Dr. French, Jazzimine, and Mr. Felt all found themselves tied up on the doctor's boat hijacked and taken hostage. Steaming away from the small floating dock along the shore. Above the boat the three houses and deck blazing into the ocean night sky an inferno.

The Seal drove as he always had, while the other four leaned back on railing by the cabin. The captives were at the very stern being sprayed by the cold ocean waters. Mr. Felt had a black eye and was sobbing while the other two captives tried their best to imagine being anywhere else other than this ship headed for the dead waters of winter.

One of the unknown goons was splicing together thick rope while his bloodshot eyes glared at the captives. Dr. French knew the rope was probably going to be used in the process of disposing of their bodies to the bottom of the waters with a heavy sinker. All that the captors were most likely waiting on before slitting their necks was to reach the desired depth.

The boat slammed down a steep wave. Mr. Felt could see the markings of Exitcorp island in front of the vessel as it rocked side to side. He knew they needed him alive at least until he gave them the passwords to the island. He was so sick. He was gagging chunks of vomit all over the other captives.

Jazzimine’s honor had been utterly defiled. If she survived this, she would be on a quest of revenge in which she would be willing to give up all her riches to ensure that those in any way involved in this incident would be punished. So be it if she even had to do the killings herself. She imagined shooting Felt right in his large balding head. No brains would come out the other side except a little trail of blood as the bullet would pass through.

Marco Matters woke up from his nap face to face with a bright light descending from the sky. He was out of the vehicle in a split second ready with his rifle. The helicopter pilot waved an arm out the side as he lowered down onto the pavement. It was a black carbon fiber FBI stealth chopper touching down on the desolate Maine road as Marco climbed aboard.

“Wow I forgot how quiet these things are” he said, taking a spare headset from the co-pilot.

“Yeah, our technology is getting better everyday hell they probably won't even need most of us for too much longer” said the Pilot laughing as they took back off above the treetops.

Marco chuckled “Yeah with our drone and satellite technology alone I'm really not sure why the locals would bother rebelling”.

“Well, if you ask me they are ignorant, and they probably watched Braveheart too many times in my opinion” said the pilot.

“Seriously” said Marco.

“It’s either make their final stand for their old way of life that they grew up with or take it and relocate somewhere else. Of course most have chosen the first option, but all it takes is three or four rebels without anything to lose to decide to not go away without fighting” said the Pilot as he flew over the destroyed bridge, and onto the big island of Loony.

“Yeah that seems like a plausible theory” said Marco inspecting his gun one last time.

“Once we kill em all we will probably figure out their motives, I'm just here to fly the chopper” said the co-pilot.

“Yup, that's how it always goes, another waste of life that never had a chance against the United States government. The new Roman empire that we are lucky enough to be citizens of,” said Marco.

“I like that, the Romans were very cool” said the Pilot.

“We are a collective republic, a melting pot with no room for terrorist plots. Those who will die tonight could have voted and used the voices instead of violence in order to get the word out about their plights” finished Marco as he was interrupted by the superiors.

HQ was calling. He picked up to the static air waiting for orders.

“Gentlemen, we have two more choppers on the way, and the coast guard is coming too. In addition the latest briefing is that we now know these are the ringleaders that need to be brought to justice: Dr. Ivan French, Jazzmine Thomas as well as the very same Mr. Felt that we all are acquainted with so very well. I've sent you updated files for future reference, but It's open season on anybody that resists you. Happy hunting agents” said the command.

“Roger,” said Marco.

“Roger Felt we are also apprehending” said headquarters.

"Good news" said the Pilot as they hung up on him.

“Looks like there's a party going on down there,” said the Co-pilot pointing to bonfires celebrating independence below.

“Blast em” said Marco as the helicopter's guns started winding up before they would fire.

I had escaped with proof of my family's innocence. It was on my phone, in my pockets, even more backups on drives in my luggage. Yarvon already had backup evidence out of the country as an added precaution as adead man's switch. The flight attendant was coming down the aisle taking her time to disperse the snacks and soda. I needed a shot of vodka to calm my nerves mangled from the stress of it all weighing down.

The evidence was damning. Tina had leaked the information about the corporations coming in to make huge government dollars. The already rich landowners who would be getting richer by leasing their land to the corporations, and about the massive government subsidies they would soon be sharing. Anybody who owned a lot of anything around town would soon become very wealthy.

