The crowd burst into cheers, when all of a sudden, a shot was heard fired in the distance as the bullet struck straight through Madam President Stacy Parks’ skull, killing the newly elected World Leader upon impact. Her body hit the ground just as the crowd began to disperse wildly, screaming in a panic. People began shoving one another to the side trying to get out of harm’s way while the military, dressed in full riot gear, blocked off a pathway towards the stage before they threw several flashbang grenades into the terrified crowd. The explosion was deafening as many people fell to their knees with their palms pressed tightly over their ears. Some began swinging their hands around after being blinded, before aimlessly forcing their way through the mass mob of people. John rushed over towards the podium as he picked Stacy up, holding her in his arms with the blood gushing out from her head womb. The blood cascaded down her face onto John’s clothing. He was disturbed by the gory sight of Stacy’s body lying reverently, unresponsive within his clasp. John’s angered outburst sent him into a manic temperament when another bullet was fired from the distance, this time flying by the podium missing him by only mere centimeters. He had not a care in the world for his own life as he held his loved one, Stacy, close to his chest with his face drenched in tears. “Noooo! Why God have you taken another person that I love away from me? This is your fault. You took away one of your children and my cherished fiancé,” John yelled out while pulling Stacy’s head in towards him even more as he rocked from side to side with his hands trembling. Everyone that had stood on the platform behind Stacy, before her execution, scattered around while most of them ran off through the black curtain, including Chance and Monica who agilely ducked behind cover backstage. Sky remained on the stage, hiding behind a small desk that held a few glasses of water on top for other guests that were in attendance at the ceremony. He looked over through two of the glasses to his father that was still holding Stacy. Her lifeless arms laid beside her body, dangling as John stroked her brunette hair with his bloodied hands. “Get out of there, dad!...DAD!?” Sky called out to his father as another shot was fired from afar. John wasn’t in the right mind set. He remained petrified by the cowardice act of the unknown shooter. It was almost as if he heard nothing but mournful silence while his main focus was glued to his dearest fiancé that now was no more than an empty shell. He looked around after coming to a realization of what had just taken place. John turned his head only to notice people running around franticly with all of the chaos still taking place, as Sky called out once more demanding that his father get to cover immediately. Secret Service, along with military soldiers, charged the stage pulling Sky away to safety while the crazed hysteria continued to occur. He hollered out loud, while reaching his arms out towards his father as he put up a struggle trying to resist the soldier’s courageous attempt to save his life. A military riot team began savagely attacking the audience by striking them with batons and firing their weapons upon them. Some of the soldiers placed other civilians in handcuffs as a means to detain and question certain people. Their intent was within locating the person responsible for assassinating the newly appointed President. John peeked his head around the corner of the podium and noticed a shimmer of light coming from a building far away in the distance. He squinted, while looking in that direction as he became filled with rage. He spotted the exact building where the gunshot had come from, for it stood out in the open as the best vantage point for a sniper to have such a clear shot. John also could see the window open as it was obvious with the white curtains blowing in the wind while all the others remained tightly closed and secured. He counted how many stories up and the number of windows inwards that the shot had come from. There was also a glimmer of light reflected off the sniper’s scope having caught his attention, coming from that very same window. At that moment, another bullet was fired as it whisked by John’s head into the floorboards of the stage. Diane and Brian ran over and shielded him with their bodies. Diane looked John in the eyes. She called out to him. “You are our only hope! Find the shooter. Find Resistance One. They are our ONLY hope!” she remarked as a loud bang was heard. The round fired from the high caliber weapon had struck her in the back of the head. Her body was forced forward, hitting the metal leg of a nearby chair. The rifle bullet fired from that distance placed a hole in Diane’s head that was equivalent to the size of a small tangerine. Brian turned his head, seeing his beautiful wife positioned beside him, bathed in blood. It was a monstrosity that was unbearable for him to witness. He became engulfed with fury. The emotions got the best of him and he began bawling his eyes out. He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the tears away, while reaching out his other hand towards his wife to try and pull her to his side. He had no clue that it was too late and Diane had already exhaled her final breath. John and Brian’s eyes connected for a moment whilst both of their companions bled profusely onto the stage. “Run!” Brian exclaimed as another bullet was shot off from the distance plowing through his side temple, right above his ear, and