It was the era of broadband and Wi-Fi. Information spread freely, and the laws that governed cyberspace were only beginning to be cultivated. This meant that people could get away with almost anything because there was no authoritative code firmly in place yet. The exchange of material that could be seen as legally questionable in its content and/or dispersal was rampant. Anonymity was one of the virtual world’s biggest draws, as well as one of its biggest downsides. Late at night, two teenagers looking for adventure could be chatting and getting to know one another in an online chat-room, but who’s to say that one of them was not who they say they were? One end of the connection could have a bald, unemployed, disheveled thirty-six year old man hovering over a keyboard. It would not even be surprising if both ends had old, balding men at the helm. Who would ever know? The nature of cyberspace also made it susceptible to things like fraud and theft. It was such a broad jurisdiction that uniformed control over it was difficult to achieve. If a hacker from Singapore unleashed a destructive virus that incapacitated several high power United States corporations, does he fall under the judicial control of the Singaporean government, or the government whose holdings were affected? Under whose law does an Uzbeki man, who sent out mass emails posing as a financial institution to gain people’s account information, get punished under? These were the types of issues that had to be addressed, and not surprisingly, were the trickiest. The governing institutions were hard at work to police this abstract domain and set precedents whenever possible.

Jack Protag lived in this modern world, and was immersed in the cyberspace subculture. He was a brainy college student in his last semester as an Engineering major. His life in college, away from his parents was a fulfilling one. He was part of a handful of elite campus organizations, many of which he led. Jack was athletic, and often began his days at dawn with an intense five-mile run. He never set out to do something that he could not finish. That was his mentality in every aspect of his life.

His knowledge of all things cyber was far-reaching. He could go on for hours on any topic you could slap a lower-case “e” in front of, which in this modern world is basically anything and everything. Jack had a past, though. He once was a lover of downloading music and movies from peer-to-peer file sharing networks. He was reformed now, and had not illegally downloaded in two years (which in this modern world, is an eternity). Jack was now a model cyber-citizen.

One day Jack was eating lunch at his apartment in between classes when an ominous knock thudded hard on the door. He left his sandwich to answer the caller. Before he could reach the door, it exploded with wood splinters flying everywhere. Tactical orders were being screamed as black suited men with large guns streamed through the gaping hole in the door. A masked figure approached Jack with his arms extended, holding a warrant stating the he had broken laws in accordance with the Media Dissemination Act. Before Jack could even finish reading the title, a black hood was forced over his head and he was dragged to the extraction point.

When the hood was removed and Jack regained his sight, he was sitting handcuffed to a metal chair in a sterile looking room. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead and it took a while for his eyes to adjust. A militant looking man of indeterminate age introduced himself only as Agent Q from the Joint Music and Movie Illegal Download Task Force (JMMIDTF for short). Agent Q stated that the JMMIDTF was an elite, covert task force comprised of agents from both the RIAA and the MPAA. It was so completely under the radar that neither the RIAA nor the MPAA officially acknowledged the group’s existence, much less knew about them.

Agent Q told Jack to confess his having illegally downloaded music and movies from file-sharing networks. He said that if he did confess and name other culpable parties, he would be set free. Apparently the RIAA and the MPAA needed confessions to build their cases to push strict laws into enactment. Jack only stared and did not say a word. Agent Q grew weary of this and began what he affectionately liked to call “Plan B”.

The torture was excruciating. It drained Jack mentally, physically, and emotionally. He was taken to his breaking point, eased off, and then enthusiastically invited back to it. The images he was subjected to watching were horrifying. The countless lines of malicious code he was exposed to frightened him into a trance-like stupor. Yet, he did not yield. Agent Q had just about enough. “Confess! Confess, damn you! You cyber-scum!” he proclaimed. Still, Jack’s will was strong, his resolve unwavering.

Agent Q had a last resort. He personally did not want the interrogation to have to come to such drastic measures, but he had to get results. He slowly and carefully pulled out a lone photograph out of a black folder with the words "LAST RESORT" emblazoned on the cover. With a quivering hand, Agent Q held two inches in front of Jack’s face a computer generated image of what the world would look like if Bill Gates owned an operating system that held more than ninety percent of the market share. Jack visibly tensed. All of the muscles in his body contracted at once. His face became crimson and rivulets of sweat ran down his temples as if his body was metabolizing faster with every second the photograph was presented. Darkness was slowly surrounding him. He eventually passed out.

When Jack regained consciousness, he was lying down in his own bed. Had this all been a dream? He slowly turned his sore neck and noticed a black folder on his side table. He opened it and saw a court order for Jack to pay $1000 for every illegally downloaded song found on his computer.