In an effort to get all fathers land the family had been framed. Roger was the weak point from where we had been attacked. Before L.O.O.G had conspired with Exitcorp. Of course the Fed didn’t care that they were taking an innocent family to prison. It was fine trying a set up in court and throwing them away like garbage as long as energy quotas were hit at the end of each day.

One last piece of the puzzle I had not yet solved. Who were the terrorists operating from on the ground, and what were their motives? Was it really as simple as what I had figured as the two most likely possibilities: paid mercenaries or disgruntled townspeople. Did it really matter at all when the higher ups were the only party set to ultimately benefit? Whoever of the wealthy survived the battle would own all the lands, and win.

“Hello,” the cart attendant smiled as she came to my seat.

“Yes, one handle of a fireball please” I said.

She took my ID, and debit card scanning them into the system. The plane to Mexico was packed with people. Many of them had come to Maine for the summer, but had to go somewhere else in the winter because the state was barren of work as the only money was in tourism. They all crammed onto a smaller, older plane with stiff cardboard seats, and no smoking signs. I had the shot in my hands, and burning cinnamon in my throat. The drink was empty. The crowd was buzzing.

A couple on the other row watched a movie with their child. The people behind me debated space operas. My hand was into the cart quickly snatching another fireball while the lady wasn't looking. I grinned before downing it, wishing I had stolen another.

This was a life or death situation. As the stakes had escalated so had my lack of social grace. I was reduced to a drunken thieving, and sloppy women on the run. I never imagined the walls closing in as I felt them now. Whether I would be free, or captured, the tension was eating away worse than even the worst outcome I could imagine. At least in jail I would be able to relax into a schedule everyday. Not this uncertainty always watching over my shoulder. I had been reduced to a paranoid freak.

I could see a sunny Caribbean island flying below as the plane made its descent. The United States coast had been long left behind. When the pilot announced it my stomach had untied itself from a tangle of twenty different knots. Now barring a crash or a US marshal on board, I was free to keep on running. Like I would be doing for the rest of my life.

“Ladies and gentlemen this is your pilot speaking unfortunately we are going to have to do just a temporary stop in Cuba. Really no need to panic, your flights will be compensated by the government at a later date. Once their business here is complete”

As the intercom cut out, the crowd began to murmur upset, while I was looking for the exit behind my seat. I glanced back out the window, the plane was heading down onto the runway at Guantanamo bay, and unless I jumped out I would be unloaded a slave. I was out of my seat hopping over the laps of two people, down the hallway tripping over a foot as somebody laughed. The food cart was by the door. I got behind it, barricading myself from the staff who immediately ran to subdue me. The door was open. It struggled at first but then blew back as the wind sucked me out. I felt the warm tropical heat as my body was in free fall through the lowest clouds as it went plummeting towards the water.

Exitcorp island was on the horizon. The condemned fishing vessel the f/v “Snake Oil” was closing in on it with black smoke puffing out her stacks. The prisoners were still tied up on board begging for their lives best they could manage through gagged mouths. The armed men still patrolled onboard.

The captain of the vessel once known as the Seal had betrayed the doctor and now he drove them quickly in slamming the engines into reverse to slow her speed as they backed in as he and another goon at the end tied up. The prisoners were thrown over the crack now connected by ropes to the other side where they lay motionless.

Up the ramp to the island the caravan crept as the boat lights went out into the dark. The offshore winds of winter slapped at the waterlogged guests struggling to walk near the back with legs almost numb, and arms risking frostbite. Dr. French bit at his gag to maintain some sense of control, while Mr. Felt whimpered on before being slapped on the back of his head.

“Shut up” commanded the masked man guarding the rear.

Hard unplowed walking along the snowy path leading to the Exitcorp mansion. Mr. Felt knew it was all over now. He would be tortured for the passwords, and then his worthless life taken before the night was over. He remembered the few remaining people in his life due to his sometimes paranoid seclusion from society, but mostly he felt he had been excluded by others for the actions of a man he no longer was. Mindy had been estranged for years, and he had tried to mold Jr. into somebody he was never meant to be. In a way he had ruined the child by placing entirely wrong expectations on him as a burden a child shouldn't have. Mr. Felt had tried to make a perfect child to make up for his bastard status, but the truth was most of the young rich heirs were bastards regardless of any meaningless social inventions. Regardless, even Mr. Felt’s own lawyer would no longer speak to him.

