, and raise general hell."

The only reason Seth failed to take note of his team's general apprehension for the coming battle was the fact that he visibly shared the same sentiment. Seth, not being one to meddle with a weapon any more than required, even found himself disassembling his AK-103, cleaning it thoroughly, and reassembling it (laser sight and suppressor no exception) within the space of ten minutes.

Two-thirds of the way into the designated period of time, the team found an opportunity, in the form of three stragglers, just too perfect to pass up:

"What are they doing that far from the barracks?" asked Khatri anxiously

"Don't know," Seth replied disinterestedly, turning to Adam "Take off your suppressor and kill one of them."

"Wait, why just one?" inquired Adam, shooting Seth a strange glance

"Do it. And when the other two come about a fifty yards from here, kill another one."

Although confused, Adam Kemp complied with the strange order, striking down the Brazilian soldier on the right, the weapon shattering the night's calm:

"Get ready!" ordered Seth, loading a magazine into his weapon

As the two figures came into focus and their voices audible, Seth turned towards their sniper and nodded, Kemp dispatching the soldier to the left.

Leaping from the forest's cover, a burst of fire from Seth's weapon ended the remaining (visibly shaken) soldier:

"Damn, these are too small for me," muttered Seth, examining their recently-slain enemies

"I see what you we're doing, boss!" Chua said, smirking mischievously

"Not that strange a concept. Although, I think these will fit you and Tanvir."

Surely enough, the garments were, although with traces of blood, perfect fits for the two.

Recovering the corpse of the third soldier, Seth found that he and the man shared a similar body type.

"Wait, we only have three!" alerted Khatri

"I suppose we could wait for another patrol to come around," Seth said, scratching his chin

"No time," replied Adam curtly "We only have about an hour and twenty-five minutes to pull this off. Don't worry about me. I'll try to support you guys from out here."

Approaching the fences slowly, the trio stopped along a particularly shadowy stretch, Seth, drawing a slowly but surely cut a hole accommodating the average man.

Upon gaining entrance to the facility, Seth realized just how massive an installation it was:

"Dammit, this is going to be a little tougher than I thought," he said "I need you two to find us a map of the place and a truck or something."

"Got it, boss," confirmed Chua "What about you?"

"First things first: Get rid of the artillery."

About seven hundred yards from their entry point, Seth located his (miraculously unguarded) targets:

Six ASTROS II rocket artillery platforms, with a corresponding number of what Seth assumed to be supply trucks. Initially, his plan consisted of either dropping a live grenade into each of the vehicles or planting the C4 issued to him, detonating it a short period after getting to a safe distance. However, this approach would surely alert every soldier in the facility, a firefight with an entire battalion being an undesirable prospect, to say the least.

A more level-headed analysis prompted Seth merely to set the explosive charges onto the vehicles, targeting particularly vulnerable portions of the body, waiting for the opportune moment to detonate them.

Finally, a strange, smaller vehicle, topped by a small radar dish, caught Seth's attention.

Unsure as to how exactly such a machine would function; he concluded that it must be somehow related to the artillery battery, most likely a navigational component.

C4 already expended on the rocket platforms, Seth settled for dismantling the dish and the wiring on the internal computer.

Initially prepared to fire on an incoming truck, a closer inspection revealed the vehicle to be operated by Chua and Khatri:

"Next stop: The northwest sector," said the former in a faux-conductor's tone "You getting on or not boss?"

Without hesitation, Seth squeezed himself into the truck's cabin, passing his M1911 to Chua:

"Just in case the shooting starts a little too early," he replied

A few minutes' drive bringing the team to the reconnaissance (which in reality, was more of a large shed) building, they, after abandoning the vehicle, readied their weapons in preparation for a swift assault against the structure. However, what was found baffled, relieved, and unnerved the trio simultaneously:

The intelligence officer and his two subordinates, were (judging by their wounds and unreadied weapons) recently deceased. Further investigation revealed the surveillance equipment's wiring had been tampered with to the point of being worthless.

"Good, it saves us some time," Chua said off-handedly "It's already half an hour until midnight."

"That may be so, but it's strange," Seth replied uneasily "Keep your eyes open."

Of course, by this point the Brazilians had noticed their missing comrades, and had increased patrols accordingly. Fortunately, the combination of the pilfered uniforms, the truck, and dim lighting allowed the group to proceed to the holding facilities unmolested.

"Damn, this place is huge," marveled Chua

"Doesn't matter," answered Seth shortly "Tanvir, use this tool bag to break into the armory. Brad, keep a lookout for any of the soldiers."

Cold, sterile, metallic, and with a great number of poorly-light corridors, Seth found this facility even more unpleasant than his own place of detention. Weaving through several hallways, Seth located a heavy steel door, which presumably, led to the holding area.

Making use of his one remaining tool, (a crowbar) Seth attempted in vain to pry the door open:

"Breaking and entering like a common criminal?" taunted Verraad, emerging from the shadows "Come on, Seth! I thought you were better than that!"

Recoiling in a combination of surprise and revulsion, Seth dropped everything in favor of his AK-103, swerving to face the man:

"I get why you ratted me out," Seth growled "But a lot of good men and women died because you and your group couldn't put aside your own biases for the sake of everyone else around you!"

Verraad chuckled condescendingly:

"Seth, Seth, Seth," he began "Do you really think anyone bought that "fighting to correct my mistakes' BS? Of course not. The only reason you didn't just continue as a mercenary is that you stood to gain something if those two wannabe Generalissimos did actually succeed in bringing down the SC. What exactly that is, I have no idea."

"And what about you!? What are you fighting for!? Do you honestly believe that murdering some government employee just trying to provide for his kid is the same as assassinating an SC officer who murdered thousands of Americans or the politician that supported him!?"

"Seth, my friend," said Verraad in an arrogant, serious tone "I'm fighting for freedom. Either you get it or you don't. I offered all of you the chance. Well, you and anyone else that wasn't completely compromised like Ursula or Geoffrey. But the majority of you guys didn't see your rights as worth killing for until it personally affected you. Even sweet Alison fell into this way of thinking."

Seth's body began to quiver in fury:

"Don't...you...dare... talk about her," he spat "You lead on and sleep with a woman you knew idolized you and wasn't exactly the most emotionally stable person in the world, only to betray her with some skank you picked up once, and then get half of your comrades killed because some of them don't share your view of what the country should be?! I should have figured you out months ago! I can't believe I ever saw anything in you!"

"Conviction," replied Verraad calmly, pulling back his pistol's slide "Besides, you and I both know that you won't pull that trigger on me."

Terrifyingly enough, in the small, remote region of his mind not poisoned with murderous rage, Seth knew Verraad was somewhat correct:

Some mental block made it next to impossible for Seth to consider a man that had fought and bled alongside him, and shared times, both good and bad, to be truly a fiend deserving to suffer.

However, Seth's internal conflict over the fate of his former friend was short-lived:

Temporarily halting his advance on Seth, Verraad, apparently perceiving something amiss, turned to face the corridor:

"What the hell are you-"

Veraad's sentence was prematurely punctuated by three gunshots fired in quick succession. As Verraad's lifeless body sunk to the ground, the figure came into focus:

"Remember that night in Moscow?" Geoffrey said, holstering his weapon "Now we're even."

"Geoffrey!?" exclaimed Seth, lowering his weapon "What are you doing here?! I thought you were in Brussels!"

"I was," Geoffrey replied curtly "But did you really think Kemp would send his son into a war zone without someone looking after him? Besides, I'm looking for something in this facility."

Seth's confusion and tension suddenly became dwarfed by relief and gratitude:

"Don't bother with the tools by the war," advised the Frenchman, producing a key card "Try this instead."

"Thanks. Tanvir and Brad just raided the armory. Help them distribute the weapons."

"Not a problem."

Locating the appropriate slot and making use of the card, Seth was finally able to access the holding area. While better maintained than Seth's detention facility, the air of pure despair was considerably more palpable. Not to mention the sheer size of the detention wing made the prospect of freeing every detainee quite daunting:

"See, I knew you'd make it," came a bored, familiar voice from a nearby cell

"Dr. Amsel?" said Seth incredulously

"In the flesh. Although probably not for much longer if you didn't show."

"What do you mean?"

"Apparently, the garrison here got the order to start executing the detainees by the week's end."

"Of course! But it's going to take hours to unlock all of these cells!"

"Did you check the console next to the door?"

Surely enough, next to the ajar steel door, was a large, two-by-four foot control console, bearing an impressive array lights and switches, as well as an identical slot for key card access:

"One of those unlocks the lot of the cells, "called Amsel "I've seen senior SC agents and the Brazilian commander using it. I just never got a good look at the panel."

The doctor's advice, while well intentioned, did not exactly make Seth's task easier:

With one hundred separate switches, levers, and buttons, unsure of the function of all of them, Seth merely slid the card through the appropriate slot and went for the largest, most important-looking switch. With the explosion coinciding with the switch's activation, Seth had initially feared (he would not have put it past the SC to have instituted some kind of murderous failsafe in the system) the worst, although the emergence of Dr. Amsel and several other ragged, but grateful prisoners had allayed that fear somewhat:

"Dammit, the Brazilians will have heard that," reminded Amsel "Although, everyone that's survived this long seems to be fine."

"The 82nd Cavalry from Oregon's National Guard is in the immediate area," Seth informed urgently "Take all the survivors and look for a short Frenchman with glasses, a Sikh, and a burly Cambodian guy by a little further up. They just raided the armory, and they'll get people here whatever they need."

"Got it. Anything else?"

"If everything went right, the 82nd should reach this camp in about five minutes or so.

Can you guys hold them off until then?"

"If those three you're entrusting us to are any good, probably. These guys aren't exactly their highly-trained, elite forces."

"Oh, right," blurted Amsel "Before I forget, these two held here have been asking about you. An older couple, they seemed to be really distraught."

"Can you describe them?" replied Seth, cautious optimism in his tone

"Well, the woman had this dark hair and pale, almost milky skin."

"And the man?"

"Tall and kind of gaunt-looking. Could have been your father."

Before the doctor could continue, Seth had set off deeper into the facility, optimistic, yet fearful of what the facility could hold. After all: Seth assumed that no one would stay willingly, only under the circumstances of being dead or gravely wounded would they remain.

However, in the very back of the holding area, Seth distinctly perceived two very familiar voices conversing closely to him:

"Mom, dad?" he called hesitantly

"Oh, Seth!" cried Maria, forcefully embracing her son "Thank God you're alive!"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he confirmed breathily, surprised by his mother's extremely strong grip "How is dad?"

Leading her son into the nearby cell, Seth was relieved, yet disconcerted by his father's visible pain:

"Hey, Seth!" called Leon, masking his pain "I told your mother you'd be fine!"

"Are you alright? Can you stand?"

"Of course."

Leon Casey, upon rising to his feet for a short period groaned audibly, resigning himself to the floor:

"You're hurt pretty badly," said Seth "There's no way you're walking out of here. A National Guard unit is probably here by now. I'll get one of their medics to treat you."

"I guess you're right," conceded Leon sourly "I'd rather you be more concerned about your mother though."

"Why the special concern? She seems to be in better shape than you are."

Visibly uncomfortable and ashamed, Leon relayed to his son the details of their encounter with Maria's former student:

"So that explains the scratches and bruising..." muttered Seth

"Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be forced to watch your wife violated by some crazy bitch, while you can't even stand, much less help her?! I'd be kicking myself if I could lift one of my legs!"

Remaining silent, all of Seth's emotion, apart from a detached, yet virulent rage, suddenly died. Murderous, sadistic, predatory, and quite possibly insane, Seth would no longer be satisfied with the prospect of merely ending Tabitha Li's life.

No, she had to suffer. Badly, he thought.