Later, Jack’s friends would describe him as a martyr. They argued that residents from other apartments must have logged on to his unsecured router and downloaded songs, freeing themselves of being traced back to their own IPs.

Only Jack’s closest friend knew the real truth. Because Jack mysteriously never returned to campus, he took over Jack’s position as the leader of the University’s most elite, underground music and movies downloading organization – Undergraduates for the Sharing of Free Movies and Music on the Internet (USFMMI for short).

Throughout the United States, postmen were diligently placing little postcards in all the country’s mailboxes. No mail box was left unfilled. The post men, proud workers of this glorious nation, dared not to leave a mail box without this precious post. You see, the card contained valuable information, important to the nation at large. It was a list. A very simple list. The writing on the card went something like this:

“Tired of constantly watching the news to see which security warning level the nation is on? Feel guilty about not being able to aide our strapping youth as they hazard the dangers in desert-ridden countries for our safety? Here is your chance to personally help our celebrated nation!

Terrorists destroyed our beautiful nation. Marred its perfect skin with their bombs and their presence. Lucky for us, these abominable men (and women) all have similar features! Just pay close attention to the following list (and your neighbors!) and you can become a hero by catching a terrorist in action!

• Does he or she have a skin color not white, or black, but some sinful color in between? He/she just might be of terrorist decent.
• De they have names which are hard to pronounce, that you must twist your tongue over to say? It is most likely an alias and that person, a terrorist cell.
• When asked where they are form, do they insist that they are from India, Pakistan, or one of those other “non-middle eastern” countries? They’re probably lying to save themselves and are really from secret Al-Qaeda Training camps/caves.

Help us help you! Keep an eye out for these fiends and save your nation!”

A local club owner, who had hosted a famous band the previous night and who still had a headache of dealing with so many crazy fans in his small little club, looked in his mailbox that morning but didn’t find any bills. What he got was a little postcard and an idea.

Barely a fortnight had passed before Ajai Raj, prominent rock musician and known political dissident, was arrested on the premise of being a terrorist. Raj was not told the particulars of the charges laid against him. All he knew was that he was taken from the dinner table and arrested in front of his wife and 3 year old son. He was kept in a small isolation cell and depraved of human contact for 4 months. No word of appeasement could dim the outcry of rock fans across the nation. But while their shouts were loud and protests bold, there were powers running this “inquisition” of sorts that were beyond the reach of a few hippies.

It had started out well enough. A small little division of the NSA looking in on people phone calls and doing the other NSA division’s dirty work. However, this all changed when Arnold McCarthy, great nephew of the powerful Joseph McCarthy, took hold of this little sector of government. Soon it had grown is such power that even the President dared not oppose it for fear of falling under the New McCarthyism. The division, previously known as Homeland Security, was renamed to The McCarthy Society and all in the nation were subject to McCarthy Law.

After three years of solitude in confinement, Raj was at last brought in front of the McCarthy Council. Knowing the danger he was in for being innocent, Raj kept his mouth shut. The council, in their minds, decided that a little “roughing up” was in order and placed Raj in the famous Texas prison in Hunstville. There Raj met many fists and blade points, but still he wouldn’t give those (old, upper class, white) councilmen the pleasure of a confession.

For three years, Raj kept silent. At the end of those three years, the councilmen took it upon themselves to interpret his silence as an admission of guilt. Immediately, Raj was brought to the chamber where his lethal injection was to be administered. It was a sad day for all musicians out there.

McCarthy once again went home satisfied. The old counsilman opened his mailbox and was delighted to find a check, made out to the McCarthy Society, from his investors, the S. Hussain Foundation.

