Katrina pulled into the wide curving driveway to her house and turned off the motor. She paused for a minute before turning off the radio; they were playing one of Carlos' songs and she wanted to hear the ending, which she liked very much. She sat and relaxed for a second as the gentle afternoon sunlight streamed in through the windshield, a little smile spreading across her face.

When the song finished Katrina set the parking brake and stepped out of the car, grabbing her purse and the bag of multi‑colored roses propped up on the seat beside her that she had just picked up from the local nursery. She walked slowly toward the front door of her house, humming the melody that was still going through her mind. It was a particularly pretty song, and was getting a lot of airplay; a follow up to the band's extremely successful debut hit, The Cobalt Dream. And there would be more hits, she felt certain. She liked every single song on the album, which was a very rare thing for her.

Katrina was in a buoyant mood; it seemed that everything was going her way, ever since she had reunited with Carlos and the two lonely young rebels had become lovers. All the uncertainty and doubts that had built up during their long months of separation had faded away now like melting snow, and had been replaced by a happiness that she had never known before. And the wonderful feeling was still building, growing stronger and more joyful with each passing day. The future seemed very bright indeed. As she climbed the steps to her front porch, she paused for a second and gazed up at the beautifully cloud‑strewn azure sky.

Katrina had always believed in an all‑knowing, benevolent God; she had pondered the concept of God many times in her young life. She had been raised to believe in a God by her pious parents, who had instilled in her a feeling of gratitude for all the good things she had been given. But she had never actually uttered those words out loud; it had always been an internal thought. Now something had prompted her to say it: thank you, God. Thank you for blessing me with all of this happiness.

Stepping into the foyer of her house, Katrina put down her purse on a table and walked into the family room holding her bag of roses. Placing the roses into the water–filled vase on the table besides the alcove, she noticed that the television was blaring loudly from the other side of the large room, which was unusual. Her mother was nowhere to be seen.

Frowning slightly, Katrina walked over to the large television set. A rather obnoxious late‑night talk show host named David Litterbugg who had recently been transferred to a more prestigious afternoon time slot was interviewing his guest, another revulsive talk show figure who went by the rather apt name of Ellen Degenerate. The two celebrities were yapping away about shallow, sensationalist subjects in typical television fashion. Katrina turned off the t.v. and grimaced in dismay as she heard her mother's footsteps approaching on the wooden foyer floor outside the room.

Her mother went over to the television set and turned it back on, and began flipping through the channels. "Katrina, the radio just said that some high‑ranking military people were caught trying to overthrow the government! They're holed up in a house in Franklinville, and the police and news people are outside telling them to give themselves up! It's frightening...," Gail kept changing channels, looking for another news program. Finding one, she turned up the volume and stared anxiously at the screen. Katrina walked over and stood beside her, a suspicious look on her face; ever since she had found out from Carlos about who really ran the news media, and had experienced the shock of having her own privacy invaded by an unknown media entity, she had ceased to believe anything she saw or heard on either television or radio.

"Here's the latest update on the standoff in Franklinville," said a news anchorman. "Air Force commander Major General Daniel Murdock and his co–conspirators are still inside the dwelling resisting arrest, and have given no sign of surrendering to authorities. The local police have been joined by an army detachment led by Colonel Barry Rothman and are assessing the situation, as they contemplate their next move. Here's an update from our sky–cam team... Rick, are you there?" asked the anchorman.

The picture switched to an airborne view of a large mansion surrounded by lush green gardens, a tennis court and a swimming pool. The sound of a helicopter propeller chopping the air could be heard as an airborne reporter replied tensely. "Yes Dave, I'm reading you. We're above the house and grounds of General Murdock now... we can discern no movement outside of the house... they appear to still be inside on an upper floor, but have now closed all the blinds to the windows so that we can't see what they're doing inside. We're continuing to surveil the entire area."

"Not yet, Dave... he's on the telephone right now attempting to get through, and a p.a. system is being set up; it should be operable in a few minutes." The chopper's propellers were threatening to drown out the reporter's voice, lending a tense ambience to the scenario.

