The Chained Man

September 14, 1998

Brody Powell walked through the doors of the Colliers Student Center at Ashbrook University. It was the beginning of September, but it was unseasonably cold outside. Despite the fact that he had on a thick, orange hoodie and a coat, he was still shivering. He entered the building with his teeth chattering uncontrollably. He paused just inside the door and looked around for anyone familiar.

He was a freshman at the university and there weren’t many people there he knew. He was a military brat and had spent nearly his whole life overseas. He decided on Ashbrook because most of his relatives lived in the area and he figured it would be good to have family around. Plus, Ashbrook was one of the country’s most prestigious universities and there were a lot of great job opportunities available to Ashbrook alumni.
He’d been at the university for a little over three weeks and spent most of his time going to classes, studying, or working. He thought it’d be good for him to get out. Which was why he was going to the freshmen welcome party. It was something the school did at the start of every academic year to help new students meet people. It seemed like a good idea at the time but as he checked the place out, it didn’t look very promising. There was a scattering of people here and there but overall, not a big crowd. The place was practically empty.

He walked toward the middle of the big room and spotted Travis Spencer, his tall and lanky roommate. He was dueling with cushioned weapons on a huge, yellow and red inflatable. The other guy was shorter than Travis but much bulkier. That guy looked like your classic gym nut with a bald head and an honest-to-God handlebar mustache.

Brody stood there a moment. He watched Gym Nut deal Travis a blow so hard it sent his roommate flying almost to the edge of the inflatable.
Brody laughed to himself as he watched Travis get up and shake his head. He watched his roommate get pummeled a little more until he got bored. He walked away, trying to find something that would entertain him. His eyes happened on a sign proclaiming that the “world famous Madame Toulour was giving out free Tarot card readings.” A bright red arrow on the bottom of the sign pointed the way to her. Brody shrugged his shoulders and followed it dutifully. He always wanted to talk to a psychic and the fact that it was free was enough to convince him.

The hallway brought him to a large dark room that had dozens of candles as the only light source. Brody pushed ahead uneasily, suddenly feeling like this was a bad idea.

He looked around but the psychic wasn’t in the room. The only thing he saw was her shabby table. It was in the very center of the room and was the only thing inside. The room was big too, which made the table look even more ridiculous than it already did. He ignored the sudden (and irrational) fear that made his blood run cold. He walked to the table and sat down in the empty chair in front of it.

His stupid fear surged back in, this time a lot stronger. Again, he ignored it while wondering why he was feeling so much nervousness over nothing. Instead of getting up, he stubbornly sat there while he struggled to brush away the pesky intuition that he shouldn’t be there.

He was just about successful in keeping his fear away when he heard a voice.

“Welcome, welcome,” it said. It seemed to slither through the air like a demonic creature and it ground against Brody’s nerves, giving him goose bumps.

He looked around, trying to find the person the voice belonged to (while at the same time, wishing he wouldn’t).

He found her over in a corner, where the lights of the candles couldn’t quite reach. She was coming through a simple wooden door back there.
It was hard to see her at first. She was mostly covered in dark shadows. As she walked, however, more and more detail was uncovered. He saw that she was dressed in shades of deep yet shiny purple. A black wrap covered her hair but he could still see wispy, straw-like strands of gray tumbling loose from it as she walked closer to him. Dozens of shiny gold and silver bracelets jangled on her thin wrists.

Brody had to suppress a laugh as he watched her. She looked like a walking stereotype.

As she got closer, however, he noticed that she walked in short bursts with one arm on the small of her back and the other waving back and forth in front of her like it was a guide. Her wrinkled, craggy face came into view, appearing out of the deep shadows like an evil spirit. She had a narrow and gaunt face with a hooked nose (which made her look even more like an evil hag, Brody noticed).

Eventually, the old woman made it to her chair and when she sat down and looked at him, Brody had to stop himself from almost jumping out of his seat as pure terror nearly overwhelmed him.

Madame Toulour’s eyes were blank and milky white. That, combined with all her other horror movie-esque qualities was almost enough to send him running right then and there.

He kept his cool instead and remained seated.

“You don’t have to be frightened of me, boy,” the woman rasped. Her voice sounded dry and frail and there was an odd slur tinting her words. “I won’t bite.”

Then she laughed loudly with her mouth opened wide.

She had no teeth at all.

Madame Toulour quit laughing abruptly. The room fell dead quiet, making Brody even more uncomfortable.

“Shall we start?” she inquired, tilting her head slightly to one side.