It was a time of apprehension, of cut-throat competition, of disappointment. Under the rule of three critical and rigorous judges, the new pop culture era of singing was entirely in their hands. It was an age of religious diversity, an age in which almost anything seemed to constitute a viable religion. While the economy was slowly reemerging from a standstill, and political leaders like George W. Bush were taking massive blows of disapproval, those eager Americans wishing to leave the constraints of everyday life and move to Hollywood anxiously awaited in swarms outside arenas in a few select cities. The year 2006 brought many opportunities to a seemingly endless amount of people; that is, to all except the stereotypically unattractive and socially inept. For years Americans were positive this was the “land of opportunity” and that racial inequality and other forms of discrimination were a ghost of the past. Quite the contrary was true, especially during the yearly mass-inquisition known to millions as “American Idol”.
Any aspiring singers who attempted to portray themselves as a success, but failed to display the true qualities of a celebrity, were expelled from the audition without explanation or a chance to appeal. If, in the eyes of head judge Simon Cowell, who liberally denounced one person after another, the attempt was ridicule-worthy and devoid of talent, then the torture of a hopeful singer would abruptly begin. Although the thousands of hopeless men and women eagerly waiting outside the doors of the auditorium knew of this possible fate, they continued to pose as genuine singers when they indeed were not. A variety of reasons were given for the repeated exile and humiliation of hundreds of brave individuals, and even duos and trios of people. In only two ways did the Idol contestants contribute to the United States entertainment industry: they were a weekly source of hilarious real-life amusement for avid television viewers and, in other instances, a source of inspiration. Why didn’t Paula, Simon, and Randy simply blow off any absurd or bizarre contestant as soon as they walked through the door? They were restrained because of the heavily emphasized equality issue in America, in addition to their obligation to provide FOX network with these prolonged and preposterous auditions for the viewer’s pleasure.
Princess Jackson the conspicuously brash and arrogant young retail worker was a contestant, and this was her undoing. She didn’t necessarily fulfill the usual requirements a “celebrity” meets, but her ambition was overwhelming; possibly a bit excessive to some. Princess lived with her sharp-tongued mother, Queen, who constantly warned her against auditioning. Ignoring her mother’s persistence in reminding Princess of her lack of talent, the young woman threw back her shoulders and marched to the Frank Irwin Center in Austin, Texas with her head held high. While waiting in the enormous line in the humid and windy weather, Princess began to worry about what her horrible fate could be, and the humiliation she would possibly endure. The embarrassment of these singers was beginning to become an American ritual so that the tired and dissatisfied working and middle-class could come home after a long day and find some humor in other people’s public degradation.
After what seemed to be days of standing in apprehension with all the other hopefuls (some much odder than others), Princess’s number was systematically beckoned from the depths of the audition chamber. There stood the three celebrities that had the power to make her or break her. After a short round of introductory greetings and small talk, Simon asked the dreaded question: “So what are you going to sing for us today?” At this point, Princess could feel small beads of sweat making their way down the nape of her neck and the rest of her trembling body. This was her last chance to simply come out and tell them she was a fraud, just like her mother had told her. Instead, the nervous woman began with a sharp note and a slight squeak to her voice. In an attempt to reproduce Kelly Clarkson’s “Since you’ve been gone”, she had managed to simultaneously bring the previous Idol winner and herself to shame. She begged to try again with another song, but the judges unanimously refused and reminded her that they had already generously granted her a chance to admit her falsity. Since she had failed, Princess was subjected to a preliminary method of torture inflicted by Paula, the most merciful of the judges. The former icon slightly scathed her confidence by telling Princess her good qualities and what she desperately needed work on. Randy concurred as usual. Then, after the other two had finished their job, Simon looked her in the eye with a painful and tormenting stare. “You are appalling and you’re wasting my time”, he mumbled with disgust. He followed this comment with a number of unmentionable criticisms that slowly tore Princess’s dream apart limb by limb. After being released from the isolated room to be further embarrassed by the press, Princess was metaphorically “burned at the stake” on television in front of millions of viewers. . .

As the year is still new the country continues to be wrought with controversies carried over from the previous year and those in charge in the government take heavy fire. Are these officials over-stepping their bounds in their quest to do what is right? And to what end will the path of “protecting the citizens” lead them? These are just a few of the questions that have been in the mind of Azad Nasiri more and more lately. Having immigrated 5 years ago he has been witness to the drastic change that swept the country in recent years following the catastrophe that happened not two years into this millennium. A catastrophe that shook the people of this great country even more because it had been so unexpected and had no obvious perpetrator at the time it happened. It was not until after the fact that a group claimed responsibility for it. This group came from a part of the world that in fairly little is known about it from the perspective of people over here and hence very little distinction has been made between the group claiming responsibility and the general populace, vilifying the whole area. Sadly this is the same part of the world Azad is from.
He immigrated here years ago to attend school and has recently graduated to begin work but has found himself blocked by the building prejudice against people like him. After this great catastrophe, believing there could be another attack coming, the government was on the lookout for anyone who might fit the profile of someone willing to commit such an atrocity but this in turn became focused on anyone of the same national or ethnic background, more of a racial profiling then a suspect profiling. The government even asked the average citizens to be on the lookout for anyone acting in a suspicious manner. A veritable “witch hunt” for anyone with the remote possibility of having a connection. Having seen this develop and attempting to live with it has been difficult as the stigma has grown reaching the point that Azad even attempted to change his name to blend in better.
The problem had been starting to die down as time went on however, until that is, in the name of the “war on terror” the government began to practice wire tapping citizens telephone calls of suspected collaborators in an attempt to weed out anyone working on the inside. Unfortunately sometimes they would settle for a scapegoat and take someone who they could only remotely construe as a threat and not a genuine conspirator; this is how Azad came to be arrested. While on the phone with an old friend they were discussing the current situation and they just happened to be on one of those phone lines that had been tapped and so soon after they showed up to take Azad away. So sure were the police of their arrest that they kept him locked up and attempted to get a confession out of him for conspiracy to commit treason. They kept at their attempts to get a confession out of him using every resource they had at their disposal up to and including physicality in an attempt to beat it out of him, but the details of that are not important.
What is important is that they never got a confession seeing as Azad was innocent and he refused to compromise him-self just to satisfy them. Would it have been better if he did though? For now he is being held in prison indefinitely, possibly until either he dies or a righteous man discovers the wrongs that have been and has the means to change things. The ability to change the situation is key though, more important than just a righteous man. A righteous man with no power is just as useless, as is obvious from Assajj, the other man on that fateful phone call. The old friend who may have been the last friendly person Azad will talk to. They met 5 years ago, both immigrating at the same time for school where they met and became good friends. Assajj has fared better than Azad though, at least able to stay out of trouble.
Disgusted with the destructive show of force on the governments part and the way they treated Azad and others like him he has decided to move back to where he came from where he can find freedom. When he reaches home he plans to preach freedom and intolerance to everyone he meets so that these kind of actions don’t continue. Until then all his wishes and prayers go out for Azad.