into a small table that sat center stage. The force of the shot toppled his body over onto John’s left leg almost entrapping him. A single tear fell down John’s face and dropped onto Stacy’s cheek that was saturated now with her own blood. He set down her body ever so gently before pushing Brian’s body off of him so he could stand up to his two feet. John took out two handguns that he had strapped to him before he began running down the front stairs of the staging area as two more bullets were fired with the intention of killing him, only to barely miss him by inches. The chaotic mass of people was aggressively pushed aside by John as he nudged his way past each individual. A few more shots were fired, obviously meant for his demise, but struck other distraught people running around him. He pushed those few out the way while passing through the crowd that continued to scramble. There was no order. Former Resistance members attacked criminals and vice versa. They did this without a care about the active sniper as it became their best chance at inciting revenge without any consequence. Military noticed John forcing his way through the crowd and boldly approached him, demanding that he put down his weapon. Someone had to take responsibility for the murder of his loving fiancé. There was no way that John was going to just let the soldiers slow him down from uncovering the identity of the nameless culprit. He unloaded his weapon at many of the soldiers, dropping them one by one. His adrenaline took over, while bulldozing his way through a smaller crazed crowd of individuals, killing every soldier that walked up to him with the idea of detaining him as they knew his relation to Stacy and how her death hadn’t been taken well. A day meant to be monumental had just turned into a complete bloodbath. John made his way through the small audience before reaching his stolen Lamborghini that he had parked within the lot close to where the speech was being held. He quickly got into the luxury sports car, slamming the door behind him and speeding off down the road towards the building that housed the sniper that had just killed Madam President Parks. The engine revved up as he kept his foot firmly pressed down on the gas pedal, whipping around a couple corners and right through every red light he came across. A gust of smoke followed behind the car from his exhaust as the burning rubber from his tires left a tarnished trail. He didn’t care if he ran over any pedestrians or military that quickly tried to contain the area to find the person responsible for killing Stacy Parks. Many jumped out of the way as the sports car peeled down each road as a means to avoid vehicular manslaughter. When John finally reached the building, he slammed on the brakes as the tires screeched out loud. The distinct burning smell from them and sound from his abrupt stop could be easily identified several feet away with smoke now pouring off of each of his four wheels into the air. Bystanders quickly glanced over to see what the commotion was about. John jumped out of the car before briefly noticing the curvy streaks left behind him as well as the civilians running into nearby establishments. It was a moment of truth. John had to uncover the person responsible for this heartless assassination. He ran as quickly as he could into the non-vacant building, kicking the entrance doors open with his guns drawn. The hotel owner exited around to the front of the receptionist desk with a wooden baseball bat in hand that was almost fully wrapped in barbed wire. His uniform was slightly torn and covered in soot as he aggressively approached John to berate him. “Sir you can’t just come into this building without stopping by the front desk to pay for a room. Our asking price is four hundred dollars a night. I must see cash and identification,” he demanded as John raised his gun at the angered manager who backed off immediately to avoid further conflict that could potentially lead to his own demise. The manager did a double take before he recognized Johns’ face from previous television newscasts making him well aware that of all the people he didn’t want to mess with, that John was at the top of that list. The hotel seemed quiet with not many residents occupying the building that day. The few that came out of their rooms on the main floor saw John walking fast through the halls with heavy strides towards the stairwell holding both weapons as they migrated back into their rooms, closing their doors behind them. John turned the corner, sprinting to the entrance of the stairwell, before he headed to the twelfth story. A little exhausted from his ascent up several flights of stairs, he finally reached the floor in question. When John opened the entrance door and looked down the hallway, things seemed fairly sketchy. It was silent to a point where you could hear a pin drop. John was en route down the hallway while scoping out the area. He passed several hotel rooms that had their doors wide open. Inside of them, were several drugged up hookers laying down on dirty stained mattresses. They were visibly under a hundred pounds in weight, with their scaly skin hanging from the frail bones. The rooms were dark with varying trash scattered amongst the floors next to several syringes and drugs. Was this a hotel or a whore house, he thought to himself? He made it halfway down to the end of the hall when a residents’ door opened and a burly man walked out with a home-made shank gripped sternly within his grasp. “Where the fuck do