“Uh...sure, ma’am,” Brody agreed, shakily.

The old woman nodded and withdrew an old, beaten up deck of Tarot cards from a purple velvet pouch. Strange runes and glyphs were arranged in purposeful positions on the backs of them and as he stared at them, Brody could have sworn they were glowing. He turned his eyes away after only a few seconds, unable to look at them and keep his cool at the same time. The strange vibe he felt radiating off them was really freaking him out. Madame Toulour, however, just continued to smile toothlessly.

“For you, boy,” she whispered. “Draw any three, for three is all I need to see your future.”

Nervously, Brody reached a shaking hand to the woman’s odd deck. After carefully looking at each one, he selected three of the cards. He held them in his hands and quickly realized that touching them was far worse than looking at them. They felt nauseating to him and there was a weird humming that he could feel through his fingers.

“Give them here, boy!” the old hag hissed, startling Brody.

He handed them over, glad to be rid of their disquieting touch. The old hag took them greedily and turned them so that they were facing her. He watched her run her old and withered fingers over the cards, caressing them eagerly and almost lovingly. Her wiry eyebrows were furrowed in concentration.

“Ah,” she murmured, her attention on one of the cards. She flipped it around so that he could see what was depicted on it. A pair of naked people were revealed, a man and a woman. They were entwined in a loving kiss with their limbs wrapped around each other. There were even parts of themselves where it looked like they were melting and merging together. Their hands were twisted into each other’s hair. In the background of the card’s art was a huge majestic tree with sprawling, leafy branches. Hidden among them was a glowing pair of snake’s eyes and faintly visible was its long, glistening body.

The image made Brody shudder.

“The Lovers.”

“The...umm...lovers?” he asked.

“Yes,” Madame Toulour responded impatiently. “It means your soul mate is near. You will meet her soon.”

“Soul mate?” he asked, intrigued despite himself. “Happen to know what she’ll look like?”

“About five foot four, a hundred and ten pounds with red hair and green eyes. Very pretty,” the old woman shot back at once. Her white eyes were intensely set on his. Then she started laughing hysterically. To Brody, it sounded more like a scream than laughter. It scared him more than it put him at ease. “I’m joking. A little psychic’s humor. Gets them every time.”

“Oh...ha...ha,” Brody said without conviction. He sighed to himself as he realized what a colossal mistake it was to come here. He wanted to get the hell out of there.

But he was also curious.

Cursing himself for a fool, he stayed there and watched the old hag flip over the second card. She handed it to him, something somber in her movements. The card showed a nightmarishly gruesome character on a pale horse. It was cloaked all in black, the hood coming up and over its head. But you could still see its face. It was mostly skull, but there were parts where he could see decomposing flesh. The thing’s eyes were a bright, sickly green and it held a scythe in a stark white, skeletal hand. The shaft was broken about halfway down and where it ended, there was nothing but jagged splinters.

A sick, fluttering fear ripped through Brody’s stomach when he saw that card.

“Death,” the hag said, whispering.

“What does it tell you?” Brody asked, his voice small.

“It tells me that a death will shape your future. A death of someone you love or will love very dearly.”

Before Brody could ask any more questions, she handed him the last and final card. This one depicted a man bound by his hands and feet with inhumanly thick chains and suspended above a yawning chasm that was glowing an eerie red. Demons and imps ran through it, their yellow eyes ablaze.

He looked at the card for a long time, thinking there was something about it that was upsetting him on a subconscious level (even more so than he already was). He looked closer at the card and the features of the man depicted on it became clearer and clearer until he realized with a sickening feeling that the man bound by the thick chains was himself. It was completely accurate, from his blonde hair and brown eyes to the scar on his chin and the tattoo of a tribal hawk on his upper left arm.

He dropped the card in shock and looked up to find Madame Toulour’s milky white eyes watching him.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, accusation in his voice.

“That, dear boy, is the Chained Man,” the old hag responded with a toothless grin that cracked her old, wrinkled face. “It is an unmerciful card. You are bound to a fate you do not want, boy. An unspeakable fate.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Brody asked.

“That you cannot escape it,” the old woman replied, still cackling hideously. The overall effect really sold the witch vibe Brody had when he first saw her.

Scared and angry, Brody rose from his chair so quickly he knocked it over. He didn’t care, he just wanted out of there. He bolted, racing for the door like the hounds of Hell were on his heels. When he got to there, he grabbed its frame and swung out into the hall...