One morning early in the year 2006, the citizens of one country saw on their televisions and news portals an announcement requesting that they report to the Bureau any person who lived as a patriotic citizen but secretly opposed the country and its leaders. To help this process, some tips on spotting suspects were given:

• When the Anthem is played, does your neighbor sing along proudly, or merely mutter the lyrics in token participation? If not, he or she may be helping the terrorists.
• When the Pledge is recited, does your neighbor raise his or her eyes high, or avert them in shame? This is a sign of a terrorist or sympathizer.
• When the time comes to elect leaders, does your neighbor place signs or stickers on his or her property cheering for some candidate? Only a terrorist or sympathizer refuses this show of democracy.
• Always be on the lookout, and never fear reporting anyone to the Bureau. The gratitude of the nation is with those who defend it.

A few days later, the highly decorated former adviser to the President himself, Gen. Poliin Cowell, whose family had lived in the country for generations, and who himself had served the country admirably, had a sore throat and could not fully articulate the words of the Pledge. A competitor jealous of Cowell’s successes noted this and so went to the office of the Bureau: “I have strong reason to suspect Gen. Cowell is a terrorist sympathizer.” After taking the informant’s detailed testimony, the Bureau found the informant’s story to be true. By that afternoon, Gen. Cowell was in the Bureau’s custody.

Cowell was kept there without having a word spoken to him for three months as the prosecutors of the Bureau developed their case against him. Whisperings criss-crossed the nation, even occasionally reaching print, but against the power of the Bureau, nothing could be spoken. This power was rooted in beginnings that were humble enough; operating as an arm of the government necessary to protecting the nation over the past eight decades. For the first three decades, it had been relatively benign, but with the rise of Director H. Edgar Joover, the Bureau cultivated a power independent than that of the Congress or the nation’s executive office. Twenty years ago, with the threat of Communism gone and the rest of the world aligning into a new international order, it seemed that the need for the Bureau had gone. It was at the weakest possible moment that the enemy of Kal Aida struck a heavy blow. Soon after, some academics released papers apologizing to and sympathizing with the Kal Aida terrorists. It was because of this moment of great need, with the country under attack from within and without, that the Bureau returned to the foreground of national power.

By the third year, Cowell was finally summoned to a secret tribunal and given the chance to confess his sympathies. Confession was the easiest route, as a sympathizer could simply be exiled from the country to no ill effect. However, a person who wished to remain a citizen in the country even in the face of overwhelming evidence proving his or her unpatriotic sympathies could only be a true terrorist, bent on remaining inserted in the country and awaiting orders to commit treason.

Seeking this confession but not finding it, the tribunal employed its only option: while it was forbidden from directly harming prisoners, it was not responsible for any harm that may come to them while in a prison system. And so Gen. Cowell was sent to the nation’s great penitentiary, where for years he endured regular fights, beatings, and more horrible trials. Still, Cowell would not confess.