The man in front of the line held a light walking through the trail under the giant spruce trees. Sounds of a bell or chimes could be heard far off crying a lullaby into the night. Twigs by the trail broke as the front man pointed out in shock. Around a thick tree down the bank a whole herd of matted sheep in the lights. Their long wool coats snared with seaweed, plastics, and a little of everything else that could be found along the shore. The sheep's bodies underneath were famished, with the wool near the flesh slowly rotting away due to moisture from the animals' heat. One of them looked up and saw the trespassers bolting and taking the rest of the herd with him in an instant. Something else could be heard running. Snapping twigs on the other side, as another man shone his light on a deer fleeing across the trail spooked from all the noise.

Bird ox, and blackberry vines no longer bearing fruit yet still having thorns ripped onto the clothes of everybody who passed as they walked through in a single file. It was a section of former forest filled with trees mangled all over the ground as the wind blew in the opening created. All that remained standing in the clearing was little furs as the moonlight shone through, and the chimes picked up their sound into a frenzy as the wind gusted stronger than it ever had that night.

Mr. Felt, Jazzmine, and the doctor lay on a cut polished marble floor as the hostage takers broke chairs around them. The door had been kicked from its hinges. At some point in breaking into the new mansion the loud alarms blared. The prisoners had been thrown in a pile near the mantle.

“Hnnnmmmmf” said Dr. French as he struggled to breath.

Mr. Felt was rocking, as Jazzmine lay still next to him. Both their souls had been broken from the terror that had been inflicted on them that night. The Men in balaclavas didn’t look up as a pile of loose timber began to form next to the fancy staircase. One broke off the railings above while another was throwing things down the atrium, splintering apart near the hostages' heads.

Back on the main floor the one man with the white mask came out of the bathroom flushing a toilet as he was smoking a cigarette. His smile at the captives wasn't concealed as he looked at them before taking out a family size metal tin of lighter fluid from his puffer jacket. In his other hand he had unsheathed a long serrated knife that came down stabbing a hole in the top of the metal.

"Sometimes you just die without figuring any answers" he said, crunching the metal in his fingers as all the incendiary sprayed from its container wetting the timber.

Marco Matters and the rest of the FBI Maine division had been alerted to the break-in on Exitcorp island. The chopper was headed now, flying close over the seas as “Bomber” by Motorhead played in the cabin at max volume. Smoke from fire was coming off the island in black plumes. Reinforcement choppers trailed behind them before breaking off to search the different quadrants of the big island of Loony.

“Well damn. Gimme thermal vision and we will see if anyone’s down there” he told the pilot.

“Alright, infrared is a go!” said the pilot, flipping a switch.

Marco put on the turret headset and looked around as the chopper flew over the landmass. He saw the mansion burning too hot for thermal vision to see if anybody was trapped inside. Even if they had been, they were long gone, and well roasted by this point.

“Greenhorn, take your chopper down to that burning building and see if anything is alive” commanded Marco.

“Yes Sir” said Greenhorn, taking his troops down.

“We will keep searching the beaches from above”

Soon there were agents on the ground as fire engulfed everything in front of them. The heat made it so nobody was getting anywhere close as the trees began to burn. So they waited until Marco’s helicopter dropped him off an hour later. He had found no signs of human life anywhere on any of the islands in the area. The FBI dogs had been set loose from their kennels on the boats, barking as they sniffed for clues; leading the leash holders all around the dark underbrush on a hunt.

“Sir. the chopper has been refueled” said an agent catching his breath now that the news had been delivered.

“Alright we're going back in the sky now, Nemo you're in charge” said Marco.

He flashed a thumbs up to the man before running to the chopper, its blades beginning to spin.

“Yes Sir” said all the FBI agents formally standing around the arson.

They were temporarily taking orders from the man with the biggest handlebar mustache.

Marco wasn't flustered a bit as he climbed back aboard the aircraft and it took off. Though all they had apparently managed to keep alive was Roger Felt, he alone would face well enough corporal punishment for all the cowards around him who had avoided the thick nets of justice thus far. With all the dogs at their disposal they would be able to chase every suspect to the very ends of the earth. There was no log any of them would be able to hide under very long without being detected.