...and crashed directly into some poor girl he didn’t even. He watched in horror when saw her get knocked painfully onto her butt.

”Ow!” she yelled indignantly. “Watch where you’re going, asshole!”

“I’m sorry,” Brody told her, chancing a nervous glance back at the door. He half expected the old hag to pop out of the darkness and start cackling at him again.

“Well that’s great of you. Real gentlemanly. Knock a girl on her friggin’ ass and just say sorry. How bout instead of saying sorry, you help the girl you knocked on her ass up? I think you broke my butt.” She held out her slender arms for Brody to take.

He’d been so preoccupied with his own fear that he hadn’t taken the time to really see the girl. When he finally did notice her he saw that she was extremely beautiful. She had pretty red hair and green eyes that were bright and intelligent. Her skin was a not too pale white and a spattering of freckles covered the bridge of her nose.

Wait a second, he thought to himself, red hair and green eyes? He took another look at her.

“Uh...I know this is an odd question, but how tall are you?” he asked her as he helped her off the floor.

“Five four,” she replied while she brushed herself off. “Why?”

“Uh...no reason. Umm...I was just thinking about something a crazy old lady said to me,” Brody replied, glancing one last time at the dark doorway to Madame Toulour’s creepy table. Bound to a fate you do not want, whispered in his mind and he did everything he could think of to repress it. He turned back around. “Would you like to get something to eat with me?”

“Well that depends,” she answered, giving him a curious yet playful look.

“On?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Do you plan on knocking me down again?” She smiled, and it was the most radiant and beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

“Uh...no,” he answered sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “I’m Brody by the way. Brody Powell.” He extended his hand for her to shake.

“Hillary Preble,” she replied, returning his handshake. “So where are you taking me?”

“Do you like Waffle House? I think it’s the only place that’s open right now,” he asked her.

“Sounds good to me.”

July 10, 2014

It’s been sixteen years since that day, Brody thought to himself. He found it odd that he would be thinking about Madam Toulour now. He hardly did these days, except when he was remembering when he first met Hillary. The creepy old psychic almost never invaded his thoughts, along with the equally creepy reading she’d given him.

He sat alone in his favorite restaurant close to where he worked. He was the Vice President of Creative Services at Red Hawk Lit, a highly successful literary magazine and publishing firm.

He came to the restaurant practically every day for lunch, just watching people or for quiet reflection. Sometimes Hillary would join him, but not today. She was supposed to be at conferences with Andrew’s teacher.

He couldn’t believe their little boy was so big. He was already in the fifth grade. How does time go by so quickly? It felt like yesterday his son was sucking down bottles and crawling all over the house, getting into things he shouldn’t.

Lost in thought, he almost didn’t notice the waiter bringing him his food. His stomach growled fiercely when he saw his cheddar bacon cheeseburger complete with fries.

He sent the waiter away with a slight nod and a word of thanks. Then he went to work on wolfing down the burger and fries. After a few minutes, he pushed his empty plate away and pulled out a thick binder full of specs and upgrades needed for Red Hawk’s website. He started brainstorming, which was his least favorite part when it came to design. However, when he finally came to an idea he loved, he attacked it ruthlessly until the project was completed.

He sat there staring at a blank page for a while, quickly growing frustrated at the lack of something solid. He sketched out a couple rough ideas. Then he moved on to some thumbnails of what he was envisioning. Nothing was really screaming out to him as a great idea. He was ready to beat his head on the table, but he heard the little bell above the door chime. He glanced up reflexively.

At first, he didn’t realize who it was that just entered. He went back to work like usual. Then his brain caught up to his eyes and he jerked his head back up. Standing at the hostess’s podium was his wife. She was talking to the young woman working there. The girl, either in high school or recently graduated, looked around the restaurant until she saw him. There was a questioning look on her face. Brody smiled and gave the girl a quick nod to show her that he knew her.

The girl turned back to his wife. She said something to her. Once she was finished, Hillary walked past her and into the restaurant.

Confused, Brody glanced at his watch, noticing that it was only twelve-thirty. Hillary should still be at Andrew’s school.

Brody took a good, long look at her as she walked up to him. His mood switched from pleasant to worried in a microsecond the minute he saw her face. The woman walking toward him was Hillary, but she didn’t look like her usual self. She was older or seemed so anyway. She had worry lines on her once flawless complexion and a pair of crow’s feet wrinkled up the corners of her green eyes (which had been so full of life this morning but now seemed weirdly haunted). Her mouth was set into a firm line and she was dressed in one of her old concert shirts (which still showed off her extremely sexy figure, he couldn’t help but notice). She also had on a pair of filthy, faded jeans that sported matching holes in the knees. It wasn’t like the way she usually dressed. She almost always wore a stylish outfit that cost a fortune.