Finally, having accumulated enough evidence over the course of nearly a decade, and giving up on any hope of obtaining a confession, the Bureau moved forward and pressed for the ultimate punishment of execution. On the ninth day of the third month of the ninth year since he was first arrested, Cowell was scheduled for death by lethal injection. The event was a spectacle, with crowds gathering for miles trying to catch a glimpse of the fallen leader, news reporters clustered as near to him as possible with microphones tuned to their greatest sensitivity so as to document his every last word. Yet when Cowell emerged from his holding cell, dressed in the bright orange jumpsuit reserved for dangerous prisoners, he said nothing and only looked straight ahead at the bed in wh ich he would meet his end. As the former great adviser was strapped in, and as the injections began, he still said nothing. The world watched as life departed from his body, and Cowell’s expression remained unchanged until his very last moment. It was then that he finally looked at and acknowledged the one man who had watched the closest.

When their gaze met, the Vice President knew his sympathies had not been betrayed.

The year is 1956, and a heavy tension rests within the small town of Talim. Today was one of the most brutal the unfortunate citizens have seen. Nine women, eleven men, and two children were all sent to their cruel demise after being accused and convicted of witchcraft. Some were burned at the stake, some were drowned, and the remaining were hung in front of the town as a display of the mighty power of God and the consequential effect of what would happen to those who dare oppose it in the form of witchcraft and sorcery.

The pastor of Talim was a good man. Tobias Funque had always held three virtues close to his heart; be an authentic man of God, be a great husband and father, and the truth shall always prevail. He was a simple man, with a small farm home on the edge of the town with his wife and daughter. Yet his life was in shambles. His beautiful wife, though seemingly religious, was absolutely devoid of any notion of charity or faith. She had been secretly cheating on him for the past 4 years of their marriage with their much younger stable boy, and abhorred any notion of helping the poor. His seemingly sweet ten-year-old daughter was a selfish, manipulative, deceitful trick, and had accused the two kids who were sent to their death that day of being witches when they laughed at her tripping over a root. However, to the town, his family and himself were the authoritarian figures on witchcraft. Whenever a trial was held to determine the validity of witchcraft accusations, he was always present. Whenever someone was viciously executed for being a convicted witch, he was always present. And whenever a new town letter was written for determining new methods for uncovering witches, he was always present.

This day was different however. He had just come back to his humble farmhouse a few hours early from a late afternoon trial to discover his beloved family nowhere to be found. He began to search the house, only to find his daughter playing with her toys instead of doing the chores that he had asked her to do. When he authoritatively asked her to stop playing with her toys she lashed out at him, accusing him of being a horrible father and pastor. Seeing through her manipulative insults, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the stable to be whipped in the name of discipline. Fortunately for him, he had just missed his wife and stable boy having raucous sex in the middle of the stable. Before he could even make the first lash, his daughter screamed and ran faster than he had ever witnessed her run. He contemplated chasing after her, but imagined that as a child she would have nowhere to go but home. Yet, she did not return until past dinner when Tobias answered a stiff knocking at his door. The Talim Sheriff and accompanying deputies seized Tobias without question, and forced him into their dankest holding cell until morning.

They sent for him in the morning, and without trial or hesitation brought him to the gallows to be hung. When he arrived his wife was holding their daughter, waiting with a look of disgust upon her face. Burns scored their daughters arms, and lacerations forming pagan symbols decorated her face as Tobias shockingly realized simultaneously how flawed their justice system was, and how much of a horrible father he had been. He screamed claims of innocence, and pleaded for logic to prevail, but was silenced with a rag in his mouth. As his executioner pulled the lever to his unfair and premature end, he simply wished for forgiveness from God for his ignorance, and for the people responsible.

It was the age after the enlightenment. All was dark in the kingdom of
Pop-culture. Its citizens, once loyal to their Queen Britney, had forgotten a
better age when they could expect better things. The wise ones remembered the queen but things had changed since she had last been seen and they knew it was better to reminisce alone. She was lost at sea and it would take her years and an Odyssean journey to return to her rightful throne. Meanwhile, the inhabitants of Pop-culture would suffer many injustices in the hands of a
tyrant whose first decree was to convert every Britnean into a Simpsonite and
subject them to bad music and tuna jokes.
Most Britneans quickly converted, forgot about Britney and neglected their
souls. Others refused to acknowledge the new creed and were banished to
forgotten places where they would be taunted and ridiculed by the less enlightened populace. And of course there was third kind of Britnean, the ones who believed in her divinity but had grown so fond to their country and friends
that they would do anything not to be exiled. These people accepted the
Simpsonite baptism but in private they still believed that Britney would return
and bring blessings to those who believed. These false Simpsonites were the
target of the whims of the new ruler who had always envied Britney's eclipsing talent.
False Simpsonites were few and far between, but one was particularly noble.
His name was Matthias and he had grown up in an austere place only to be rescued by Queen Britney herself. She had saved him and now it was his turn to save her legacy. He started his quest inadvertently one day after a mass viewing of "Newlyweds" which was played hour after hour on what seemed like Simpson's private TV network, MTV. He saw someone rolling their eyes at their leader's thickness and he knew that they needed to hear Britney's music but he also knew that it was risky and that the punishment for treason was unspeakable pain, but it didn’t matter since his loyalty was to Britney. And so he began to share his knowledge of Britney with others, teaching only those who seemed trustworthy. Matthias was a clever one, who mostly kept to himself and made no enemies; this allowed him to teach the word of Britney for a long time, but his calm demeanor made people nervous and this eventually led many to accuse him of being a false Simpsonite.
The next seven days were torture for Matthias, who had to listen to all Simpson’s albums as well as her sister’s and estranged husband’s. If he, under torture, admitted that Simpson was a better singer than Britney then Simpson’s superiority would be acknowledge by one of Britney’s most dedicated fans. If he didn’t he would be tortured to death and there would be one less dissenter to deal with.
But Matthias said nothing, even after being subjected to Simpson’s new torture method: watching The Dukes of Hazard. Such horrors made a shell of Matthias; it was not until he saw Queen Britney alive and well that he was able to fully recover. But in the end, Matthias saved the rest of the Britneans who helped Britney take back her kingdom and airtime on MTV.