Faint echoes of automatic weapons' fire now becoming constant, Seth set out to reunite with his team and complete the mission, rushing for the facility's entrance:

"Our backup's already here, right?" Seth yelled over the machine guns

"Their armor's turning the Brazilian vehicles into scrap metal," shouted Chua, over a burst from his M249 "But we've got to defend this building for a few more minutes before we can begin evacuation!"

"RPG!" warned Khatri, seeking cover behind a wall

Realizing that the grenadier was still preparing his arm, Seth fired the remaining rounds to neutralize the enemy:

"This is going to be a long five minutes," groused Seth

The Brazilian garrison, their commander apparently seeing the defensive benefits of the holding facility, had sent two companies in an attempt to quickly overrun their position.

Seth and Khatri, focusing on eliminating the RPG wielders, allowed the machine-gunners the opportunity to greatly impede the flood towards their position.

After six minutes of (at the very least attempting) advancing, the remnants of the two companies began retreating west. Initially, the group had prepared to fire on the troops advancing from the northeast before spotting an American flag:

"Which one of you is Casey?" inquired the formations officer

Stepping forward, Seth shook the man's extended hand

"Lieutenant Colonel Jack Morrow, 82nd Cavalry Regiment," he introduced "You've done some good work. The Sergeant Major has arranged for your extraction. Me and my men will clean up here and engage any incoming reinforcements.

"Thanks, but it's not done yet; We've got an unknown number of wounded inside this facility, a couple can't even stand on their own two feet.

"Sure thing, just leave it to us. Worst case scenario, we can get the wounded to hospitals back on base or in Eugene."

"Wait, isn't that kind of dangerous? I'm sure the SC would have little trouble getting someone to inform them of the fact that their recently-escaped political prisoners are scattered among the hospitals of Oregon's major cities."

"Ooooh, boy. You've been out here a while, haven't you?"

XXII

Lieutenant Colonel Karim Banuri of the Pakistani Armed Forces, although somewhat surprised at the assignment handed down by his superiors, dutifully complied.

Given command of an Army battalion, Banuri and his troops were deployed to the American city of Austin with the mission of apprehending a rouge local governor and his political allies, an operation mirrored in some twenty-five other American states by formations of various nationalities.

As his troops marched on the State Capitol, Banuri was surprised further at the lack of armed resistance from a population purportedly so trigger-happy:

"Has he been located yet?" Banuri asked his adjutant

"Momentarily, sir," replied the junior officer "Reportedly, they're holding a special session right now."

Within minutes, several squads of Pakistani soldiers stormed from the building, each with a single prisoner in tow. The governor, Richard Thompson, bought before the Lieutenant Colonel and pushed onto his knees

"Governor Thompson," began Banuri in a remotely bored tone "You are no doubt aware of your government's order to cease interference in the operations of the peacekeeping forces, yes?"

Thompson spat at the foreign officer's general direction:

"Yeah, I know," he replied defiantly "And I ain't doing it! What would you do if foreign troops were raising hell across your country with a written invitation from your government?"

"Thank you, governor. You've saved us both a great deal of time"

From the holster at his side, Banuri produced a Tokarev pistol, shooting the governor twice in the forehead:

"Gather the rest of them for questioning," ordered Banuri "Costa's list will tell you which are not to be harmed."

Unattractive, but generally inconspicuous to the common observer, one would not at first glance suspect a certain dive bar just outside of Portland to serve any purpose outside of being an eyesore. Seth and his associates, hoped to keep it that way. A week after the raid in the Klamath Mountains, gathered at the bar to discuss the rapidly deteriorating situation.

"So now that things have gone completely to hell and devolved officially into open warfare, what do we do now?" asked Kemp, preparing drinks for the attending individuals

"Apparently, their constituents put their guns to the legislators' heads, some of them literally, to the point where the impeachment process has begun against Li," Reeve informed, nursing a drink at the bar "First thing this 'opposition' party has done with some spine since the mid-terms. Still, that doesn't guarantee that he'll get the boot; it still has to go through the Senate, and they serve as the jury for the trial."

"Oh, he's going to get found out," said Seth, noticeable anger in his tone "Not just for the fraud, the perjury, or even just for God-only-knows how many counts of conspiracy to commit murder. If he doesn't, I'm sure that someone will give him a couple of extra holes to breathe out of."

"Aren't you concerned about an SC raid on this position?" inquired Vesla "I know it's your property, but that never stopped them before."

Ursula emptied her glass of liquor:

"Not in the least," she replied bluntly "The American military has actually started firing on CS agents during their 'training' missions. The vermin are probably beginning to scatter as we speak."

"Did you hear about that Arab division from Ramallah deployed to Atlanta?" asked Alison "Awful, just awful. They couldn't have just killed the governor; they had to take out their frustration on the people, didn't they?"

" _Putain animaux,"_ grumbled Geoffrey "It wouldn't surprise me at all if Costa told their commander to let them off of their leash as a reward."

"Don't make the mistake of thinking that they're some ragtag band of conscripts," advised Kemp grimly "As far as I know, these guys are affiliated with Fatah, not to mention American armed and trained. I expect them completely to fight to the last man to give the Great Satan a bloody nose."

"Then we'll provide them with that opportunity, won't we?" said Adam vengefully

"Alright, now that we seem to have convinced the bulk of the American people that Mathir Li is not their angelic savior," began Reeve "I think it's high time we discuss our plans for after the conflict."

"What, you mean rebuilding?" inquired Yi semi-sarcastically

"No, the spoils: Now it's a pretty safe bet that we're all after some immunity to prosecution for our...less-than-honorable acts committed during this conflict. Apart from that, does anyone have any special requests?"

"Some kind of legal alien status in this country," said Ursula "Even if I could go home I wouldn't want to: I've just got a feeling that something really ominous and potentially destructive is going down there in the near future."

"Anyone else?" offered Reeve

"This is all very generous of you," answered Hawk cautiously, giving his old friend a bewildered look "But the next few years are going to be the biggest Charlie Foxtrot in American history: How exactly do you intend to deliver?"

"Oh, I have my ways," assured Reeve "Don't you worry about that."

"Hey, Seth," said Ursula softly, taking the stool next to him "Are you feeling alright?

You've barely said a word all week."

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied "This whole thing is almost over. Why wouldn't I be feeling good?"

"Something just seems to be bothering you. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. Just don't let your anger get the better of you."

Perhaps Ursula had a point:

His dedication to destroy the Security Committee (with Tabitha Li in particular) had progressed into full-blown obsession. Precious few of his deep thoughts failed to stray from the topic of ending the conflict, as well as pursuing and destroying SC members and their enablers in the government. The vengeful sentiments remained with him even as the subdued din of the bar lulled him to sleep.

As the November cold crept, the battle had begun to turn decisively in their favor:

Seth, Khatri, and Chua had spent the better portion of the tenth and eleventh months of that year organizing impromptu raiding parties across the West and Southwest of Americans against SC offices and smaller foreign formations:

Standing out particularly in Seth's mind was a raid against a Somali company and their SC guides in western Texas, where he led seventy-five individuals of varying skill level in an attack which killed the SC agents, ninety-five percent of the foreign company, and scattered the survivors into the desert:

"The media was wrong about you," said a partisan around thirty-five years of age, offering Seth his hand "You're alright."

"Don't worry about it," replied Seth, shaking his hand "Besides, we're not done here yet!"

Clashes between American troops (quite a few returning from Iraq and Afghanistan) and the foreign occupiers had become a common occurrence, the latter suffering a series of crushing defeats:

"Did you hear about the battle outside of Missouri's capital?" inquired Kemp in an uncharacteristically excited tone

"Why, should I have?" Seth asked

"Of course you should have!" scolded Adam "The 35th Infantry fought three divisions from Bosnia and handed them their asses!"

"Of course the remainder of the officer corps is siding with us now," interjected Yi "If they just stood by any longer, there's a very real threat that their own men will cut their throats in their sleep."

Across the fronts however, their progress was not nearly as uniform:

"Of course the Senate's stalling," growled Seth "

"Probably to give themselves time to burn documents," replied Geoffrey semi-seriously "Or moving funds to their offshore accounts."

"But really," Reeve said "The chance of the main conspirators in this whole thing flying the coop is pretty high. It would stand to reason that they would stage some big event to cover their escape."

"You've got a point," conceded Seth "But sitting here with our thumbs up our asses isn't doing us any good."

"I agree," Reeve replied "That's why I thought you'd be up for a search and destroy mission, Casey."

"Of course! I'll start planning right away But security's going to be really tight... Anything else I should take into consideration."

"Well, there is one thing..."

Commander Hassan Ajam of the eponymous Nablus division was quite puzzled by the behavior of his hosts: For some unknown purpose, the Security Committee's deputy chief had requested him and his men to the American capital:

"I trust that my men meet your requirements, Mr. Costa," said Ajam, reviewing the rows of his troops "Although I feel mere garrison duties a waste of their skills."

"Not in the least, Commander," reassured Costa, smirking viciously "How are your troops at keeping order?"

"I promise you that the finest soldiers in all of Palestine are now watching over your city."

Preparim Prifti had become quite irritated with the decline in morale among his subordinates:

Talk of countries lacking extradition treaties with the United States, catastrophic losses in their ranks, and copycat raids on their facilities after last month's attack in California we're unlikely to help. Prifti had even gone so far as to forbid his personnel from discussing such matters.

Costa's recent good spirits, although tempted to chalk it up to his regular arrogance, was unusually self-sure as of late. Nonetheless, Prifti continued with his mission, determined to upstage Costa once and for all:

"No one told me it would be so dry out here," he groused

"Well, sir, it is Georgia and November," reminded his adjutant

"I wouldn't know, I never actually thought I would have to come here."

The din of machine gun fire and screams of the dying piercing the silence of the woods, Prifti seemed unconcerned at the dire straits of his organization:

"Sir, it really wasn't needed for you to oversee this operation," said his adjutant "It is dangerous for a man of your standing, after all."

"Don't be stupid," Prifti scolded "Disposing of six thousand of these filthy rebels in one night.

Of course I had to be here! With our biggest bust in months, I'm sure to be back in the President's good books soon."

Given weeks of warning to the contrary, and the recent (even by their standards) heavy-handed tactics applied by the SC, virtually no one under his command was surprised by the news of his Preparim Prifti's assassination in that forest that night.

With the specter of winter looming over the country, Seth, although his mind firmly affixed (some would say obsessed) upon planning his mission, could sense the odd amalgamation of fear, optimism, and relief prevalent among his cohorts:

At the request of his uncle, Ursula, Geoffrey, and Seth accompanied him to visit his sister and brother-in-law at a Portland hospital. Although still distraught at the significant physical and psychological pain he had witnessed his parents in, as well as feeling somewhat guilty about his neglect of them, his nephew agreed to come.

Geoffrey almost immediately going off with his mobile phone, Seth and Ursula were joined by the petite blonde woman Ursula had introduced months before as Marina.

Ursula, trading a few sentences of relieved, but confounded Russian with the woman, turned to her left to find the (somewhat) staggering, but unmistakable frame of Sergei, bandaged head and all, emerging from the nearby corridor, his wife leaping into the giant's embrace:

"Little cousin! Seth!" he roared "All the time I was conscious, I was very worried!"

"We've never been better," answered Seth "How did you get those bandages

"I had too much to drink and started mouthing off to few SC officers, and got on wrong end of their nightsticks. Were it not for this little lady, I would not be here right now."

"It's good to have you back, Sergei."

"And to be, my friend."

His uncle leading the group to a private room on the fifth floor, Seth found his mother half-asleep in a chair, watching over his father, his cast-encased legs suspended from the braces:

"Maria," greeted Iwane, embracing his sister "Doing alright there, Leon?"

