Chapter 3

August 19th 8:32 am

--FRANK—

The sound of an alarm clock buzzing insistently filled a quiet, cold room. Its sound was muted when it was struck on its top by a large, strong hand. Frank groggily opened his eyes as he gradually woke. He did not sleep well; not out of the ordinary as of late. He peeked his eyes open to see his off-white ceiling, with a creaky fan attached to it. The walls of the room were barren; the lone window blocked by curtains. The floor has a blank grey carpet, which lay below the bed. There was no TV, and one night stand next to the bed with a broken lamp, car keys and a phone resting on top. Frank preferred to have a modest room, as he believed it was necessary for meditation, which he performed every night. The less distractions for the eyes to observe, the better. Besides, he was not left with much of an option when it came to his home. Frank had been gifted with an apartment as a benefit for his service to the U.S.S. While it may have been less than ideal, he knew better than to complain about a gift. He sat up in bed, the white sheets and comforter falling off his chest and onto his lap. He swung his legs out to the side, bending his knees at the edge of the bed and placing both his feet on the carpet floor. He stayed like this for a moment, staring at the ground, the subtle noise of the creaking fan going through one ear and out the other. Frank brought both of his hands up and pressed his palms to his face. He rubbed his forehead just above his eyebrows and took a deep breath. The mornings were always difficult, but there is no other option than to get up and keep going every day. Frank knew the world wouldn't wait on his complacency. Eventually, he let his hands fall back down to his sides, reopening his eyes to the same picture of his feet on the carpet below him. He stood up and began walking to the bathroom. As he opened the door, outlined by the faint light coming through the curtains behind him, he could see his silhouette in the mirror, an undetailed figure. He stepped him, feeling the cold tile against the bottom of his feet, and flipped the light switch. Suddenly his form came into context in the mirror. He stood tall, much taller than most men. He was dark skinned and well built, with a beard and a short buzzcut, both of which were properly maintained. Despite his adversities and hardships, Frank stayed committed to a disciplined lifestyle.

Frank stood in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror for some time. His brown eyes lacked enthusiasm. Not much thought went through his mind, a blankness that almost seemed to be comforting; much worse could be going through the mind. He flipped the lights back off and walked out of the bathroom, and out of his room.

As he opened the door out into his living room, he could see the rest of the barren apartment. One brown, leather couch rested on the floor beneath an area rug, facing a modest sized TV hung on the wall. Above it was another fan, but it didn't work. The walls and ceiling had the same, dull, off-white paint as Frank's bedroom. There was no food out on the counter, and no decorations to be seen. If one didn't know any better, it could be assumed that no one lived in the apartment.

Frank started towards the couch, where he picked up the TV remote that lay on it. He lifted it up and pointed it towards the TV on the wall and pressed the power button. On it, the morning news appeared, which was the only television Frank watched. The content that was displayed caused his heart to drop. On screen he saw a helicopter video of a building on fire. Police lights scattered all over the street underneath it. Below the frame, the caption read: President Regis dead after explosion at ceremony in Chicago. President Regis dead after explosion at ceremony in Chicago, he read to himself again. He stared at the screen, repeating that line in his head, watching the scene of fire billowing out from high up on the building.

"For those of you who are just tuning in," the news anchor spoke, "We have confirmed reports that around 10: 07 p.m. last night, there was an explosion at the U.S.S. military ceremony in Chicago, leaving 14 dead and another 87 wounded. Among the dead, was President Hardwell Regis," the reporter said softly. The screen then displayed a portrait of Regis. He wore a proper suit and a big smile, with the U.S.S. flag behind him.

Frank began to regain focus after processing the initial shock of the news. He understood the severity of the situation and what this could entail in the near future. Just about a year ago, Regis made a decision that would define history. After years of major conflict between the United States Supreme and the Republic of Asian Territories, Regis determined that the war would have to end, and he detonated nuclear bombs over every country apart of the Republic, including any country that aligned with them in the war. The move did end the war, but effectively crippled the world, leaving the U.S.S. as the last remaining superpower, and the rest of the globe in shambles. Some countries were left in poverty, some completely destroyed, now a lawless land, where nothing but violence and survival remains.