In an age of espionage and cold politics, Astonia and Ferona, are at a war of words and threats backed by the atom. In Ferona no one is too sure who to trust or who to confide to in times of stress. This is the business and everyone knows it. Joseph Yeltsin has been working for the same nuclear engineering group for the last two years, and is known a charismatic engineer and not one to be suspicious of. Rumors have floated to and fro about an Astonian spy amongst them, accompanied by the enemy’s silence. The hierarchy seems to be suspicious of everyone, none more than lieutenant of the secret police, Isaac Spirko. The engineers are also putting the last touches on the final weapon that will end the war and security is tighter than ever looking for the suspicious. The regular engineers begin to notice brand-new faces who claim to be workers but spend their time watching. To be a spy caught here in this country will result in a well-noticed disappearance and endless flow of rumors a gruesome torture which the poor soul endured. Even more distraught was that spies usually worked in pairs so if one was found, the other would be gone in days. Today was no different though, Yeltsin made is usually way about his work, looking over schematics, and making corrections as he did, but unfortunately for Yeltsin, someone was studying him. Spirko made a surprise undercover visit to the lab where Yeltsin worked. What made the engineer so interesting was the characteristic popping of his knuckles after he turned to new schematic. Spirko has seen this before, the spy was taking pictures of the schematics with his camera watch. He simply covered the noise of the camera with the cracks of the knuckles. The spy was arrested promptly as his home was ransacked.

The interrogation process was very straightforward, they have all the information they needed to prove he was an Astonian spy since all of the data was found in his home. The matter is to find the other spy. Spirko enjoyed this part of the work, watching men plead for their lives and seeing their true sides. He was called a “sadist” by his comrades but he got the job done. Yeltsin being so close to the inside would prove to be a task though. With his hands tied, he was hanging from the ceiling about a foot above the cold concrete and his legs were bound to his belt by chains. This kept him from moving and therefore he couldn’t resist. A plastic bag was placed over the head with several holes to give a false suffocating effect but nonlethal. Spirko demands for the name of the other spy as he has guards beat Yeltsin with batons that had 1/8 inch nails in them. Yeltsin never said a word, just agonized with pain as his body was being torn to shreds. Spirko seeing the resistance, tried a new method of torture. He places electrodes on the spy’s chest and asks for the name. Silence. Spirko delivers a decisive punch into the prisoner’s torn stomach and turns the shocker on with a devilish smile. The sound of electricity enters the room, Yeltsin bends back in pain as his body burst into flames which is accompanied by an unsuspected explosion. The lights go out and the backup generators switch on, turning on the lights. The body is burnt and obviously dead. Spirko mutters a curse, realizing he used too much power on him. He is surprised Yeltsin didn’t beg like so many before. “No matter,” he thought to himself, “this is the business we got ourselves into.” as he looks at the charred corpse. The lieutenant demands the guards to clean the mess up and have the evidence as soon as possible. He casually walks out of the room. This is the last time anyone ever saw Lieutenant Spirko or the evidence Yelstin collected. The war was over in the next few months, Astonia won. The pair was successful.