He continued watching her as she wove her way through the other tables and people in the restaurant. When she got to him, she sat down and a warm smile spread across her lips. Her haunted eyes changed to loving ones as she looked at him.

She smiled affectionately and then spoke.

“Brody.” There was something strange in the way she said his name. She said it as if they’d been apart for a long, long time.

“Hillary?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” she whispered, wiping away a sudden tear from her eye. “Everything.”

“Is it Andrew?” Brody grew tense, fear crawling up his spine. He saw her body jerk at the mention of their son’s name. It was like he slapped her.
“Our little Andy.” She cried loudly. “Today is the day our little boy dies.”

It was a statement that seemed so matter of fact. A statement born from absolute certainty. He saw it in her eyes. They’d grown shadowed and distant, the mind behind them lost in a distant past that only she remembered.

Brody’s body filled with icy fear at the thought of Andy’s death. Tendrils of it closed around his heart. The clear certainty in her voice was terrifying. He reached across the table and grabbed her wrist, not even caring if he hurt her. All he could think about was his son. Images of him flashed through his mind. His laughter. His good-natured pranks. His love of basketball and video games.

“What!?” he yelled, shaking her wrist and clamping down on it even tighter. “What the hell are you talking about? Where is he? Why aren’t you with him? You should be at conferences right now!”

He was aware of people starting to look at them. He didn’t care. Everything stopped mattering to him the moment those words came out of his wife’s mouth. But Hillary saw them too. She realized what people were bound to think so she pulled her arm gently away from his grasp and looked him in the eyes with love and sympathy.

“Shhh...Brody,” she told him and after a moment’s hesitation, he shut his mouth. “There’s nothing you can do for him. Andy’s time will come today.”
“Jesus Christ! What are you talking about?” he asked her, his voice strained with a worry so intense it ate at him.

“I’ll tell you everything,” she said, her voice quiet. “You deserve that much.”

There was a long awkward pause between them. His eyes narrowed angrily. He made up his mind at that point. The dirty jeans, the old concert t-shirt and the appearance of being older. This woman was an impostor, he was sure of it.

“Who the hell are you? You’re not my wife. And what do you want with me? Is this some kind of sick, demented prank?” Brody asked. He was sure that this woman was not his wife.

“I am Hillary,” she told him, her eyes serious. “We met our freshmen year of college when you knocked me down."

“You’re not the Hillary I know, that’s for damn sure,” he told her. He was getting up to leave. He was going to race to Andy’s school.

The strange woman grabbed his hand again. Brody stared at her, torn between checking on his son and hearing her out.

“It’s true that I’m not the wife you know,” she agreed. “But I am your wife. Just your wife from the future.”

He stared at her with a look that most people reserve for the severely psychotic. She must be crazy, whoever she was. Had to be.

“Okay,” he scoffed. He wanted to physically hit himself for even entertaining the notion of hearing what she had to say. “You’re a whack-job and you know it. I’m getting the hell out of here!”

He wasn’t about to have a conversation with a crazy woman that was trying to tell him his son was going to die today.

He got up again, only to be restrained when her hand clamped over his forearm. He felt her nails digging into his skin. Her fingers felt like iron bars on his arm. He looked at her in shocked disbelief, but there was no anger in her features. Just love. Love and compassion.

“Let go of me. Right now,” he warned.

“If I’m lying, then how would I know that you got the scar on your chin from a roller blading accident? How would I know how we first met or that we named our son after his dead uncle, your brother? How would I know that we conceived Andy the night we went to this concert?” She gestured toward her shirt. “How could I possibly know all these things?” She was vehement, her grip on his arm was painful and it was apparent she didn’t want him to leave.

Her words hit home though, and he sat down numbly. How could she know all those intimate details? Right down to why they named their son Andrew. But it was impossible, wasn’t it? Nobody could travel through time. Could they?

“If I believe you, then how did you get here?” he asked her, hoping to trap her.

“The Phoenix Group sent me here,” she answered, matter of fact. “I will tell you everything if you’ll just sit and keep your mind open. You were always good for that, Brody. Always had the biggest open mind of anyone I knew.”