"Since at least this morning... apparently they convened earlier in the day to conspire a final plan of action to take over the entire government, with the assistance of operatives whose identities are being sought out now, and who will be arrested and charged accordingly when found. That's all we know at this time..."

"Thank you, Dave." The sound of the chopper stopped abruptly as the anchorman turned to face the viewers. "We'll be speaking with Colonel Rothman in a few minutes, but right now here's some more pertinent facts. Apparently it was Colonel Rothman who discovered the conspiracy, with the help of an undisclosed surveillance group; he immediately reported it to the President, who gave him the go‑ahead to proceed with the arrest. However, the situation is still tense... the conspirators are believed to be heavily armed, and it is unlikely that they will give themselves up without a struggle, as they'll be facing heavy charges of treason and other offenses that carry unconditional death sentences."

Dave the anchorman turned to his right as the camera drew back to show a dour looking man in a black suit sitting next to him. "We have with us the esteemed Dr. Joshua Weisenthal from the Presidential Think Tank, here to give us a psychological analysis of the conspirators' leader, Major General Daniel Murdock. Dr. Weisenthal, what do you think motivates a man like Murdock to attempt such an insanely disruptive action as this?"

"Well Dave, it appears from credible sources that Murdock is driven by an irrational belief in the myth of total Usherian control of all facets of the government, a myth which is, unfortunately, spreading dangerously in this country, as well as many other countries throughout the world. This irrational hatred, which is based on totally unfounded conspiracy theory myths which are entirely baseless, is compounded by a festering resentment of Ushers in particular, a resentment born of extreme paranoia and jealousy. He naively imagines that there is no threat from Persianic terrorists to our country, and that a military pre‑emptive response is a foolish waste of taxpayer's dollars; this naivety of the real world situation is extremely dangerous to us, and should not be tolerated in higher‑ranking military officers. Men like Murdock are a threat to national security, as well as to the security of Usheria, our closest ally."

"Absolutely not, Dave... there is absolutely no credible evidence to back up his wild theories of Usher domination; the events of October 13th stand in stark contrast to his irrational views. There is a well‑documented Persianic threat not only to this country, but to the entire world as well. He is an extremely dangerous man, and should be tried and executed in accordance with the laws of this great country, laws which were put in place to protect us from extremists like Major General Daniel Murdock." Dr. Weisenthal turned to face the camera as he spoke his last sentence.

"Thank you, Dr. Weisenthal." Dave turned to face the camera once again. "We'll break now for station identification, after which we'll be bringing you an interview with the famous national patriot, rage‑rock star and political analyst John Terraman, better known as The Knee." The newsroom scene slowly faded from view as a song from the popular rage‑rock band Goons in Poses came on, reverberating throughout the room.

"How disgusting." Gail clicked off the t.v. "Oh Katrina, what is this country coming to? What's going to happen next? I tell you, things are getting scarier every day! And why do they play that music on a news program? I just don't understand this world anymore..."

Katrina put her arms around her mother and gently hugged her, holding her for a long time. Gail looked at her daughter, a scared and confused expression contorting her fading but still quite evident facial beauty; Katrina remained calm and collected, stroking her mother's hair.

Dan Murdock slowly picked up the glass of water sitting on the table beside him and ran his finger around the rim, lost in thought. Sitting in chairs and sofas spread throughout the large room were his co‑conspirator criminal associates, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Henry quickly moved away from the window. Dan was right. The people gathered outside the mansion's main gates were capable of anything; he knew that well enough from experience. "Ok, Dan... thanks." He walked to the table in the center of the room and poured himself a drink from the large crystal decanter Dan had put there; he needed to steady his jangled nerves.

"Won't they just shoot out the speakers, Dan? Seems like that would be pretty easy for them to do..." asked Mike Reynolds, Murdock's fellow Air Force commander, sitting back calmly in a comfortable leather recliner.

"They're fairly well hidden, Mike... and protected somewhat, for what it's worth. And if they shoot those out I've got back‑ups in the woods, in the trees. A lot of backups." Dan smiled at his courageous friend; Mike's calming presence was helping him to cope with the situation at hand, a scenario he had planned for but had hoped wouldn't be occurring. That hope had now disappeared, gone with the wind.