It was a time of high fashion and Barbie dolls. The 1950’s brought designers such as Bill Blass and Chanel to the forefront as trendsetting fashion designers. It was a time of social advances. The first Civil Rights movements began to take shape all over the country, and the “separate but equal” doctrine was challenged and overturned in Brown v. Board of Education in 1954. Schools began to integrate. It was a time to rebuild and start over. The end of World War II successfully brought the United States out of the Great Depression that had held the nation captive for close to a decade. Families whose lives had been destroyed by poverty had new hope. It was also a time of insecurity and fear. Cold War tensions quickly rose as the United States watched in horror as the Soviet Union became communist. Coupled with nuclear weapons, communism was a force to be feared. An arms race seemed the only answer, and so, the Cold War began.
Like any good Jewish father, Joshua Cohen’s father had hoped that he would become a rabbi, but Joshua’s interests had always seemed to be more centered in politics. During college Joshua became involved in a communist organization where he also happened to meet his wife, Hannah, at a fund-raising event. The two were married in a quiet ceremony in New York City in 1939. That same year Joshua graduated from New York College with a medical degree. Both became well respected professionals- Joshua a doctor and Hannah a lawyer. Never the ones to call much attention to themselves, Joshua and Hannah lived a happy, quiet life in New York and soon had a baby. But things were not so happy everywhere.
With tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union worse than ever, Joseph McCarthy was easily able to rise to power in the government. He claimed that he knew of many American citizens who were secretly communists and working as spies for the Soviet Union, and, with the government’s permission, he dutifully set out to find and punish each one of them. People were encouraged to carefully monitor their neighbors and report any suspicious activity to an authority immediately as they were probably working for the communists. It was considered a great act of disloyalty to not turn in a suspected communist conspirator. Joshua and Hannah watched in horror as many of their friends from college were turned in for being involved in their communist organization in college. Many of them served jail time. Luckily, Joshua had foreseen potential problems when tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union were mounting and had begun to refrain from attending meeting or gatherings that could later be used to incriminate him. His efforts were wasted, however, when a next-door-neighbor heard him mention the word espionage to someone over the phone. This single word was all the information she needed, and she raced to the authorities to warn them of her dangerous neighbors.
Sure enough, the police arrived at the Cohen’s door the following morning with a warrant for Joshua’s arrest. Hannah and their son looked on as Joshua was handcuffed and taken away to jail. Joshua spent the next 48 hours in a maximum security unit sitting in a cold steel chair in a cold cement room. Only a dim bulb hung over his head providing just enough light to allow him to see his many different questioners. He was denied food or drink: though he was bribed with it many times in an attempt to elicit some sort of response from him. The incriminating evidence: the use of the word espionage. Why else would this word have come up if he had not been involved in it or known someone that was? If he wasn’t guilty then why wouldn’t he tell who was? Unable to crack him, Joshua was thrown into solitary confinement while his prosecutors tried to come up with a way to make him speak.
The next day, an idea came to them. They arrested his wife, Hannah, in the early hours of the morning. Hoping to have the case resolved by lunch, they quickly informed Joshua that Hannah had been taken into custody on charges of co-conspiracy and would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law if Joshua refused to talk. There was little evidence on Hannah from the start. The authorities’ main interest in her was to persuade Joshua to give himself up; however, Joshua refused to cooperate. Hannah was thrown into prison, and the two awaited trial. Their lawyer, John Camp, had quickly volunteered for their case when he heard of it. He urged the two to turn themselves in or to provide the evidence to incriminate someone else so that they might have lesser punishments, but the two never spoke a convicting word. In fact, besides their brief testimonies in court, they remained totally silent.
The prosecution’s goal had been to get Joshua to give up the names of other communist conspirators, but Joshua never did: not even when he and Hannah were both sentenced to death by electrocution. Hannah first, then Joshua, and Joshua would have to watch. Not many were present the morning of the electrocution, but John Camp was. His pleading eyes remained fixed on Joshua and Hannah, but they did not seem to notice. Hannah and Joshua’s eyes met one last time as Hannah was strapped into the electric chair. The first jolt did not kill her, the second one did. She never made a sound, and Joshua went just as quietly with only a nod of understanding to John Camp. Tears of shame streamed down Camp’s face as he left the building. Joshua and Hannah had been his good friends, his co-conspirators, and it was he that Joshua had been on the phone with the day Joshua was found out.