Frank tuned the TV out of his focus. He had a stream of thoughts racing through his mind unlike any he had in a very long time. This reminded him of his journal. He would write in this journal often, as it would organize his thoughts and help him to maintain mental fortitude, core values Frank held. He started back towards his bedroom, walking through the doorframe which was left open. He went up to the one night stand next to his bed and pulled out the drawer. In it contained one item: a small, wrinkled, brown leather journal, which he hadn't opened in two years. He turned himself to sit down on the side of his bed while keeping his eyes on his journal. He stared at it as if he was afraid of what he might find inside, reminders of the past.

Soon enough, he opened the journal. Frank slowly flipped through the pages briefly skimming over previous entries. He flipped until he caught up to 4 years ago, and he began reading:

I predict today is an important day for the world. The President of the United States Supreme has been captured by a terrorist organization. They are calling themselves (name). I can only assume their intentions are to launch the planet into a global war. The population has grown beyond the capability of what his planet can support. Apart from that, we have been neglectful to her. She is poisoned and dying. There are those who are in support of the (name). They believe that a war of great size will cut down the population, and ultimately preserve our future. The ends do not justify the means. There must be another way.

Frank reminisced about the tension that gripped the world during this time, how it seemed at any moment the Earth could be launched into a global war unlike anything we've ever seen. Reading about Regis' abduction reminded him of his old friends, Leo and Tommy, who he had met during the war. They were the two who had saved Regis. It had been some time since he had seen or heard from them; Frank pondered if now was the time to get back in touch.

He looked to his left at his phone that sat on his nightstand. He picked it up with his left hand and kept his journal open in his right. Frank raised the phone up to his eyes, its screen turning on, revealing the default home screen with no notifications. He unlocked it and opened his contacts. The first he saw was Tommy, last phone call 25 months ago. He contemplated pressing the contact and calling him: With Regis now dead there are bound to be consequences and Frank knew he would be smart to stay ahead of the conflict. Ultimately, he decided against it for now, turning off his phone and setting it back on the nightstand. He once again flipped through his journal, reading more of his past writings:

An unexpected event has occurred. Despite the fact that Regis has been saved, he has declared war of the Republic of Asian Territories in response to his abduction. There is no evidence to support this. It is senseless warmongering. I feared this out of Rayshe, but I did not foresee Regis would do this. All that I had hoped for has been destroyed. Many nations have already declared allegiance, both to the U.S.S. and to R.A.T. This effectively has started another world war. This will be nothing short of catastrophic and deadly.

A journal entry just before the start of the Second Great War. A war that resulted in nearly 7 billion deaths. After years of indescribable violence, Regis made the decision to bring the war to an end and ensure that there would never be another one. He launched nuclear weapons against the R.A.T. and all its allies, killing billions and destabilizing the world, except for the U.S.S. This decision polarized the country, many in favor, many against.

Reading through that entry reminded him of a name. Rayshe Hall. A name he hadn't thought of for some time but now more than ever is a critical one to remember. The former Vice President of the U.S.S., and as of last night, now the current President. Rayshe was a very dangerous man. Now, equipped with a platform to fuel his ambitions, there's no telling what he would do. Frank continued reading that entry:

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. Perhaps, if I wish to make a difference, I too, should act. I oppose death, but I do understand that sometimes one must do what must be done to ensure the safety of others. Although I believe this war was started under false pretenses, perhaps there is some merit to Regis' accusations against the R.A.T. After all, there are no stranger to corrupt political tactics. And if I were forced to choose which banner to believe fights the just fight, I will choose the U.S.S. It is where I live, but most importantly, it is where Sienna lives. I will do whatever it takes to ensure her safety. I shall begin training.