“Fine,” he answered, not bothering to hide his irritation or his anxiety. “I want to know what you meant when you said Andrew dies today and how I can stop it.”

She took a deep, steadying breath.

“I’ll start there, and I’ll start by saying, again, that there is nothing you can do. Andy’s time has come. It is his fate to die today. I know that better than anyone, Brody. I’ve tried to save him many times, but he dies no matter what I do.” She started crying freely now and Brody reached across the table and grasped her hand on pure reflex. “It happened so quickly. The shooting started while we were heading out of the school. I grabbed Andy’s hand and we started running as fast as we could. But when we made it to the doors a kid with a gun jumped out from behind a wall close to us. I’ll never forget what happened after that. It seemed to be happening like it was in slow motion. The kid pulled out a big silver gun, looking so scared but so very angry. He saw me standing there and he pulled the trigger. Andy saw what was about to happen and he...he...he threw himself in the bullet’s way. He was shot right through the heart.”

“No, no, no,” Brody wailed, crying as he pictured his son jumping into the path of a bullet to try and save his mother. He saw it all so vividly, and the image threatened to tear him apart. Hillary squeezed his hand, but he wanted nothing to do with her. He jerked it away and he saw, through his tears, the hurt in her eyes.

“Just continue what you have to say,” he commanded.

Hillary nodded her head quietly and went on with her story.

“He threw himself in the way so that he could protect me. He was always such a brave boy,” she said, her voice husky with tears. “The kid was tackled to the ground by the principle seconds later and I dragged Andy’s body out of the school. There was nothing anyone could do for him and I felt right then that I wanted to die. I held his head in my lap for over an hour. People tried to take him from me, but I wouldn’t let them. I couldn’t let them.”

“I don’t believe any of this. You’re lying to me. My son is all right, dammit!” he accused, his eyes red and puffy. He was so furious that the emotion threatened to overwhelm his entire being. His mind burned with it and his limbs sang with the adrenaline pumping through his body. He felt the need to punch something, or worse.

“You were so angry, Brody. Angrier than you are right now,” she continued as if he didn’t say anything. She dabbed a napkin at her eyes. “You can be such a formidable force when you want to be and Andy’s death set that force into motion. You campaigned to be a State Representative, but when you found out that you didn’t have the power to change things, you attacked the political world and didn’t stop until you were President.”

“Of the United States?” he asked, shocked. He started to feel tired as the anger poured out of him. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No. I am not,” she answered. “God, I wish I were.”

“What do you mean?” he asked her.

“Even the President has limitations, Brody. When you found that out, you did everything in your considerable power to give yourself absolute control over everything and everyone. You had an army of supporters that you impassioned to your cause. Millions of them. But when you were finally given that power, you became ruthless. Nothing but another dictator. Your very first act was to create the Juris Guard, an oppressive force of soldiers that were unquestionably loyal to you. You gave them the power to be judge, jury, and executioners and they used that power to stomp anyone who would revolt into the ground and anyone you deemed smart enough to start a more successful campaign against you. The Juris Guard killed the remainder of the Phoenix Group just as I was sent back here. And you didn’t stop there, Brody.”

“Th-that’s horrible,” he whispered.

“You used America’s military might and took control of most of the world. When I left, only Russia was holding out against you and even then it was only a matter of time,” she whispered. “My world will shortly be thrown into a global nuclear war, ending all life as we know it. It will be the end of our histories, or cultures, everything that we, as humans, hold dear.”

“I wouldn’t do that. Come on, Hillary, you know me,” he told her passionately. “That’s not me.”

“It may not be you now,” she responded. “But it will be and soon. Like I told you, Andy’s death will be the catalyst that creates the world that I come from.”

“It can’t be true.” That wasn’t who he was.

“I’m sorry, but it can’t be any other way,” she said. “Believe me, I know. I’ve been back to this past over a dozen times trying to change the fate of a world, but nothing works. It’s like Andy’s death. What you are destined to be is in Fate’s hands and nobody else can touch it. The circumstances may change but the overall outcome is always the same. Nothing ever works and nothing ever changes.”

“If nothing changes then why are you here now?” he asked, cold fear stabbing through his chest. He had an inkling of her true purpose.

“In due time, baby,” she whispered to him. She reached a hand to lightly brush his cheek. “The Phoenix Group were underground scientists and other educated men and women. Their goal was to find a way to overthrow you. They found that way when they gained the knowledge to send a single person back in time. When they approached me and told me what they had planned, I agreed to it. They thought that I could reach you, to tell you about how things will happen in the future and that you’ll take steps to stop it. But nothing ever stopped it, no matter what I did, so they sent me back one last time. I had to do it. I had to, baby. You were a monster! You weren’t even the same man I fell in love with.”