In the vast countryside of Sweden resides an integrated society of strict spiritual people known as Meracins. For centuries upon centuries, all Merican people viewed their nearest neighbors with great contempt, and upon encountering any one of these natives of Andia, Mericans were immediately called to convert the Andian eastern way of thinking into the more modern Merican lifestyle and belief system. Recently (as in the past half century), large groups of Andians have migrated from the east to live and support their families in the more prosperous Merica. Feeling that the potential for financial success in Merica highly outweighs maintaining their deeply-faithful Andian way of life, most of these new migrants do not openly display their Andian culture, as they still fear the ancient Merican methods of conversion.
Nearly a decade and a half ago, a pair of Andian farmhands and lifelong best friends, Nikhil and Srikant, felt their lives were lacking. Although both had dutifully abided to the Andian faith and culture with great passion throughout their entire lives, the two felt that a greater life full of potential awaited them in the wealthy city of Merica. As each man was wed through traditional Andian arranged marriages, strict obedience to the male adult figure was custom. Accordingly, Nikhil and Srikant easily convinced their respective wives and children to start over in Merica, even though it meant hiding their Andian culture and faith. And thus– the two Andian farmhands became Merican bankers, with salaries high enough to support their families with great ease and style.
Today, the two men have slowly become more distant, though remaining in relatively close contact. Nikhil has continued his job as a banker, while Srikant, since leaving the bank years ago, has assimilated enough to the Merican way of life to become a powerful, highly influential criminal lawyer.
Although their lifestyles have changed drastically of late, one thing has brought their Andian bond back to surface. Last May, a drastic attack on the central commerce building of Merica occurred, causing hundreds of Merican people to innocently lose their lives. Immediately following this attack, the president of Merica placed the blame on their age-old neighbors, the Andians. And as a result of this blame, President Ush called out for people of true Merican ancestry to actively seek out Andian immigrants, as he feels they are dangerous to the future success of Merica. The day following the attack, Ush issued this statement to all Merican citizens:

“My fellow Merican citizens: as a result of the Andian attack on our central commerce building, I am calling upon all of you to turn over any people still practicing Andian beliefs to proper authority. I believe that we, as Mericans, must revert to our former ways of converting Andian people into our way of life. It is essential to the success of our city, and I am demanding a full effort from all citizens.”

No less than 24 hours after this statement, Nikhil was handed over to Merican authorities by one of his coworkers. He had continued the tradition of praying toward the eastern city of Andia on a daily basis, even at work, which one of his fellow employees had seen. Being a dutiful Merican (at least according to President Ush), that worker was promptly rewarded for bringing Nikhil’s Andian ways to surface.
When interrogated by Merican police chiefs about his Andian lifestyle and faith, Nikhil solemnly adhered to his true faith, vowing silence and not responding to the authorities. After days and days of solitary confinement, lack of any nutrition, and violent beatings from police, Nikhil again was asked about his faith. To be released, all he had to do, according to the Merican authority figures, was publicly denounce the Andian faith and vow to be a proper Merican for the rest of his life. To this – Nikhil again obstinately remained silent. This harsh treatment and questioning endured for the two months. All the while, Nikhil’s former Andian counterpart, Srikant, continued his life as a powerful lawyer.
Still, Srikant constantly lived in fear of being turned over to Merican police like his old friend. He could not stop thinking about Nikhil, crying himself to sleep over the thoughts of how poorly the now prisoner was being treated. Though genuinely depressed over what had transpired, Srikant felt that his established Merican life was far too valuable to give up, and he knew that if he were put in Nikhil’s shoes, that he would buckle like a coward and renounce his Andian past.
Meanwhile, Nikhil persisted longer and longer, never revealing a word to his abusers. His life was growing shorter by the day. The police could question him no longer. Nikhil had exhausted his chance to convert. President Ush, to send a stern message to all Andians in hiding, ordered Nikhil to be publicly put to death in an electric chair. To add to the horror of his former best friend being killed for his Andian beliefs, Ush ordered Srikant, one of Merica’s top lawyers, to oversee the execution for legal reasons. Srikant - torn between his old and new life – ultimately decided to fulfill his duty as a Merican and attend the public death of Nikhil as the city’s lawyer.
Upon arriving at the site of the execution, Srikant felt instant remorse when he saw Nikhil’s savagely beaten body tied to the electric chair. Srikant wanted to call out immediately, but withdrew, hoping to feel some resolution through eye contact with Nikhil. However, just as he would not speak to authorities for over a month, Nikhil would not look in Srikant’s direction – not even for a second. The lawyer was crushed.
But it was far too late for feelings. The time had come for Nikhil’s death, and the executioner pulled the switch. Slight shocks came first, causing him to begin shaking. Then, another switch was pulled, giving his body an extreme jolt of electricity. As Nikhil’s soon to be corpse twitched back and forth before his imminent death, he used his last morsel of human energy to raise his head and stare directly into Srikant’s eyes. Srikant stared back, stunned. It was at this moment that Nikhil passed away, with his eyes fixated directly upon Srikant. A tear fell from Srikant’s eye. He knew he would never be the same. He knew he could never become a true Merican. And sadly, he knew that he could never be a true Andian again.