Leon groaned tiredly:

"Been better, been worse," he replied "Although it's been killing me not being able to get up and move."

Seth gingerly approached his wounded father:

"Hey, dad," he began "How have you been?"

"Like I said, I've been better," Leon answered "Food here's terrible, but it beats the crap I'd been living off for the past few months."

"I just wanted to say, that I'm sorry."

"What for!?"

"About just letting you and mom suffer like that for so long."

"Nonsense!" said Leon, briefly attempting to lift his body before reclining "If anything, I'm proud of you for taking part in this and saving all these lives!"

"What?" replied Seth "Truth is, I wouldn't have blamed you for being kind of upset."

"Seth, you're our son. It's only natural to be concerned for the people you care about, especially in times like these. But you've set your mind to helping end this conflict, and apparently, damn good at what you do, so I'm not going to try and stop you."

Suddenly feeling a great deal of the weight lifted from his shoulders, Seth leaned forward, embracing his father to the point where the older man had difficulty breathing:

"Thanks, dad," said Seth

"Don't mention it," replied Leon breathlessly, loosening his son's grip "I can tell it's killing you not to, so go out there and end this."

Upon exiting the room, Seth heard a confusing, yet interesting conversation which would come to impact his life greatly:

"Why didn't you tell Seth just to quit now?" asked Ursula, concern audible in her tone "I mean, you're his mother. You must be worried about him."

"I would be lying to say I'm not," Maria answered calmly "But I know how important this is to Seth. I know he feels responsible for a lot of people losing their lives."

"But it's so dangerous! Surely, you can't..."

"Even if you aren't thrilled about it, sometimes you just have to let the people you care about go their own way."

"'Let them go their own way', you say..."

With the string of defeat suffered by the occupiers and SC, the group was safely able again to gather at the restaurant in New York. There Seth, Geoffrey, Kemp, Chua, Khatri, and Reeve composed the outline for their actions during the final assault:

"Alright, the 24th MEU is going to be transported up the Potomac and inserted just south of DC," began Reeve "While the 29th Infantry Division will approach from the north and northeast."

"While the 2nd Marine Division will close in from the south and southwest," informed Kemp "Supporting the 24th."

"This all seems pretty straightforward," said Geoffrey dismissively "Why the concern?"

Removing his glasses, Kemp began to lightly massage his closed eyes:

"Remember what I said earlier about the division from Nablus?" he asked, traces of exhaustion and frustration evident in his voice "In addition to their ridiculous dedication to the mission at hand, they're almost certain to use the population of DC as human shields,"

"Bastards!" fumed Khatri "That figures."

"Those precision munitions aren't exactly cheap, you know," Reeve informed bitterly "And you can be sure that they'll have loaded the entire DC metro area with anti-aircraft weapons and artillery. I'll see what can be done, but air support will likely be in short supply."

"So let's go over this again," said Chua "Our mission is to get in, destroy as many anti-air, artillery systems, CS agents, and Palestinian officers as we can, right?"

"And keep Mathir Li and his the swine aligned with him from running," Seth added

"Pretty much," Reeve confirmed "I've arranged to have you three inserted a few hours prior to the main assault. Once that time limit is up, escape, evade, and meet up with the 24th MEU."

Upon learning of the ambitious, daring (some would say foolhardy) plan, Seth's associates displayed varying reactions:

Geoffrey, Ursula, Vesela, Drago, and the Franklins, although all concerned to some degree, generally expressed support. Natalka, while supportive, had slightly different worries in mind:

"So, Seth," she began anxiously "How much damage do you think this battle will do?"

"No idea," replied Seth "Although, I'd say wherever they decide to place the artillery may be completely devastated."

"Damn, let's hope they don't place their artillery near the mall... Think of all of our national treasures that could be destroyed! One misplaced air strike could incinerate the Smithsonian and everything in it!"

"Don't worry, Natalka. I'll make sure to disable the weapons in the area.

Alison, although largely back to her calm, cheerful self, seemed still troubled.

What exactly troubled her, Seth knew immediately:

"So, have you talked to Geoffrey recently?" he asked waveringly

"Oh, yeah, we did," Alison replied, a forced composure evident in her tone

"Look, about Verraad...I just wanted to apologize."

Showing signs of distress, Alison rose from the bar stool and slowly turned from Seth:

"I'm sorry, but there was nothing that could have been done," said Seth heavily "Hate me if you like, I'll understand how you feel."

Alison sniffled, wiping a tear from her eye before turning to face Seth:

"No, I don't hate you, Seth," she answered finally "I don't hate Geoffrey, either.

There wasn't anything that you could have done."

"If it makes you feel any better, Verraad died fighting for something he truly believed in. So much that he was willing to go against his best friend for it."

Pulling Seth into an unusually tight embrace, a stream of tears began to flow from Alison's eyes:

"It does," she said softly "Thank you, Seth..."

"Don't mention it," he replied in a matching tone "

But perhaps the most surprising reaction to the coming battle came from someone with the (seemingly) least invested in it:

"Ariel Costa, that...thing is still alive, right?" inquired Yi angrily "I want to go with you."

"You must be out of your mind," Geoffrey scolded "First of all, do you even have any experience at all with this kind of thing? Every one of ours going in has at least some training and combat experience."

"You're forgetting where I come from; I and pretty much all of my friends that weren't in the army already received some training in anticipation of war against Seoul."

"You won't want to hear this, but it needs to be said:

You're a woman! Can you even begin to comprehend how dangerous that situation would be for you!? The fact that it's a warzone notwithstanding, do you have ANY idea what these animals will do if they catch you!? I promise you, that every gripe and allegation of inherent, subhuman brutality about that island chain filled with sixty-two million eunuchs will be ten times worse with those swine!"

Mentally reviewing what little of Geoffrey's life story he had spoken of, his virulent disdain for Arab Muslims came as little surprise. More baffling to Seth was the possible motive a self-exiled North Korean would have for returning herself to the sort of danger inherent in leaving her native land:

Wait, why do you want to go with us so badly?" asked Seth "As far as I know, you don't have any real reason to risk your life in what we know will be a bloodbath."

Turning away from Seth and Geoffrey, Yi swept a tear from her left eye:

"You...would be wrong about that," she corrected, her voice breaking

"If it will make you feel any better, you can talk about it with us," said Seth, disregarding the woman's repeated insults over his heritage.

"You two grew up in developed, relatively free countries that you could leave if you so chose.

You have no idea what it was like, being forced to smuggle yourself into a country that didn't care for you to begin with, just to survive. If you were a woman, it was even worse...

It was never exactly easy, but my older sister Hyun, she protected me... The what little possessions, money, and even her own body she used to protect her little sister from the scum that lurk around there. Even after she endured all that and got us to Shenyang, she still stayed positive, promising us that if we worked hard, someday we'd get to a place worlds away from that concentration camp disguised as a country or China..."

A diligent, yet cold, somewhat arrogant woman, Seth was profoundly affected by the stories of the woman's tribulations, gaining a newfound respect for her:

"After spending seven years in China, saving every spare coin possible, we had finally saved enough to get to America, the promised land Hyun talked about," continued Yi "Three months after arriving, Hyun worked two jobs, still finding the time to study for her citizenship exam and help me with mine."

"I'm going to say it only gets worse from here," said Seth guiltily

"You would be correct about that; Around that time, Hyun met a man: Rich, attractive, and seemingly kind, he would shower her with gifts and praise. I never liked him in the least, but he supported both of us, and his monetary gifts allowed me to go to a university, so I knew better than to complain to Hyun. But as the months went by, he would show his true face:

His language became more abusive, his physical handling of Hyun became increasingly rough, and it wasn't uncommon for him to hit her. I suspect he even raped her at one point. But when I pressed her about it, Hyun, still enamored, always told me that she must have 'provoked him' or he just 'showed affection differently' than most."

Yi paused momentarily to wipe visible tears from her eyes:

"But that one night," she continued, sadness melding with anger in her tone "When I got home from class, I heard him yelling at Hyun. As always, she tried to talk him down, but this time...something in his mind just set him off so much that he...took a hammer from a table nearby and just... started beating her and beating her... he wouldn't stop... so much blood everywhere.... Naturally, I ran out of there even faster than I knew I could run, feeling like the worst sort of coward for not doing anything to save my sister... I stayed with one of my friends for the next month. When I told her what happened she advised me to call the police. They said they'd send somebody to investigate. Oh sure, he got arrested, but the DA's office never bought any charges against him. It must be nice to be the son of a long-time California representative and the president of a prominent aeronautics company. Really...nice..."

Seth knew better than most to expected the unexpected. However, burning hatred for a man (whom he had presumably never met) morphed into a morbid curiosity:

"Yi," he began softly "If you don't mind me asking: What was the name of Hyun's boyfriend?"

"Ariel...Costa..." she replied through gritted teeth "Do you understand why I wanted to go with you so badly? I need you to promise me something."

"Anything, what is it?"

"That if I can't go with you to that final battle, promise me that you'll end that bastard's miserable excuse for a life. Not for me, but for Hyun and millions of others that he's murdered."

"It's a promise."

Ariel Costa, although skillfully maintaining his cool, arrogant demeanor, in private, he had begun to express doubt about his organization's chances of winning this conflict. Despite his best attempts to do so, during a meeting with the President and Ajam, his disheveled appearance indicated being under a great deal of stress:

"What's the situation with the peacekeepers?" asked Mahathir Li irritably, lighting a cigarette "Yes, I said I quit, but I lied. What else is new?"

"Not good," answered Costa, nervousness apparent in his tone "On the West Coast and Southwest, they've been completely routed. Most of them have either already surrendered or are running for their lives. Those stupid trigger-monkeys couldn't have just left well enough alone, could they?!"

"Ajam, how many men do you have to defend this Washington?"

Ajam inhaled and sighed deeply, recognizing the gravity of the situation:

"Obviously, my men have spent the time training for the moment," he informed "And I've got word from their commanders that the remainders of the Ramallah division and a Turkish brigade are en route to join us, so that leaves around twenty-two thousand men."

"Of course, that figures," groused the president "The only other formations still functional, with any real numbers, and worth a damn are from the Turks, Burmese, and North Koreans, but they're all tied down in the South!"

"Well, Mr. President, although we conceive complete encirclement, we do have two advantages: As you requested, we have set up checkpoints to forbid anyone from leaving the metro area, meaning airstrikes against us will be far more limited in scope. What's more, our massive artillery and anti-aircraft batteries will make close air support far too costly a tactic to entertain."

"That actually should work pretty well. When should we expect this attack?"

"I would say December 30th at the earliest."

Although she had grown used to the spectacle, it was never exactly pleasant for Svetlana Li to witness her parents fighting, especially around Christmastime. Still, something about this particular spat seemed even more personal and venomous than usual:

"Say, Tabitha, would you mind if I borrowed one of those guns of yours?" inquired the president semi-seriously, finishing off another cigarette "Only for a second, I swear."

"Yes, I would mind," Tabitha replied acidically "You've come this far and you're going to quit now?"

"In a word: Yes."

"Honestly, you make most politicians seem principled by comparison."

"Why are you such a bitch all the time!? Why did I even marry you, anyway?!"

Tabitha Li smirked:

"Same reason I did: Convenience," she reminded "I needed help gaining clout in high society, and you Frank, needed to convince your stupid constituents that tobacco was the only thing you're addicted to smoking."

Unsure as to whether he should be more insulted by being addressed by his given name or the insult against his sexuality, quivering with rage, Li rose from his chair:

"Don't... you... EVER call me that!" he fumed "And you wonder surgery without anesthesia is preferable to spending time with you!? Every night when I finally get to sleep, I wish I would never wake up, because waking up means having to listen to your shrewish voice!"