Sienna, his daughter. Frank's arm dropped to his side, bringing the journal with it, and resting it on his leg. He immediately determined that he was to go see her. It had been some time, and he needed to speak to her.

Frank stood from his bed and went into his closet to get dressed. He grabbed his phone and his keys from the nightstand and walked out of his apartment. He walked through the carpeted narrow hallway, with a door leading outside at the end. The morning sun shined through the small window in the door. As he walked, he could hear commotion through the walls in the units, no doubt others discussing last night's events. He made it to the end of the hallway and pressed in the door handle, pushing it open to reveal the outside.

The light blinded him for a brief moment while his eyes adjusted. Before him was a concrete parking lot, scattered with cars. Farther on ran a street perpendicular to his stance, with a line of trees on the other side. The occasional car passed by, creating an ambience of tires and engines. Frank began walking to his rundown, black truck which was parked right in front of him. He walked down a narrow pathway of concrete which split a grass lawn. He reached his truck, stepping down off the sidewalk ledge and onto the pavement.

Frank gripped the handle, opened the door, then climbed into the seat. The inside of the truck shared the same, unglamorous appearance of its exterior. It had tan leather seats, which were torn up and frayed. The dashboard was a dried black leather with a thin, wobbly steering wheel to go along with it. Frank stuck the keys in the ignition, and the truck struggled to life; the dashboard displaying multiple warning lights. He left out a deep sigh before putting the truck into gear and driving out of the parking lot and onto the road.

Traffic flowed through, to and from. Patchy, dull grass and dying bushes decorated the median, with trees on both sides of the road. Frank made his way in silence, the truck cab filled with the hum of the engine and the sounds of the road underneath the tires. Eventually, the trees disappeared and were replaced by the brick and concrete of buildings as he got into town. Traffic increased as he passed lots filled with cars, bordered by strips of stores and restaurants. Gas stations were packed, lines out into the street of cars preparing for the worst. Grocery stores swarmed with people, buying out the inventory. Millions of U.S.S. citizens strongly opposed Regis and would undoubtedly take to the streets in celebration of his death. The other majority would undoubtedly meet them. There was a thickness of suspense in the air; everyone knew that within a matter of hours, maybe less, there would be violence across the nation. Blood would be shed, and lives would be lost.

As Frank continued to drive, he would see the military and police already set up, anticipating riots. Large, armored vehicles took position in a short patch on land that separated buildings. They were arranged in a wall, creating a temporary encampment in the middle, with tents and lights spread throughout it.

Just beyond the camp, Frank turned into a side road, where the concrete and metal of buildings were once again replaced by green of trees and grass. Just on the edge of a forest, a dirt path split through it, which Frank turned onto, driving through slowly as his truck wobbled and bumped through the uneven terrain. He drove in about a quarter of a mile before he parked his truck, removed the keys from the ignition and got out. His boots hit the gravel and dirt of the road below him, making a faint crunch as he planted his feet. Frank investigated the forest, listening to the faint sounds of life around him.

He began forward. The ground replaced with grass and roots as he left the dirt road. He minded his steps, finding as much even ground as he could as Frank walked at a slow pace. Eventually, just after rounding a tree, he could see his daughter. She stood just as tall and as beautiful as the last time he saw her. Strong and unwavering, despite the harsh elements of the world wearing on her. Frank couldn't help but smile when he saw her, he had been avoiding seeing her for a while, afraid to face his emotions and look within. But now, he needed her to help bring them out. Only with her help would he be able to decide for himself what needs to be done.

Frank drew closer to Sienna. She stood in the same spot, waiting for Frank to come to her. Finally, he stood just about a foot and a half in front of her. Standing below Frank was a gravestone.

Sienna Tolomongo

March 3rd, 2023 – July 9th, 2033

Daughter and friend, gone too soon.

Rest in Peace

Frank let out a deep breath, collecting his thoughts before he spoke to her.

"Hey Sienna," he said, his deep voice rumbling softly. "I know I haven't come to see you in a while. Things have been hard for me lately." Frank scratched his beard, trying to come up with the right words.