"It was," Dan replied with a grimace; then he smiled. "But it was worth it. By the time they've found all of them we should have said our piece, enough of it at least. The wires are pretty well concealed... they'll find them of course, but it will take a little while." He moved over to the t.v. and clicked the remote control, scanning the scene that was developing outside in front of his house.

The crowd was growing steadily. Dan could see a public address system being set up; very soon now they could expect some noise from it. He had temporarily disconnected the phone, as he knew that talking to the man in charge of arresting them, Colonel Rothman, would serve absolutely no purpose. Rothman would never voluntarily let anyone hear him explain his reasons for what he had attempted to do; the decadent, corrupt colonel was a drug‑addicted puppet of the real conspirators, and would just want to quickly wrap things up and return home to get his next fix. Dan was dead‑set against that happening; he would play this thing out as long as possible, to get as much media attention as he could. If viewers were able to see what Dan fully expected was going to happen to him and his "co–conspirators," they might be shocked enough to try to get to the truth of the matter. Dan had taken measures to distribute pamphlets among his trusted supporters, which they would try to disseminate as far and wide as they possibly could.

As he watched the crowd outside on his closed–circuit television, he suddenly heard the sound of the helicopter that had been circling the perimeter getting louder and louder; it sounded close, like it was just outside the window. He put down his remote and walked quickly back to his chair, picking up the huge automatic weapon that was lying on the floor. He slipped back the safety and held it at the ready; Mike Reynolds did the same with his own gun.

"You're right... you know these Ushers. The more viewers, the more advertising revenue!" DuPont chuckled at his little joke as he swirled the ice around in his glass. The others laughed, appreciating the humorous break in the tension.

Suddenly the p.a. system outside came to life; the deep, authoritarian voice of Colonel Rothman came resounding into the room. "Major General Dan Murdock! You are under arrest! The premises are completely surrounded. Surrender now! You and the others will not be harmed!"

The men in the room burst into loud laughter, all except for Henry. He sat down in his chair, a pensive look on his face as he watched the other men picking up the large, deadly looking firearms lying besides them on the floor.

The chopping sound of the helicopter's propeller blades were sounding loud again, right outside one of the windows this time; Rothman was trying to intimidate them. But it wasn't working... the men remained calm as they held their guns, waiting.

"Remember boys, if you have to fire on the chopper, aim for the gas tank. It's probably armored, but it's the best target." Murdock turned to look at Henry, who was sitting despondently in his chair looking down at the floor.

Henry continued staring at the floor. "Dan... I think I'd like to consider surrendering. For myself, I mean... I... I want to talk to my wife and daughter, just one last time. I want to try to explain why I did this. If I don't, they may be... they may not be able to defend themselves, against the people who are going to believe the media, what they're going to say about us." Henry's voice cracked as he spoke. He looked like he was on the verge of tears.

Murdock laid his gun down on the table and put both hands on Henry's shoulders. "I understand, Henry... when the time comes, you're free to do whatever you think is best for you." He turned to face the others. "That goes for all of you as well... of course. But I think we all know what they'll do to us, if they capture us. Once they get us out of the camera's eye, we'll be completely at the mercy of demented Satanists." He continued to gently massage Henry's shoulders.

Henry stopped crying and straightened up, wiping his eyes. "I know, Dan; I know, but I..." Henry paused, taking his handkerchief out from his breast pocket, and blew his nose. Composing himself somewhat, he managed to look up into his partner's sympathetic eyes. "I'll think some more about it, Dan. Thank you... thank you."

"You're a very brave man, Henry... and I'd be very proud to die with a man like you. As I said, when the time comes you can make your decision, whatever you wish to do." Dan patted Henry's shoulder, then stood back and looked at his calmer companions once again. One by one, the men in the room rose from their seats and turned to face Henry. Putting down their weapons, they began to applaud him in a noble display of compassionate grace... and pride.

Henry rose slowly from his chair, a final single tear falling down his cheek. Looking around at his clapping fellow conspirators, he struggled hard to control the frightened expression on his face. He looked back down at the floor for a few long moments; then, finally regaining his composure, Henry looked up at them all again.