"Same here, pretty boy! We haven't even slept in the same bed in eleven years! I wonder why that is!?"

"Maybe because a starved alligator has a more pleasant demeanor than you?!"

"Or it's because you're a self-indulgent narcissist with daddy issues and an enormous misogynist streak that treats women..."

Actually getting quite tiring, Svetlana would have loved to have mediated between her parents. However, years of failed attempts had left her on the verge of giving up on them both.

XXIII

As the winter crept nearer and the military began to increasingly take over the combat aspects of the conflict, the large relief in the burden did little to halt the extensive preparations of Seth, Khatri, and Chua. Initially, they were to be joined by Adam Kemp, but his father had decisively spoken against it. For some reason, Adam seemed to be considerably more receptive, probably aware of just how brutal the defenders of Washington would be.

The main players in the final assault, in the weeks preceding the operation, spent many, if not most of their waking hours refining their tactics:

"Let's go over it one last time," insisted Reeve "About four or five hours before the main attack begins, you three are going to arrive in at designated thirds of the DC metropolitan area.

Make sure any electronic device of yours has an timer. Your main objectives are to locate artillery and anti-aircraft systems and rig them to blow. Your priority should be the ones in heavily built-up areas. When the timer goes off, that's a signal that the 29th and 2nd are in the immediate area. After that, set off your detonators, get out, go south, and link up with the MEU. Any questions?"

"Yeah," replied Chua "I was just wondering: If we're going in about five hours before the main force, what kind of clothes can conceal our weapons? More importantly, how do we make it look natural?"

"I bet you could get away with a long coat of some kind," reminded Kemp "One long enough to conceal most carbines and still look natural. It will be cold enough, anyway."

"Just one last thing," said Seth finally "What about those stalling rats on Capitol Hill? Advance notice of the attack equals more time for them to plan their escape."

"I'll take care of that," Reeve assured cryptically "You just focus on getting those VIPs."

As December droned onward, the non-martial aspects of the plot began to solidify.

Due to the bizarre nature of the past years events and ensuing impeachment hearings, Congress had postponed their winter recess, (allegedly) in an attempt to sort out the chaos:

"The Senate leadership probably figures if they can stall until nine on Christmas Eve, that they can put this off or take off," Ivy Franklin informed

"Then we'll set date for the 24th?" asked Kemp

"Best Christmas ever," mumbled Seth mischievously

As per his request, Geoffrey procured a long, loose, beige coat and an M4 Carbine with appropriate accessories:

"You're not exactly a short man," he reminded "But this coat should reach around your shins."

"And you got the stuff for Brad and Tanvir?" Seth replied

"Sergei sent over some of his finest models. You don't need to worry about men of their skill armed with such weapons."

"Alright. Thanks, Geoffrey."

Scanning the area, Geoffrey inched away from the opened door:

"I have kind of a strange request," he said

"Sure, what do you need?" questioned Seth

"If you see any of the defenders burning documents of any kind, I need you to stop them and bring the documents back to me."

Confused a great deal by secretive nature in regards to the errand, Seth, trusting that the endeavor would not do any harm (to him) resolved to comply. If for no other reason than to learn what interested Geoffrey such a great deal.

Arlington County, Virginia, usually quite pleasant and mild, a cold, dry wind pierced all in the area. Although many would have taken this occasion as an opportunity to spend extra time before a fireplace or under a warm blanket in the small, vacant hotel, Seth had (quite understandably) been unusually animated in the week before Christmas Eve. Spending the bulk of his time practicing with Khatri and Chua, Seth had taken to sleeping less than five hours a night.

Those not attending the battle however, had begun to focus on their more on their intended pursuits after the conflicts end:

"I hope that study abroad program in Serbia is still accepting applications," fretted Natalka "So Ursula: What are you going to get up too after this is all over?"

"Hadn't really thought about it," Ursula conceded "I guess rebuilding my 'business' after all the damage it suffered."

"And you, Geoffrey?"

Eyes darting across the room for any unusually attentive individuals, Geoffrey broke his hours-long silence:

"Haven't been thinking about it," he lied "I'll come up with something."

As the morning of the 24th arrived, Seth was taken by an unusual combination of satisfaction at the impending destruction of the Security Committee and its leadership, and apprehension at the brutality he was certain would characterize the coming battle.

For this occasion, Sergeant Major Floyd Reeve, one of the chief instigators of their effort, provided some pertinent, (allegedly) uplifting advice:

"Don't die," he said curtly

"No need to worry," assured Chua, placing his Spectre M4 in its holster "There will be a lot of dying tonight, but none of it done by me."

"How could I?" said Khatri incredulously "We have all waited months for this."

Seth, on the other hand, remained silent, fantasies of the horrible revenge which would be doubtlessly taken on the SC and it's collaborators.

As the group departed the motel for their final battle, Seth was impeded by the rather strange sight of a panicked Ursula chasing him:

"Seth, wait up!" she called breathlessly, throwing her arms around him

"What's wrong?" Seth replied "About the battle: I know it's dangerous, but I have to go through with it. I have to help put an end to something I helped start."

"I know! I know! Just...don't let your anger make you do something you'll regret."

"Don't worry, I won't," promised Seth, mimicking his friend's embrace "I know that irrational behavior is a great way to get killed."

"Promise me you won't let that rage consume you," demanded Ursula tearfully "I know you're angry and excited to finally end this, just don't lose yourself because of it."

While he had given Ursula his word to the contrary, Seth, in the back of his mind, was unsure that he would be able (or even willing) to restrain himself once his moral chains were weakened by the coming conflagration.

Being inserted into the northern third (Chua and Khatri had taken the southwestern and southeastern thirds, respectively) of the Washington DC metropolitan area, Seth was aware of an uniquely odd, oppressive presence. The strange calm created by the combination of the night and relatively empty streets served only to unnerve.

The foreign, surly-looking Arab soldiers patrolling the streets not making the city any more pleasant, Seth would soon be impacted by the true terror of the situation through a chance meeting:

Seth was approached by a ragged, desperate man, constantly vigilant for the occupiers' wrath:

"You!" he exclaimed "You're not one of them!"

"No, I'm not," Seth whispered, one hidden hand on his M4 "What's got you so worked up?"

"Ever since those Arab guys showed up, this town's been a nightmare," warned the bum "I've heard of people getting snatched off of the streets and just vanishing without a trace. It wouldn't be so bad if they were just holding public executions, it's just that you don't know-"

"You! What are you doing !" called one of the occupiers "You we're warned about restricted areas already!"

"I took a wrong turn somewhere!" the man exclaimed

"Lying dog!"

Pulling the stranger to the ground, the soldier placed his FN CAL against the back of the informer's neck, swiftly ending his victim's life:

"And you!" barked the soldier "Leave before you end up like him!"

Seth, although strongly tempted to end the enemy's life right there and then, resisted the temptation rather than jeopardize his mission. All of the bastards would get theirs' soon, he thought bitterly.

Despite the hurried, overall strange nature of his conversation, Seth began to understand his fear completely:

What few people he did see on the street or in buildings shared the same expression of subtle terror, quite similar to hostages.

Not so far north of his position, Seth did manage to locate something quite relevant to his task:

In a small city just north of the capital, Seth noticed that the area was under considerably lighter guard than DC. In questioning the evasive residents, Seth was able to locate several artillery batteries in the general area, presumably to impede the enemy's advance from the north.

After placing the charges and coordinating the timer (four hours from setting the last charge) with the assault's start, Seth was annoyed at the fact that he had expended roughly half of his explosives on sabotaging twelve vehicles. However, it came to bother him significantly less when the efforts of his comrades were taken into account.

Recognizing it not exactly wise to linger where one has just sabotaged valuable military assets, Seth resolved to vacate the area quickly. Although not before consulting the multiple charts scattered across the area. Despite being in Arabic, Seth was able to reasonably divine the existence of another major encampment (albeit with anti-aircraft weapons) to his east.

Figuring a repeating his attention-avoiding methods of the Klamath Mountains raid would suffice, Seth, after taking great care to conceal any trace of his presence, once again, commandeered one of the enemy's trucks. Reflecting on the myriad of crimes for which he could technically be convicted , Seth began, guided by his scribbled, makeshift maps, seeking the anti-air outpost.

Able to have reached the vicinity of his target, the mission did not proceed as smoothly as Seth would have liked: With the anti-aircraft battery in sight, Seth spotted a company of the foreign soldiers marching up the road. Unwilling and unable to engage in such a firefight, Seth pulled the vehicle to the side of the road, moved to the truck's rear, and cloaked himself in a nearby tarp.

Miraculously, the troops failed to thoroughly scan the vehicle, leaving Seth undetected. However, the unit's commander recognized it as one of theirs, and ordered the back two soldiers to trail behind the company. Upon hearing the engine restart, Seth sprung from the truck, ultimately landing into some low-lying foliage. Sore, but unnoticed, Seth continued on towards his goal of the anti-aircraft weapons.

Continuing on the path (while taking great care to avoid encounters with any stragglers) towards the anti-aircraft battery, Seth repeated his meticulous process of placing the explosives while going out of his way to avoid the rather sparse detachment stationed there. Rummaging through his pockets, Seth, upon finding his phone, recognized that his fiasco with the marching company had left him with barely an hour to get to the mouth of the Potomac and meet up with the 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit.

Considering another vehicular theft, Seth would be shortly presented with a far more gratifying target, one which he could scarcely believe the opportunity had arisen:

Although never having (thankfully) met the man in person, that long, raven hair, malevolent stride, and arrogant facial features made Seth sure that he was in the presence of none other than Ariel Costa, one of the leading figures of the Security Committee, mass murderer of his own countrymen, and among the worst boyfriends in human history. Remarkably, his two bodyguards stood some fifty yards away as he inspected the area.

Naturally, Seth was not exactly sure how to proceed with the strange opportunity presenting itself:

One option was merely to wait for another encounter with Costa, one where he could escape quickly and avoid extended engagements. This also left the possibility of him fleeing the country altogether. The other option was merely to assassinate Costa during that small window of opportunity. While this would no doubt adversely affect the skeleton of an organization known as the Security Committee, (as well as giving Seth great satisfaction) the prospect of a firefight with his bodyguards and stragglers from the foreign forces.

With the occupiers long gone and no more inbound, Seth (unsurprisingly) chose the second option:

Weapon at the ready, Seth sprung from his cover, wasting no time in sending seven rounds directly into Costa's chest, expending the remaining ammunition to dispatch one of the bodyguards. If the adrenaline and semi-sadistic (but understandable) pleasure had not been so strong, Seth would have been greatly unnerved by the second bodyguard spontaneously expiring from two gunshot wounds. However, a quick glance behind one of the buildings behind him revealed Brad Chua as the source of the rounds:

"Get what you were looking for, boss?" he asked casually

"Some of it, yeah," confirmed Seth "What time is it?"

"Seven-fifteen. Damn! We've got to get out of here and meet up with the 24th MEU before this whole area gets blown to hell!"

"Someone will have heard that. Even if it's about forty-five minutes before the battle, they'll still twenty or so men to check it out. Any suggestions as to getting out of here?"

Chua smirked malevolently at the sight of a remaining truck in the area:

"You shoot, I'll drive," he said

Seth cautious about the readiness of which his comrade suggested such an arrangement so readily, a concern reinforced by the experience of being in the cab with him:

"So, how are you at driving?" inquired Seth nervously

"It's a funny story," Chua began, an air of pride in his voice "Back in the sandbox, I once took a Humvee for a little joyride. I'm pretty sure I was the only Marine ever to cause ten million dollars' worth of damage in three minutes without some kind of explosive. Amazingly, I didn't get discharged over it."

"Please tell me you were drunk or high on something?"