“What is it that this Phoenix Group wants you to do, Hillary?” he asked, panic flying into his chest and making his heart race. He watched Hillary intently.

“Sir, your check,” a young man interrupted.

Brody looked up at him and reached for the bill. Screaming suddenly broke out all over the restaurant.

The waiter backed up quickly, his eyes widening in fear. He dropped the check before Brody’s fingers could grasp it and took off, along with the dozen or so people that were also in the restaurant. All of them had the same expressions on their faces. All of them had eyes wide with fear. Soon the inside of the restaurant was empty, and it was only him and his wife.

“Hillary, what’s going on?” he asked, turning his head back to look at her.

His heart leapt into his throat as he found himself looking at the barrel of a small gun she was holding. She was crying hysterically, the gun shaky.
“Why are you doing this?”

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. Her face was blotchy and red from. “It’s the only way to stop what you’ll become. Death is the only way out, the only way to stop it all from happening.”

“I won’t be that person!” he pleaded. “I can stop it from happening!”

“NO!” she screamed, her voice harsh and sad. “You can’t understand, Brody. You haven’t seen the destruction that you brought. You haven’t seen the countless bodies in the streets whose blood was on your hands. You’ve seen none of it, but I have. I had to live with myself knowing that I could have stopped it all. This is my only redemption; can’t you understand that?”

“Don’t,” Brody cried, suddenly very afraid to die. “You can’t do this.”

“I’m so sorry, but I don’t have a choice,” she whispered.

“Don’t do this!” he cried, holding up his hands in a pathetic attempt to stop her from shooting.

Hillary pulled the trigger on her gun three times. Brody jerked as the bullets ripped through his chest. Hot, fiery pain filled him, and he fell out of his chair, gasping to breathe air that would not stay in his perforated lungs. He felt his legs go cold first and then his hands. When Hillary’s hand clasped his own, he could barely feel it.

But he could still hear her cries. Her anguish and pain.

Fate. The word chimed in his head as he lay there dying. It was fate that he would bring about the destruction of the world.

An unspeakable fate that you cannot escape. The words fell through his mind as his vision continued to narrow and grow darker.

The old hag had been right. She’d been right this whole time. Now he lay dying with a woman who was and was not his wife. A woman who mourned her loss as she had mourned the loss of her son years earlier. A woman with so much pain. The darkness was almost complete and before it was, he heard one last gunshot and felt the weight of the woman who caused his own death collapse onto his torso. His mind grew darker with despair as the light finally left his eyes and he died.

May 30 2037

“Madame President,” a woman said.

Hillary Powell turned around to look at the woman in her office. Her name was Christina Edri. She was a five star General and she commanded the formidable Juris Guard that Hillary Powell created.

“Report,” Hillary commanded. “Where are we with the Phoenix Group militia and the Russians.”

“The Phoenix Group’s last cell of resistance has been destroyed. All members have been killed or imprisoned. Russia has declared that they will not surrender their arms. They have insisted that if our military encroached in their airspace or land, they will be destroyed without warning.”

Hillary thought about what the General said for a moment. Her lips were a thin, hard line. She turned away from Edri to look out her office window. She clasped her hands behind her back and said nothing for a long time.

The world outside her window was a nightmare. Juris Guard patrolled the streets and corpses were discarded like trash everywhere. A lot of buildings were either completely destroyed or half destroyed. Fire raged in hundreds of places as tanks rolled through the streets.

Hillary stared at the destruction without any remorse or guilt. The world was on the edge and she was going to push it over.

“Publicly execute the imprisoned Phoenix Group members and then launch our nuclear warheads at Russia. Target their metropolitan areas to inflict as much loss of life as possible. I gave them the opportunity to surrender. It’s time to show them what happens when they don’t bow down to my will,” Hillary demanded.

“As you wish, Madame President,” General Edri replied. “I’ll notify the Bunker of your arrival.”

Hillary just nodded. She knew what she was doing, and she knew what it would mean for humanity.

The world was going to burn.

And it deserves that. This world of guns and violence. And from its ashes a new one will rise. One that can learn from the mistakes of our past, Hillary thought to herself.

A tear slid down her face as she remembered her son and husband and the senseless violence that caused their deaths.

I love you Andy.

I love you Brody.