you think you are going?” he aggressively asked John who was unfazed by the man’s sternness. John slowed down in front of the man who was now deliberately blocking his pathway. “I said where the fuck do you think you are going?” the man asked again. John slid the gun magazine out from his gun, catching it in his other hand that held another pistol. He swung his arm back as far as he could, forcing the jagged metal edge of the clip into the man’s neck. A little over half of the clip was now perforated into the left side and sharply pressed against his esophagus making it hard for him to breathe or even swallow his own saliva. The man gasped for air as it was difficult taking slow breaths to avoid the strain on his lungs. John pulled back out the clip, as blood squirted out onto the floor and continued placing the mag that was now covered in his own plasma back into his weapon, but not before cocking the gun and firing an even more devastating blow into the side of the man’s skull. He fell over against the wall and then onto the ground. The smell of gunpowder filtered through the air, while blood dripped down the wallpaper to the carpeted floor. He had no time for any nonsense and felt nothing could stop him from finding out who was responsible for assassinating Stacy. John continued on his way, passing door by door and counting each one along the way. “Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen!” he quietly counted to himself. As he approached the seventeenth room, he noticed the door slightly open and could hear a person skittishly moving around inside. He took a deep breath and slowly entered the room with his guns drawn towards a man that was seen nervously disassembling his illegally possessed sniper rifle. The shooters’ hands were shaking as he dropped certain pieces onto the floor, timidly picking them up and packing them into his disorganized case. The shooter’s back was to John as he crept up behind him, demanding that the unidentified assailant not move a muscle. John was now breathing heavily as the man quickly raised both his hands in the air to surrender before slowly turning around. His face was very familiar, as John recognized him from somewhere. Both of their eyes met as the man also had a look of shock on his face. He too recognized John, but didn’t understand how he was able to locate him so fast, just moments after he had killed the newly elected President. “You son of a bitch!” John shouted out, while taking a couple steps closer into the room. He was astonished by who he found to be the man responsible for murdering the beautiful Stacy Parks. “John, you don’t understand!” the man suggested and dropped to both of his knees. John took several more steps in to where he was now only a couple feet away in front of the man he had heard much about from Stacy. They were standing pretty much face to face as John acknowledged the individual he was in front of. “Carter! Why? Why would you kill your wife? Why are you here, Carter? WHY?” John pleaded for an explanation. Carter shook his head in confusion with a slight grin on his face at the dismay expressed by John. He had always hated him from knowing the connection he had to Stacy and Jesse. Carter was the sleazy kind of person that would try to talk his way out of any situation. He quickly spoke up to begin answering John’s questions. “You don’t understand. Dominic paid me to come here and elimin…” Carter began to explain as John pulled the trigger. The bullet was planted between both of Carter’s eyes, right above the bridge of his nose, just before he could finish his statement. His head flung backwards into the glass window and then into a wooden desk beside it. He hit the ground hard while pieces of glass fell down on top of him. John walked over and fired several more heartless shots into his head. It was all so surreal that John had come across Stacy’s husband lingering in that room as he was trying to hurry up and skip town. Out of all the possible people that he thought it could have been, he would have never guessed that it would be Stacy’s husband. John already assumed that Dominic was responsible for the death of his lover before Carter had even mentioned his name. It was the only thing that made sense. Maybe it would have been different if he had come across a random person in this situation, but this was not the case. Carter was still technically married to her and John thought that maybe her husband would still have some feelings for her to not want to be the guy that was responsible for ending her life. There was obviously more to the story. John’s temper pushed him further in the direction of wanting to exact revenge. Carter was just the pawn being used by the cynical President Harvey. Her husband was obviously still genuinely hurt and filled with anger, blaming her for the unfortunate death of his sister and nephew which was clearly not her fault. John had to get out of there. There was a bad taste in his mouth, left by the actions of Carter. He was disgusted so much to a point where he felt like he was going to vomit. How could a man take the life of any woman he had lovingly married at one point? On his way walking out the door, something caught his eye just out the side of his peripheral. He saw a photo lying inside the case that Carter was packing his rifle into. John walked over and picked it up out of the case. It was a photograph of Carter, his only sister that had been murdered and Stacy. The odd thing that he noticed was that Stacy’s face was vaguely scratched out.