"Nope, sober as a funeral."

The little hope Seth held onto that his friend's tales were wild exaggerations was quickly dashed: As per his story, riding in the passenger seat could be most aptly compared to attempting to remain on the back of a large, enraged bull for an extended period. With the constant swerving, variations in speed, and general discomfort of the experience would have led Seth would have preferred the bull.

Of course, the marauding vehicle eventually came to the attention of the garrison:

As far as Seth could see, at least twenty separate vehicles had pursued them in the space of that half hour. It was little surprise that both parties had extreme difficulties engaging in a "firefight" at these speeds, but Seth did manage to drive several vehicles off of the road with gunfire, but the hijacked truck sustained its share of damage (to the windshield in particular) as well:

Still barreling down a major roadway, Seth quickly realized that there was something amiss:

"You have got to be kidding me!" he shouted "They're using vehicles to block the road!"

"Then open fire!" bellowed Brad "They're on our six! We can't turn around!"

Shattering the already damaged windshield, Seth reloaded and indiscriminately opened fire on the soldiers manning the makeshift barricade. As the gap between the truck and barricade closed to mere yards, Chua spontaneously swerved the vehicle towards the sidewalk.

The precise reason was lost on Seth, but only for seconds:

The immediate area around the barricade burst into flame, the ensuing shockwave from the explosion turning the vehicle on its side.

Crawling from the wreckage, Seth found the area which a seconds ago, played host to an improvised barricade, laden with the debris of buildings and pieces of men and machines, a small crater evident in the center of the street.

"You okay, Brad?" inquired Seth, incredulous at what he had just survived

"A little sore, but I'll live," Chua answered, hoisting himself from the truck's shell "And you?"

"About the same. So what the hell was that anyway?"

"Mortar strike from the looks of it," came a grating voice "You two are a couple of the luckiest sons of bitches in this whole city. Of course I shouldn't anything else from the legendary Master Sergeant Chua."

Still somewhat disoriented from the blast, Seth found the voice belonging to a large burly man of just over six feet tall. The remainder of his features were obscured by assorted (visibly American) equipment and his Combat Uniform. Still, Seth was relieved to have found another face not seeking his death:

"Gunnery Sergeant Matt Eriksson, United States Marine Corps," introduced the man, extending his right hand "24th Marine Expeditionary Unit, 4th Company. You must be Casey: Rest of my unit's about a click back. Let's regroup and get on with this."

"Yeah," Seth confirmed, reciprocating the gesture "So you and Brad seem to know each other pretty well."

"When you're stuck on a base in the middle of nowhere for nine months out of the year and sixteen hours a day, you get to know your neighbors well."

Meeting up with the rest of Eriksson's unit, the Gunnery Sergeant insisted Seth and Chua be treated for their (miraculously) minor wounds before continuing with their mission:

"You two must have a good friend in the highest place of them all," remarked the medic "How far did you say you were from the point of impact?"

"A few yards, I guess?" answered Seth cautiously "I'll be fine; I've only got a few scrapes."

"Apparently you missed me wrapping your left thigh in that bandage."

Patched up in short enough order to attend the company's impromptu briefing, Seth was (badly) concealing his excitement at the true start of the battle:

"Alright, Marines," called Eriksson "Our intel tells us we've got two divisions heading south towards our position. We're more isolated than I'd like and outnumbered. Our plan of action is to head southwest and meet up with Third Company before joining the 2nd and continuing north. Any questions?"

"So we're retreating?" inquired Seth, his tone hinting at disappointment

"A _fighting_ retreat," corrected Eriksson "With 'fighting' being the operative word."

While Chua and his fellow Marines paid the specifics of the maneuver (so long as it worked) no mind, Seth was the only member of the fairly large group visibly disappointed by the choice and implicit lack of bloodshed. Perhaps Ursula knew more about him than she let on, Seth thought.

"Get your things, we're leaving," barked Tabitha Li

"It's Christmas Eve," Svetlana replied groggily "Don't you usually want me to sleep?"

"I said do it! We don't have a lot of time."

Resigned to complying with utterly strange, nonsensical events, the girl dragged herself from her bed and haphazardly began to collect her belongings. For all of his (many) fault's, Svetlana sincerely hoped her father was having a better evening than her.

With fewer than two total hours of sleep during the past three days, Mahathir Li's mental and emotional states had finally begun to mirror his frazzled physical state. To say nothing of being informed minutes ago of the bloody, impending end of his career and what remained of his public image (probably his life as well), he had been deprived of the two things that had helped him cope for the past four years: Power and the admiration of others.

Now that those two things were ripped from him, the president had thought nothing more could make his life more of a disaster than it was at that point. Except for one more nagging thing:

"I'm afraid I must take my leave of you," bin Ahmed informed smugly "My stay in your country has been truly productive: I must give you my thanks."

"I knew it!" shouted Li, madness quite audible in his voice "You were behind this the whole time! If you hadn't come along, I would already have retired to the Cayman Islands!"

"How is this my responsibility? Did I ever place a pistol to your head and force you to seek out my guidance and financial support? Of course not."

Still desiring a justification to further berate the elderly man, Mahathir Li knew in the back of his mind, that bin Ahmed was correct: No one had ever forced him to seek help from this man, or carry out policies favorable to his goals. However, it just did not seem to the president.... _fair:_

"And you still treat me so poorly after my endeavors to locate your bastard of a daughter?" bin Ahmed inquired mockingly

"Wait," the president interrupted "Don't you mean-"

"No, I used the word I meant."

Rising from his seat, Mahathir Li furiously swept the contents of his desk, save for a lone coffee mug which he threw at the opposing wall, missing his guest by inches:

"Of course!" he burst "How could I have missed it?!"

"If you had taken my marital advice, you would not be in this situation," reminded bin Ahmed, his lips curled into the closest the president had seen to a (mocking) smile

"I knew it! Tabitha, you lying, cheating-"

"I apologize that you will lack a sympathetic ear for your doubtlessly hilarious rant, but I must be going now. I suggest you do the same."

The transit en route towards the 2nd Marine Division's position was (much to Seth's dismay) relatively free of violence: By the time the reunion with Third Company was completed, the action was restricted to a few isolated firefights with squads of stragglers.

"Why are you bitching?" inquired Chua "It's a good thing that we haven't had many opportunities to get smoked."

"I know, I know!" insisted Seth "It's just that I expected something a bit more...climactic and...violent."

"You sure you shouldn't sit this one out? You're kind of starting to scare me, boss."

Seth mentally conceded his friend to be onto something:

Becoming increasingly disturbed by the bloodlust he had been exhibiting, some of it that he had now begun to vocalize, Seth began to wonder if he should bow out of the engagement as not to unduly endanger himself and his companions.

Unfortunately, (or not, depending on one's viewpoint) the relative tranquility of the previous hours was not to remain: Approaching two adjacent overpasses near the supposed rendezvous point with the 2nd Marine Division, more than a few in the party had begun to take notice of the unusual lack of resistance in an area very close to an essential entryway to the city:

"Wait, something's wrong here," Eriksson growled "Stay frosty."

The source of his apprehension soon became clear:

Bullets began to rain down on the 4th Company from both overpasses:

"Get to cover!" shouted Eriksson, joining another Marine in helping one of the casualties to safety

Not needing to be told, Seth made for the relative security of a one-story, hollowed-out building and began aiding in returning fire.

Although the forces on the opposing overpass were (only barely) visible to Seth, after several minutes in the heat of combat, it became clear the battle was not going well, explosions notwithstanding:

"RPGs!" called a Marine "They got one of the Bradley's!"

Seth and Chua, although beginning to run low on ammunition, continued to aid in the mission, unsure as to how much damage their fire really had done

"Damn, just got word from 3rd Company!" snarled Erikson "Not only did the ambush off their CO, their recon guys swear that the enemy's got light armor en route from the northeast!"

"ETA?" inquired Chua

"From their position, I'd say about five minutes," replied the Gunnery Sergeant "That means about seven minutes to ours."

"Then radio for some air support or something!" shouted Seth angrily

For some reason or another, the 3rd Company's commanding officer had been issued...subpar communications equipment, either losing the base's frequency or merely difficulties with the internal components. Eventually, Eriksson began to smash the radio against the nearby wall in the vain hope that the blows would correct the problem, punctuating every word with another impact:

"Work!" he commanded "Come...On...You..."

"Wait, you're getting something!" interrupted Chua, voice somewhat hoarse from the shouting and cold weather

Unbelievably, continued abuse of the radio had the desired effect:

Although Eriksson was able to call in seconds for close air support, the minutes required for the incoming craft seemed to last days in the inferno of combat:

Casualties (both lethal and non) mounting, the din of seemingly endless weapons' fire becoming even more intense, and the projected deadline for the arrival of the enemy armor all hung over the group heavily. The only appropriate comparison would be that of a bladed pendulum slowly descending.

Right at the moment when Seth had truly begun to despair for their survival, a powerful, buzzing whir overtook the gunfire: This fell buzzing was shortly replaced by the sound of fully-automatic cannons raking the overpasses with metal:

Initially diving to the ground in anticipation of further attacks, Seth glanced up to find the overpasses erupting into flames, the remaining enemies fleeing the rockets in vain.

Although tipped off by the assorted cheers and taunts hurled by the Marines, Seth was still somewhat hesitant to rise from the prone position, anticipating further attacks from the opposing force, he shortly stood up to find the comforting sight of the enemy's scattered forces retreating.

While this battle was won, there was still quite a lot of blood to be shed before the war was finished: And during that very battle, Seth received his first taste of just how brutal that conclusion would become. By now, Seth was questioning a great deal why he had looked forward to this event for so long.

An abandoned, slightly damaged luxury hotel serving as a command center, Commander Hassan Ajam now realized that his initial plan of using the metropolitan area and it's populace in concert with anti-aircraft and artillery batteries would not be sufficient for his assigned task:

Both resources had been, according to reports from the front, heavily damaged by saboteurs inserted several hours before the battle's start. Now facing encirclement from two (soon to be three if the left and right flanks of the two northern and southern divisions proceeded as expected) directions, Ajam had ordered the remaining artillery and non-portable anti-aircraft weapons towards the city center, his men to fight for every block and building if need be.

As for the matter of the American president, very few had heard from him for weeks; Some claimed he finally cracked under the extreme pressure and took his own life, others insisted he was paying a long visit to the nice men in white coats somewhere in Europe.

Ajam, being one of these souls, knew better: Having received an apparently very hurried telephone call prior to the destruction of the phone line roughly five minutes before. The president ordered all documents relevant to the deployment of the foreign troops on American soil, as well as the creation of the Security Committee, destroyed.

Privy to precious few documents concerning the latter, Ajam complied with the order, collecting the aforementioned papers in a briefcase and taking them to the lobby, a live fireplace awaiting him. As he opened the container in preparation for the destruction of the documents, out of the corner of his eye, Ajam realized something....off about the lobby at this particular moment:

"What's the matter?" came an icy, quiet voice "Do you have something to hide?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"The man who just killed off your entire security detail."

Emerging from the shadows, the figure revealed itself as a blond, spectacled man of short stature and a distinct coldness in his eyes. Unsurprisingly, he held a pistol at approximately the level of the commander's chest. Ajam, not entirely sure how to respond to this situation, nonetheless knew that showing fear (or even mild discomfort) of any sort would doubtlessly embolden him:

"So you're acting on behalf of the American swine? said Ajam dismissively

"Not really," replied the man, unfazed by Ajam's taunting "I'm here to do what I need to save my country from the likes of you. In order for me to do that, I must kindly ask that you die."