They were flying well in the air over island water. Another chopper was descending to where they had been, bringing in another set of fresh agents. All of the shorefront, and even the waters around the island had been thoroughly thermally imaged by state of the art gadgets provided by taxpayers. In addition to satellite scanners turning up nothing in the immediate area. Whoever did the crime, and the murders had to have set the whole thing up even the alarms to go off on a long timed delay maybe hours. Marco looked down at the bridge still smoking in the harbor. Government, and news drones were flying all around as barges of reinforcements crossed over onto Loony two vehicles at a time.

The town could be seen engulfed with lights from agents, and state police hunting for the fugitives. The chopper's light focused on three parked cop cars before it switched nearby to officers searching house to house with flashing lights.

"This is FBI chopper number eleven moving in to provide you cover,'' said the Co-pilot on the radio.

“Ok. We got our hands full down here. Thanks” said a voice while loud breaking glass was happening in the background.

The helicopter descended focusing the light on federal, and state police hauled a man out of the dwelling. They beat him with a club, and rifle as he went into the cage located at the back of the waiting van.

"We've got rioters shooting at us, and looters looting at the Fishingfiends bar requesting assistance from anybody" blared the radio.

The agents were back in the night sky on the prowl. They would be flying all night long to restore law, and order back to the shores.

“WTV11 news reporting overnight we now know the FBI, The ATF, The CIA, the coast guard and NCIS are out in full force in the town of Loony Maine" said a voiceover as video showed swarms of agents doing what they did best.

“Yes it seems no stones are being left unturned, officials say to follow a strict curfew until the troublemakers have been apprehended” , said the reporter in front of a burning building.

“That's right Bob, they believe the suspects responsible for all the damage inflicted on the town overnight are still lurking somewhere on the island and very dangerous.”

“The FBI want to stress that they are doing everything in their power to not victimize anyone. They are working to slowly expedite people from the danger until it can be quelled”. Any innocent member of the public can go out of the house with their IDs present from 10-2 PM for essential trips, just be prepared for a friendly FBI roadblock stop or three. Bob Fowler reporting" he finished.

A dog barked as a taxi flew by the humid street in Peru. Yarvon checked twice over his shoulder before darting across a side street under shade. In his hands was the evidence. In mere moments if everything went well it would be safely stored at the embassy.

He had just escaped his family compound after the trucks had pulled up and started firing on them. Older brother Niko Zee had taken out his shotgun blowing guts across the front seat full of arms. Meanwhile, Papa Zee had karate kicked a goon coming up the stairs to his balcony, sending him tumbling below with a loud crunch. Yarvon took out his handgun, shooting another dressed in all bulletproof armor right between the eyes.

“Quick go to the embassy. Son, the truth must prevail” yelled Papa Zee.

“But father, the truth is meaningless in the eyes of most men. Why should I not stay here to protect your flesh over this meaningless ideal humanity has concocted?” said Yarvon.

“Son my wish is for you to go now, and that is how I chose to live my life. I will end it by fighting for something I think will be longer lasting than it. Your brother will run in the other direction to another embassy. I pray for you both to be safe.”.

"I will do my best”. said Yarvon Zee running for the embassy thumb drive full of evidence in his hand.

The Zee family took up their final stand, shooting guns in different directions as they split up for the final time. One jumped over the top of a young man dragging his bloodied body into the street, shooting him in the back before he returned to earth. The other brother sprinted out from the smashed gate toward another embassy as a crowd watched from a distance.

Hot pavement pounding on his feet as Yarvon gained ground. A woman screamed behind him as an engine roared. Tires screeched as they climbed up onto the curb, as the hotdog stand that he had just passed by could be heard exploding into pieces over the hood as whatever vehicle it was got closer, and closer.

In the dark depths contained within the belly of the lighthouse on Exitcorp island a group of figures stood. They guarded their leader hidden behind white mask, as his fancy leather gloves successfully entered a phrase into the hidden keypad located under the wood desk. Outside the structure a fresher poured patch of concrete groaned as hydraulics pulled back revealing a secret entrance to a passage. A cold tunnel, with steps leading below the ocean to a hidden bunker. The crew of big-time criminals would hide out in a well-stocked fortress while the town of Loony was sacked. They managed to avoid federal, and state authorities who would help to burn everything in town completely to the ground, desperately searching everywhere for the fugitive's still unknown.