"I came to see you today because... I think some bad things are about to happen." He put his hands together, shuffling them around as he spoke.

"Someone got the President. I don't know who, but he is no longer with us. I don't like that I feel this way, but part of me feels at peace. In a way, it makes me feel like you have been avenged. He was the man who started that war, and it's what took you from me." Frank said shakily. He took a breath and recouped himself before continuing.

"But I know I shouldn't feel that way. Vengeance is a fool's game; it won't undo the past. Regardless, his passing will bring upon conflict. Many are preparing for the violence within the country, but I see beyond that. Rayshe Hall is now the president, and he now has unrestricted power. I fear what he may do, and I feel as though I should do something. At least try." Frank looked off into the distance as he finished that sentence.

"I think about what happened two years ago... often," he started again. "I failed to protect you; thus, I failed my purpose in life. I was too devastated to continue my duties, and that... wears heavy on my conscious. I had responsibilities to uphold, and I know you would have wanted me to continue to protect people, but I had lost myself. For some time, I had lost my ways." Frank looked back down at Sienna's gravestone with newfound comfort. Finally, his emotions that he had battled with for the last two years were coming to the surface, and he was understanding them. Interpreting them and discovering the answers he longed to find.

"I will be better this time. I have to be. I will give everything that I have to do what I was unable to do for you. I will take initiative, not wait for conflict to reach my doorstep before I act, for then it would already be too late." Frank settled his hands, holding them steady by his sides as he prepared to finish his monologue.

"I shall promise you this: When the time comes, I will be ready. I shall act now." His voice trailed off as he finished that sentence.

Frank reached down into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He opened it to find Tommy's contact still open, and the dial button right underneath. He built up his resolve and pressed it. He held the phone still for a moment, unprepared for what he needed to say and frantically trying to come up with something. The phone faintly rang; Frank still holding it out in front of him, just thinking.

"Frank?" he heard through the phone. Quickly, he put it up to his ear and spoke:

"Tommy."

"Good to hear from you again buddy. How you doing?”

“I-, yes. Good. I am well.”

“You okay?”

“I am fine.”

“I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“No. I called you first, after all.”

“Yeah but you operate in strange ways Frankie.” He didn’t answer.

“That was a joke, don’t read too far into it. Look, funny enough, I was just planning on calling you." Tommy said. His synthesized voice was indistinguishable over the phone.

"You were?" Frank asked.

"Yeah. I'm sure you've seen what just happened last night."

"Indeed."

"I don’t think you need me to tell you that this has foul play written all over it. More than your typical assassination, I suppose. Leo and I were there. Saw everything and somehow nothing at the same time. Not really sure what we’re going to do but we’re going to figure out who did it and why."

"What do you plan to do?"

"Right now, we need some answers. We're at a sorceress friend’s place right now. We have some evidence, she took a look at it and gave us a start, but Frank. I think you and I both know the ‘who’, in this."

"Right," Frank said. He felt as he was lagging behind in the conversation. A brief moment of silence allowed him to correct this: "Rayshe" he said.

"Exactly. We can’t prove it yet. That's why we need to find out our next move, fast. Dig up something. Rayshe is a slimy little b word, fits the bill that he would do something like this. The why is worrying. He’s planning something."

"It is worrying," Frank replied. He wanted to say more, but he couldn't find the words. He overlooked preparing his thoughts for this phone call.

"Look," Tommy said. "We could really use your help. Whatever you can do."

Frank took his time before his answer. He knew he wanted to say yes, but regardless, he let the gravity of the decision sit within for a moment. He looked down at Sienna below him, the date July 9th, 2033 staring back at him.

"Absolutely," he finally said.

"Glad to hear it buddy. Leo and I are almost to the place now. Care to join us?"

Suddenly, an idea shot into Frank's head. He knew what he wanted to do next.

"No."

"Oh... Uh, alright."

"I have a plan. I will contact you later."