Emptying the pistol's magazine into Ajam's chest, the assassin began to rummage through the late commander's briefcase, triumphant grin creeping wider across his lips. Photographing the contents with his phone, the figure then dialed one of the saved numbers:

"Yeah, I've got the documents," he informed "Just sent over the pictures and I'll have the hard copies to you in about an hour and thirty minutes."

_"Excellent,"_ came another voice _"I don't care what those slack-jawed morons say about the French military; It was a pleasure doing business with you, Renault."_

"You're pretty professional yourself, Sergeant Major."

Despite the fact that Seth, Chua, and the Marine Expeditionary Force had united with the 2nd Marine Division (composing slightly more than half the force assigned to retake Washington) and that their supreme commander was dead did nothing to deter the defenders; If anything, they became more obstinate in their mission, moving their remaining assets towards the city center.

The 2nd's commanding officer, Major General Jack Kowalski, took notice of the difficulty of fighting a fanatical enemy with a tendency to use civilian infrastructure and human shields for cover, and was not pleased:

"Of course we get handed an order to take back Regan with ten thousand civilians inside," groused Kowalski "They just had to place what was left of their southern artillery battery on runways of a major airport, didn't they?"

"Sir, might I ask what the problem is exactly?" inquired Eriksson "Can't we just get some close air support to soften them up a bit?"

"That's the thing about having your facilities taken by a hostile force: You'll still be hesitant to bomb them even if they are in enemy hands."

Deploying a brigade to retake the airport, Kowalski (quite likely at Reeve's behest) allowed Seth and Chua to accompany them in pursuit of SC agents, realizing his troops would likely be too preoccupied with the less-than-defensible terrain of the airport. This assumption would prove to be apt:

Merely approaching Regan International Airport provoked a considerably weakened (but still deadly) barrage of artillery shells. While the first battalion went to deal with the artillery troops, Seth and Chua accompanied the second in retaking the airport complex. A number of words could be used to describe the events that followed: However, "pleasant" was not one of them:

The defenders' superior positions on the second level of the building aside, the prospect of any liberation from their (not to mention their fear of them) captors, sent the panicked non-combatants into a frenzy, all scrambling for the nearest exit, some even trampling one another to avoid becoming caught in the crossfire.

While not exactly a desirable situation, the battalion dispatched to the airport did, after approximately half an hour of the chaos, break through the enemy's defenses, half ascending to the second floor to do battle with the occupiers on a more even footing.

Proceeding methodically terminal by terminal, kiosk by kiosk, and room to room, the American battalion, after two-and-a-half more hours of fighting, succeeded in retaking the airport from the foreign troops.

While Seth had learned the airport's defenders consisted of one particularly stubborn Turkish regiment, searches of the records of the various airlines revealed no federal employees had yet fled by way of this particular airport:

"Dammit," grumbled Seth "There are two other decent-sized airports in this area. We can't do this twice more!"

"Maybe they haven't gotten the chance to turn tail, boss," suggested Chua "After all: When was the last time you tried getting out of a warzone through commercial transport?"

Roaming about the airport, Seth was shocked by the sheer amount of destruction caused by the engagement: From the countless bullet impacts against the walls, to the shredded pieces of assorted articles (ranging from the fabric of the chairs to materials from the ceiling), to the cries of the dying and the dead, nothing in his experiences came close to this level of carnage: Not even the battle in the streets of Moscow could compare.

Contemplating the sheer ferocity and bloodletting as he observed a terminal (one of many) serving as a triage station, Seth was shaken from this trance-like state by a once-in-a-lifetime offer:

"You Seth Casey?" inquired an officer

"Yeah," Seth answered disinterestedly "Need something?"

"Captain Jackson Wheeler, USMC, Second Division. Major General Kowalski was told that you requested to participate in specific missions related to the SC; Particularly one in about half an hour."

"I guess I did. Let's get going."

"Are you sure? You've already had a pretty rough evening, and nobody would blame you for retiring here."

"I'm fine. Now what's this mission about?"

Seth, eventually retrieving Chua, was led out onto the nearest (surprisingly undamaged) runway, a UH-60 Black Hawk standing idle before them. Boarding the craft, Seth was somewhat surprised, yet relieved to find, among seven other soldiers, Khatri seated in one of the two rows of seats.

After a couple of minutes of Wheeler badgering Chua about the safety belt which he refused to use, the latter conceded and the machine began it's ascent, the engine and rotors piercing the unnatural calm:

"About an hour ago, a detachment from the 29th gave some US Marshalls the required protection to serve a mass arrest warrant on Capitol Hill," shouted Wheeler, struggling to be heard over the rotor blades

"Finally!" replied Seth "I expected half of those guys to run for it the second it turned dangerous!"

"Speaking of fleeing rats, they were supposed to send a couple of companies up to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue to serve a warrant for one Mr. Frank Dunbar: Only thing is, haji, being a bit tougher than we expected, caught em' off guard and destroyed the units, leaving the survivors scattered and in no position to apprehend our 'friend' in the Oval Office."

"That's where we come in, right?" assumed Chua

"You got it," confirmed Wheeler "Thing is: Our guys will be kind of busy, to say the least. Probably too busy to stay on all the exits or find search for any papers."

"Well, we seem to be approaching the end of this, do we not?" said Khatri

"Finally," Seth added

The view of the American capital from above, far from being scenic or even merely disturbing due to the large amount of destruction, Seth would describe as just surreal:

Countless structures both modern and historic, either gutted by the fighting, occupied as cover or defensible positions, engulfed in flames, or a combination of the three, the city had, in a fairly short amount of time, ceased to resemble a grand city in favor of an ashen, half-ruined wasteland. By now, Seth was seriously doubting his general (mainly mental and spiritual) health in looking forward to such a spectacle.

The machine touching down in front of the iconic residence, the three irregular combatants received their assignments:

Three squads, placed at the northern, eastern, and western entrances were tasked with the duty of securing the building and apprehending the false executive. Seth, Chua, and Khatri were respectively assigned to the north, east, and west teams:

"Be careful, my friend," warned Khatri, audible apprehension in his voice "It would be a terrible thing to lose you."

"Are you afraid of death, Tanvir?" inquired Seth gingerly, noticing the hesitation in his voice

"Yes, kind of. As long as I can remember, I always have. However, I could never quite explain it."

"Well, let's both survive long enough to help you find out exactly why that is."

Hastily proceeding to the northern wing of the White House complex, Seth encountered a squad of nine soldiers, expressions ranging from disinterested to restless:

"Casey?" asked their commanding officer "Sergeant Kevin Anderson, United States Army, 5th Special Forces Group. HQ gave us word we'd have some help securing some sensitive materials."

"And persons," added Seth

"While we'll probably be able to apprehend the targets pretty handily, we are expecting some resistance once we get inside the building. We normally don't do this, but we also don't have a lot of manpower to take away from the front for something like this."

"Understood. Let's put an end to this."

Trailing slightly behind Anderson's squad, Seth was able to take more time in his observation of the building and search for clues and the presence of the "president". Even if the usurper was present, it would not exactly be easy to locate his hiding place before he escaped:

Apparently, the defenders of the city saw fit to cut the electric service before the battle's start:

With only the distant flames, his weapon's laser sight, and a small flashlight as light sources, the palatable tension made the classical, majestic residence seem strangely abandoned and malevolent.

The search of the residential portion of the complex bought no leads, merely confirming what most of the squad had already suspected:

"Dammit, of course!" moaned Anderson "The place is empty! All their stuff gone!"

"From the looks of it, Sergeant, they left in a hurry," remarked one soldier

"We'll just have to search the West Wing for anything relevant."

Seth, despite his suspicion due to the lack of resistance in the area, went along with the plan, joining the squad in scouring the assorted Executive offices in search of articles relevant to the search. Perhaps partially due to the soldiers' rough, hurried rummaging across the wing, the searched seemed to be for naught. However, the discovery a careful search of the Oval Office revealed an interesting (apparently hastily scrawled) scrap of paper ordering the evacuation of nearby Dulles International Airport. Just as Seth was to exclaim about his discovery, the all-too-familiar din of gunfire ended the unnatural calm:

"Sergeant, we've made contact!" bellowed a soldier, overturning a heavy desk in anticipation of the battle "At least fifteen of em' coming up the hallway! Could be some more coming from the corridor on our nine!"

"Defensible positions!" ordered Anderson "You know the drill, ladies: Move it!"

The lack of light, labyrinthine layout of the West Wing, and the relatively small size of the executive office, put the defenders at a distinct disadvantage: The defending forces would often make use of the assorted shadows to advance relatively undetected before being scattered by a hail of gunfire. The squad's commanding officer, for several minutes after the battle's start, felt fairly confident about their chances of repelling the attack and breaking out of the undesirable position:

_"This is Bravo squad,"_ came the other CO's voice _"Alpha squad, do you read?"_

"Loud and clear, Bravo," answered Anderson, tossing a grenade into the western corridor before reloading "What's your status?"

"Apparently, the defenders left some sleeper agents inside the White House waiting for a mission like this: We're pinned down in the East Wing with no letup in sight. Requesting immediate backup."

"Now's not a good time: We're in the exact same position! Call Charlie and Delta for help or something!"

"No can do, Alpha; Those two are in the exact same boat as us. HQ says it will be at least half an hour before any reinforcements show."

Mentally hurling every conceivable combination of profanities at the situation and his superiors, Anderson struggled to formulate a plan in the chaos of the engagement:

"We'll think of something," the Sergeant said "Alpha out."

"Casey!" yelled Anderson, literally dragging him from his position "You said you had something, right?"

"Pretty sure," Seth confirmed "Found a copy of a note ordering Dulles evacuated. I'm sure this is 'Mathir Li's' handwriting."

"Since we were ordered to capture the rat bastard and it doesn't look like we're getting out of here anytime soon, if at all, here's the new plan: We'll hold down this position while you get your ass ASAP over to Dulles and capture the targets."

With full knowledge of the fact that the squads (and by extension, two of his friends) faced certain death, Seth was initially reluctant to go sprinting off after his obsession. However, the prospect of ending this whole mess on his terms, none of the tedium of the court system proved _extremely_ tempting:

Without another word, Seth shattered the nearest window, darting off towards the airport. Gaining a furious, almost trance-like determination, Seth, for some reason or another, disregarded all of his previous hesitation over taking human life, going so far as to drag a sleeping enemy from a truck and slitting his throat.

Usually quite attuned to the horrors and chaos of the battlefield, at this point in time, Seth paid it little to no mind, lurking behind the lines of both sides, enemy soldiers and stealing vehicles as the opportunities presented themselves. Under any other circumstances, he would have been horrified (or concerned at the very least) at the large amount of cold, mechanical violence which he found himself dispensing at such little provocation, the prospect of inflicting even a fraction of the suffering which he had experienced on the masters of his torturers (to say nothing of his mother's experience with them) beckoning him, taunting him, just proved too enticing to take his focus off of.

The normally bustling Dulles International Airport showed several signs of a hurried evacuation and equally hurried fortification: Overturned vehicles, long strands of barbed wire, a corpse of a non-combatant here and there, and finally, the few remaining members of the Security Committee whom were worth anything with a weapon. As the rest of the Washington Metropolitan Area, the defenders had cut off power to the airport as well. However, Seth noticed one of the air traffic control towers some half a mile down the tarmac, was still dimly lit.

Once he had processed the exact implications of the sight, Seth wasted no time in carving a bloody swath towards his target:

Catching half of the ten or so remaining SC agents on the tarmac completely off-guard, Seth left them little time to react before extinguishing their lives in the same unceremonious, machine-like manner which had served him so well that night. Stalking towards the tower, the remaining, terrified, disoriented watchmen were no match for their merciless attacker, losing their lives after a half-hearted attempt at returning fire.

Finally reaching the tower itself, Seth emptied the last of the rounds in his M4 to eliminate one of the two guards keeping watch over the entrance. Heavily wounded, but still potentially dangerous, the watchman to his left inched forward, dragging himself towards his fallen comrade's weapon. Seth, not being one to let loose ends remain, kicked the weapon across the floor before pressing it to the agent's forehead:

"Now you and your buddies know how it feels," admonished Seth coldly, pulling the M1911's trigger.

Finally rid of the guards (yet only a portion of his bloodlust sated), the sound of two distinct, very familiar voices arguing finally became audible for Seth. Due to the lack of aircraft present on the tarmac, he had deduced that there was some significant delay.

Feeling much as a shark restrained for months sensing blood, the only thing restraining Seth from breaking down the door, ordering them to the ground, and slowly executing every last soul was the probability of at least two more armed guards on the door's other end. With only a pistol with three remaining rounds and a knife, one rash action could very well have lethal consequences. Upon closer inspection, the only audible occupants of the room were the president and his spouse. Several minutes of this pattern, with no orders whatsoever given led Seth to believe them (apart from perhaps an air traffic controller) alone.

For some reason or another, the remaining SC security detachment overlooked placing even a simple lock on the door:

The room itself, apart from some shattered windows and destroyed (or at least heavily damaged) computer equipment, was fairly routine in its appearance, the controller going about his duties as assigned. Of course, the sight of Mathir and Tabitha Li trading their venom (publicly anyway) was far from usual

The door's creaking overshadowed by the couple's arguing, Seth, entering slowly like some malevolent phantom carefully aimed his first of three shots at the back of the air traffic controller's head:

"Hello," greeted Seth dementedly "Remember me? That guy you spent most of the past year trying to kill?"

"What the-!" exclaimed the president, seizing his wife's weapon "How did you get past our security?!"

"Let's just say they're not as good at their jobs as you think. I can send you to meet them if you'd like. Not that you'll be getting much choice in the matter."

"I swear, I'll pull this trigger!"

"I suppose you'll want to turn it towards yourself first; Look around you! Do you honestly see any escape for you from a situation like this?!"

As the stare down in the tower lingered on, a fast-paced, bizarre chain of events marked the completion of an equally bizarre year:

Apparently, the man who had become (in)famous as "Mathir Li" was either under some sort of extreme psychological stress, or utterly lacked the ability to process semi-serious suggestions:

Although somewhat surprised (not to mention disappointed), Seth was not shocked at the sight of the president turning the stolen weapon towards himself and taking the half-joking, malicious advice of his would-be assassin, only a fraction of a second before Seth's own round impacted.

What was completely unexpected, was the spectacle of his (previously very inconspicuous) daughter Svetlana rising from her position in a vain attempt to reach him, pleading for him to stop, only to be slapped to the ground by her mother:

"You stupid girl!" shrieked Tabitha, kicking the young woman "You can't even recognize a good thing when it happens!?"

Finally surrendering almost any control over his violent impulses, Seth grabbed the woman by her neck and forced her on to a relatively clear desk, hovering over her as some kind of enraged, snarling beast:

"Well, well, Casey," simpered Tabitha "Come to kill me?"

"What do you think?" said Seth manically, using his free hand to slap the woman across the face with all of his strength "But those guns over there: They're too good for you. No, I want you to suffer."

Seth punctuated the conversation with another powerful open-handed strike. His would-be victim, although her faced somewhat reddened, did not seem bothered by the fact:

"How very manly of you," she teased, her tone becoming twisted and lecherous "Nothing at all like Maria. Quite the screamer, she is."

"SHUT UP YOU TWISTED BITCH!" Seth bellowed, tightening his grip on her neck, his other hand removing her jacket "I promise you that I'll make you suffer ten times worse than what you put that poor woman through."

"Aw, mama's little baby's mad at me? Come on, little boy: Take what you've been after since you first saw me."

All the hardships, pain, and suffering Seth had experienced over the past year suddenly came rushing back to him, further poisoning his mind with rage. Deprived of the pleasure of ending the life of the traitorous politician, he still possessed his demented executioneress, whom he intended to destroy completely: He did not want to kill this woman's body. No, Seth longed to murder her soul. Surely, this act would decisively end all of this and finally give Seth peace.

But much like the eye of a merciless storm, submission to base emotions may at times, yield great clarity:

As quickly as the memories of his torment washed over him, Seth's pleasant memories also made their presence known: Countless instances of time spent with family and friends. Laughing, playing, singing, crying, and merely enjoying each other's company, years of these memories warming his very cold soul. Even among his memories of the past year, there was joy:

Geoffrey's loyalty, intelligence, and devotion, Alison's kindness and nurturing, Ursula's energy and lust for life in spite of a less-than-ideal childhood, the patriotism, commitment all greatly dwarfing any concern for their careers or even their own lives. Even his memories of Verraad, did not bear any true hatred, instead evoking a fraternal bond which had not been present in his life.

Both his mind cleared greatly and his murderous rage quelled, Seth, upon looking into Tabitha's eyes, found them devoid of any true hatred, lust, or rage: Only emptiness, apathy, and a generally dismissive attitude towards life itself:

"Just go," said Seth "I can't look at you any longer."

Escaping from her precarious position, Tabitha Li's gaze lingered on her attacker for some time longer than necessary:

"You're too damn soft," she muttered, massaging her neck "Just like her..."

Although very aware of his actions, Seth still struggled precisely why he had allowed to his obsession to escape relatively unharmed when she was literally in his grasp. Lacking any company whatsoever (apart from the two corpses, of course); a physically and mentally exhausted Seth continued to contemplate in his solitude before slowly falling asleep.

"Seth, Seth," called Geoffrey's voice "Are you alright?"

Seth woke to find the rising sun beaming down on him, the voice's owner nudging him with his shoe:

"Yeah, I'm fine," he confirmed, rising from his upright fetal position "Wait, how's the battle going?"

"About ninety-eight percent of the defenders are dead, they've already begun searching for the criminals in your legislature and government; you tell me. I take it your mission was successful too?"

"Yeah...it was."

Although the city was littered with debris from buildings and vehicles, a good portion of the infrastructure unusable, and the stench of the dying and the dead hung heavily in the air, Seth, in light of the circumstances and ascending sun, could not help but find the scene somehow...beautiful:

"Coming back to Arlington?" inquired Geoffrey "That Kemp kid is already planning a victory party for tomorrow night."

"Thanks," answered Seth "I'd like that."

Epilogue

Relieved at the war's end, yet still perplexed as to why he had chosen to show mercy to the object of his murderous obsession, Seth did not know what his future precisely held. Many of his companions on the other hand, held quite vivid plans for their immediate future, such as (somehow) aiding in Washington's reconstruction:

"Don't worry, Natalka," reassured Seth "I did my best to keep our national treasures safe."

Throwing herself on to Seth, grasping him in a suffocating embrace, Natalka was quite pleased:

"Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, Seth!" she exclaimed "Funny thing was: From what I've heard, the Mall area suffered little to no fighting."

"So, what exactly are you getting up to?" asked Geoffrey in a tone suggesting he hoped for the woman to be in a faraway country for an extended period

"Well, next year, I'm doing this semester abroad program in Serbia. Hey! We might even run in to each other. Wouldn't that be great?"

"Yeah...just amazing."

Others apparently saw the destroyed city as a transport hub back to their destination of choice:

"So you're not staying?" asked Seth

"I'm not much of a party person," Yi replied "Besides; I've probably got all sorts of work and bills piled up anyway."

"I understand. I haven't had a steady job in almost a year now."

"So about that solo mission of yours; I think I underestimated you. You're pretty skilled for the retarded descendant of a _waenom_ savage."

"You know you have an interesting way of complimenting people, yet insulting them at the same time."

Geoffrey, on the other hand, was more confused about Yi's choice of words and (supposedly) conflicting information:

"I've only heard her use that word ' _waenom'_ when Japanese people come up," informed Geoffrey "How are you the descendant of one of them?"

Seth shot the Frenchman a gaze akin as if his friend had grown a second head:

"What are you talking about?" asked Seth "As far as anyone in the past five hundred years in my family has known, no one has been Japanese."

"Wait, I distinctly recall you telling me that your maternal grandfather spent almost fifteen years in the Imperial Japanese Army: If he was not in fact, Japanese, how did that happen?"

"It's a really long story: One I'm too tired to tell right now. I don't know all of it either. My grandfather probably took the whole thing to his grave. Maybe I'll go into detail someday."

Returning to the hotel to a hero's welcome, Seth wanted nothing more than to crawl into a vacant bed and sleep. However, in his exhausted state, he failed to notice an unexpected visitor lurking nearby:

"Mr. Casey?" came a girl's voice

"Svetlana!?" he exclaimed "What are you doing wandering around here?! Even though the battle's over, the city's not exactly a safe place to be wandering around right now."

"I just wanted to thank you for saving me; after that, I just started running until some soldiers bought me to a camp outside the city."

The young woman embracing him, a very peculiar sort of guilt came over Seth: After all, he had almost orphaned her in front of her eyes:

"Svetlana...I'm sorry you had to see that," he said heavily "That can't have been easy for you."

"It wasn't," confirmed the girl, tone audibly angered, yet a lone tear in her eye "And don't be sorry..."

While a disconcerting thing to her from a girl in her position, another matter hung heavily over the pair: Abandoned by both of her parents, Svetlana lacked any visible caretakers. Loath to trust any government after his experiences (especially in such a matter), and knowing of no one whom would be able to or approve to care for her:

"Svetlana," began Seth "Do you have any aunts or uncles?"

"No," she replied bitterly "My mother was an only child and my father...I don't really know anything about him. I'm not even sure he's my father."

At a complete loss as to how he could assure this girl's future to have at least some semblance of stability, Seth remained (unusually) troubled by the matter for several hours. However, he had noticed the difficult, yet apparently fulfilling interactions between Svetlana and Sergei and his spouse: The girl truly seemed to feel secure and the couple as well seemed to gain a sense of purpose as well.

Pulling them aside, Seth explained the girl's circumstances and put forth a proposal. Marina, speaking almost no English, had much of the information relayed to her by her husband:

"Can you look after her?" he asked "Just until you three can figure out something more permanent."

Sergei spent some thirty seconds conversing with his wife in quick, hushed Russian before replying:

"It would be our pleasure and honor," confirmed Sergei "This is very fortunate: Unfortunately, Marina cannot have children of her own and I..."

"What?"

"There are certain 'traits' of mine passed down by my grandfather that I could not in good conscience pass on."

"What do you mean?"

"Let us just say, when Ursula and I found a trunk filled with his things, we took it outside, burned it, and had a priest come to bless the cellar. Supposedly, he became deathly ill two weeks after."

Returning to the girl, Seth of course recognized it only fair to consult with her about the plan:

"How do you feel about Sergei and Marina, Svetlana," he asked "Are you comfortable around them?"

"Of course," Svetlana answered "Why wouldn't I be?"

"How would you feel about them taking care of you for a while? It wouldn't be forever, just until you three could work something more permanent out."

"Thank you, Mr. Casey; I would like that."

"Just call me Seth."

Seth, although feeling quite refreshed after a nap and shower, still felt somehow unfulfilled: His obsession over his intended murder victim had begun to morph into an obsession as to why he allowed her to escape. Something he neglected (mostly) to mention upon a surprise visit from his parents and uncle:

"Oh, Seth!" cried Maria, binding him in one of her emotional, almost suffocating embraces

"Yeah, I'm fine mom," her son confirmed breathlessly, deciding it wise to omit the incident involving the mortar strike and overturned truck

"I've got to say," began Leon, smiling for the first time in quite a while "I'm proud of you son."

Attempting to shake his son's hand, Leon apparently failed to remember the fact that he was dependent on two crutches to stand. Catching his father and helping him to a nearby chair, Seth turned to his uncle as if to speak:

"I know what you're going to say," Iwane preempted "Don't worry about your parents, Seth: I'll help both of them through this."

"Wait; didn't you live in South Dakota?"

"Still do. But so does one of the best physical therapists in the whole damn country."

Another nagging question eating away at him, Seth felt compelled to drag his mother away from prying ears:

"Mom, I've got kind of an awkward question," he began

"You don't need to feel that way to talk to me," Maria replied in her calm, soothing tone

"Do you hate that bit- I meant to say: Do you hate that woman, Tabitha?"

"No."

Attempting to grasp such a sentiment proved fruitless for Seth, such a thought process utterly foreign to him:

"But how can you say that?! After everything she did to your friends, your family, and you?"

"Seth, you must understand something: I don't hate other human beings. I pity them when they sin."

"But why?"

"About your grandfather, my father: In his younger days, his hatred led him to a very dark place: It led him to hurt many people. Men, women, children, no member of his hated race was safe from his wrath. I still don't believe he ever let go of his hate completely. After I pieced together what his war stories and experiences truly meant, I promised myself that I would never let hatred take me like it did him."

The experiences of two previous generations resonated a great deal with Seth:

The description of his maternal grandfather's youth striking a chord in particular. While not on the level as his mother described, the general sentiment was disturbingly familiar for Seth.

Was it at all possible that his allowing Tabitha Li to escape (as opposed to his planned murder and brutalization) was instead of the act of weakness he had previously suspected, one of mercy?

Yet, if Seth had seen fit to show mercy to the woman (he believed) to hate more than anything else, why had such merciful tendencies failed with a man he previously counted among his closest friends:

"Well, I'm beat," groused Alison, sliding into one of the chairs in the lobby "Some Christmas, huh? All the hospitals in the area are swamped, so I spend most of the day and a fair bit of the night working with the American medics."

"Get some rest," Seth suggested "You've earned it."

Ever since the operation in the Klamath Mountains, there had been a certain awkward nature to their conversations. Alison claimed Verraad's death had little impact on her now, but Seth still recognized the sadness in her eyes:

"You can tell me the truth," confided Seth

"About what?" Alison replied innocently

"Did anyone ever tell you that you are a horrible liar? I can still tell that you're bothered by him."

"Okay, yes I am. I think about it more than I should, really.

"So I take it you are mad at Geoffrey and I?"

"No, not really: I'm just disappointed that it had to turn out like it did.

"So am, I, Alison. So am I."

"But I'll get through it: Know why? Because I've got friends like you, Ursula, and Geoffrey. I don't care what the world decides to throw at me. If I have you three, I'll get through it."

Unsurprisingly, the next day's victory party had begun somewhat early: The midday beginning was some several hours before it's "organizer" had intended. Nonetheless, Adam Kemp, the absent-minded, scruffily-dressed youth was an enthusiastic entertainer, encouraging the partygoers to heartily celebrate the conflict's end, even addressing the few whom although visible, did not seem to feel like celebrating:

"Hey, wallflower," he said playfully "Why you just moping out in the lobby? You should be one of the biggest partiers right now. "

"I'm just not in much of a partying mood right now," answered Seth distantly, staring pensively into space

"Well if you change your mind, you'd better do so soon. My party-throwing days are pretty much over after this."

"Why's that?"

"In a few months, I'll be shipping out to Fort Leonard Wood for basic."

"Any particular reason you're thinking of enlisting? I would have thought you'd have had enough of fighting by now."

"Just trying to do the family name proud. Plus, there's that sense of satisfaction when people see the slacking screw-up make something of himself, you know?"

Seth, although never quite in that position, could see what he meant.

Although, Seth was far from the only guest not feeling exactly the life of the party. One of the more unusual sights was Brad Chua and Tanvir Khatri huddled around the former's laptop:

"Hey, boss!" called Chua "You gotta come see this."

Dwarfing the pair considerably, Seth was able to see a sleek, clean webpage, apparently for some undermined business:

"Norrwind Security Services," explained Chua proudly "Probably the most elite of the up-and-coming private military companies."

"I wouldn't have thought there were that many," Seth replied curiously

"A foul wind is blowing across this world of ours," said Khatri prophetically "Have you been paying attention to Europe and the Middle East?"

"Great pay, travel the world, meet and sometimes kill new and interesting people: What more could an alienated, ex-military man ask for? We both see little left for us here: That's why we're joining up with these guys."

"That actually sounds like a good fit for you two. I want to say 'good luck' but I know you guys don't need luck."

"Hey! Why don't you come with us?

While Seth did not see the prospect of more potential conflict as appealing, Chua's description made the endeavor seem unusually enticing: The prospect of traveling the world at little to no cost and the fact that his main profession was not exactly applauded in this country increased the offer's appeal a fair amount:

"I'll think about it," Seth replied finally

"Fair enough," said Khatri "But you must decide quickly; we are leaving for the company's headquarters in Iceland in three days."

"I'll put in a good word for you, boss," assured Chua "But even if you turn the offer down, just a hint: Buy stock in PMCs. Lots of it. These are going to be big really soon. Trust me on this."

However, Seth was far from alone in his early abandonment from the party:

The hotel's bar, a sleek, classy, dimly-lit establishment, played host to three of the military men whom were essential to the success of the whole operation. Reeve mumbling secretively on his mobile phone, Seth turned to his Army counterpart:

"So what are you going to do after this is all over?" inquired Seth "I'm sure the military would love to have one of the heroes who saved the country in an administrative position."

"I think I've seen enough bloodshed for one lifetime," replied Kemp wistfully "I'm retiring in a couple of days. Although I'm still kind of worried about Adam."

"I don't think you need to give it too much thought: He strikes me as someone who, once he gets his act together, will accomplish a lot."

"I would blame you for bowing out here," said Hawk, swiveling towards the pair atop his barstool "Lord knows you've earned it."

Exhausted and already had more than his fill of mindless social interaction, Seth, in pursuit of one of the many vacant rooms, made his way to the elevator, failing to notice Floyd Reeve sulking in the compartment's southeastern corner:

"Got a floor preference, Casey?" he inquired, a subdued, yet decidedly positive tone in his voice

"Any one works," replied Seth

"Hey... Something wrong?"

Taking his focus off of the ceiling, Seth turned his attention to the other occupant of the compartment:

"What would you do if you were looking for something, but couldn't find it just by staying where you were?" asked Seth absentmindedly "Something that bothers you a lot, but don't exactly know where it is or what it is?"

The older man paused thoughtfully, as if recalling his mistakes in a similar situation:

"If it's really bothering you this much," replied Reeve, tone vaguely self-conscious "I would say go try to find it. Whatever or wherever it is. You're a smart guy: I'm sure you'll find it eventually."

"Somehow I don't think smarts have much to do with it. If they did, I wouldn't be having this problem right now."

The celebrations having died down (at least in the hotel) by the next morning, Seth was far from surprised to find the lobby in a rather disorderly condition, furniture, assorted articles, and a few unconscious human bodies littered the area. The lack of a dedicated custodial staff guaranteed that the messes would be slow in being cleaned up: It was well past three that afternoon before the debris was finally cleared:

"Thanks for your help, Geoffrey," said Seth, leaning against a large broom

The Frenchman gave a soft yawn:

"Don't mention it," he replied "It's was pretty obvious nobody else was going to take care of it."

While the sheer volume of the assorted debris was remarkable, Seth was compelled to move onto more pertinent conversation. Particularly with one of his closest friends:

"If I just took off for a few years looking for something," he began heavily "What would you say?"

"I'd say that unless you're looking to do a lot of harm to it," Geoffrey answered darkly "Don't ask me about it."

"Wait, why not-"

"I'm sorry, Seth, but I'm not really sure how I can help with this."

Both disappointed and somewhat disturbed at his friend's answer, another question still remained with Seth:

"Aren't you kind of concerned about getting prosecuted once you get back to France?" questioned Seth

"I have my ways," Geoffrey replied, a remotely sinister glint in his eye "You know Ursula's going to lose her mind if she goes too long without hearing from you, right?"

"Dammit! That reminds me! I've been putting this off for months!"

"Well whatever it is, can you make it quick? I'm carpooling with Chua and Khatri to the airport in about an hour and need you to take back the rental."

"Sure, just let me get this."

Spending nearly half an hour finding the room which he had left his things in and an equal amount of time rummaging through them, Seth finally located the letter addressed to Ursula from her late father. Running back to the lobby to find Geoffrey, Khatri, and Chua merely needing to load their bags into the vehicle, Seth, now noticing (for some reason or another) the hotel employees had begun to return. Inquiring about a red-haired, green-eyed Russian woman fond of emotional displays and flashy dress bought no success. Realizing that the letter was not a matter needing immediate conclusion, Seth honored his obligation, taking the driver's seat of the dark-black, unspectacular sedan.

Apart from a light blanket of snow descending upon the ravaged city, the act of driving his friends to the airport (although Chua made the offer to join Norrwind one last time) and seeing them off from the terminal were fairly uneventful acts. However, the unmistakable energy which started to radiate around him led him to realize the presence of a very special friend:

"Have you been avoiding me or something?" asked Ursula playfully "You were barely at the party last night."

"Actually, no I haven't been," replied Seth, finally handing over the letter

Receiving and scanning the letter, Ursula, after some remorseful mutterings in Russian, placed the letter in her black fur coat:

"I don't know what I would have done without you," praised Ursula "Thank you."

"Not a problem," Seth replied, accepting Ursula's enthusiastic embrace

Several seconds spent in the arms of the other, Seth felt it best to gently push Ursula away:

"I'm sorry, I don't want to lead you on," he explained shamefully, eyes turning downward

"What are you talking about?"

"What would you say if was looking for something and had to go away for a long time to find it?"

"How important is it to you?"

"I won't be able to sleep soundly until I learn what exactly it is and how to get it."

"Then do it; Go find it."

Baffled by the woman's completely unexpected response, Seth could not help but ask further:

"Wait, you want me to go away?" inquired Seth, wondering how much he misread Ursula's tone and body language

"Of course I don't _want_ you to leave," clarified Ursula, closing the distance Seth had previously made "Naturally I want you right where I can find you: But I can tell this is really important to you, and I couldn't live with myself knowing that I stopped you from going after whatever the hell you're talking about."

Without any further warning, placing her left arm around his waist, Ursula pulled Seth into a deep, amorous kiss, not releasing him for nearly fifteen seconds:

"Just something to remember me by," she flirted "Now go on; Find what's bothering you so much. Those two idiots' plane doesn't leave for another half hour."

Buoyed by Ursula's pleasant, unexpected warmth, as well as her blessing, Seth started towards the terminal, recalling the gate numbers and proceeding from there. Despite venturing into what was decidedly the unknown, Seth, for the first time in almost a year, felt at peace with himself and the world.

Sayyid al-Seif bin Ahmed was never exactly fond of new technology, especially when it was overly complex. The activity and vigor of London's Heathrow Airport only exacerbating his foundation with the newfangled" phone" (bin Ahmed had found himself just now mastering the touchtone) the One-Eyed Imam insisted on him acquiring, he eventually succeeded in dialing his desired number:

"Are you there?" he questioned "Did I dial?"

_"Yes, my brother, you did,"_ came a calm, sinister, arrogant voice _"That One-Eyed Imam has quite the sense of humor."_

"Of inconceivably greater importance is the fact that this field test went completely awry."

"Naturally. You said it yourself many times; 'Mathir Li' is an idiot, a drug addict, and a coward."

"Not that it matters: This undertaking was only one of many alternates: It's time to put the ultimate plan into action."

"So are we meeting at the usual place at the usual time?"

"But of course."

###

