Walter Beale always knew he was destined for greatness. Life had been hard and filled with disappointment, but things were starting to look up. Gabriel had called and told him it was time. He was so jittery with excitement that it felt like electricity was coursing through his body.

After Gabriel recruited him for this unique mission, it took time for him to make his way carefully east out of the WTR. Walter had then turned north at least a hundred miles from Nashville. He traveled for several days, made his way back west again towards Camp Beaver on the JP’s eastern border. It hadn’t been too difficult for a handyman like Walter to get into the JP. Getting in was easy compared to keeping his satellite phone hidden and finding a time to check it regularly.

Walter discovered that satellite phones didn’t work as shown in the movies. You had to find an open area with clear sky lines and stand still for sometimes as long as five minutes to acquire signal. Walter did this every few days after crossing into the JP and had almost grown weary of living among these traitors, but a week ago the signal arrived. The words “OPS POPULUS” waited on the green display once the phone gained signal strength.

Walter and Gabriel decided upon the coded message for the mission together. It was Latin and roughly translated into “power to the people.” This was a play on words meant to include not only political, economic, and military power, but also actual electricity that the JP was hoarding.

Gabriel was a godsend to Walter. He had never really fit in anywhere or been accepted, but Gabriel understood him like no one since his late mother. The old man was wise, understanding, and most importantly, did not think Walter’s ideas or dreams were dumb or ridiculous as everyone else did. It was Gabriel who convinced him he had a destiny, one that would make him famous for generations to come.

Movement interrupted Walter’s thoughts and he re-focused his attention to the figures emerging from the little house on the lonely Murray street. He was cold and hungry from days of sleeping outdoors and hiding, but it was almost over. He looked again and counted three men leave the house, the last of the group Walter saw enter several hours earlier. It was now only the traitor and his wife. If he could spare her, he would, but he wouldn’t lose any sleep if he had to kill her too.

Dusk was fast approaching and he watched the wife through the window as she lit an oil lamp and appeared to be preparing food. At the same time, the old man came out onto the back patio and sat down alone facing away from Walter's cover. The time was now.

Walter looked both ways and then crossed the street casually walking to the side of the house. He took a moment to gather his racing heart and pull out the revolver. The enormity of the moment was almost too much for him, only a few people in the history of the world had ever killed a president or national leader, and all of them were famous. Walter Beale was about to be one of them.

He said a quick prayer for success and then glided around the edge of the house onto the patio. President Reggie Phillips sat there smoking a hand-rolled cigarette and watching the fading light. This is the last sunset he will ever see, Walter thought.

Gabriel’s instructions were clear. Walk up, shoot the President in the chest until the gun was empty, drop the gun, and walk away. No words, no discussion, no theatrics. Walter couldn’t help himself.

“President Phillips,” said Walter jocularly.

The old man started which filled Walter will glee and a sense of power.

“Who are you?” Phillips asked, but when he saw the gun, fear flickered in his eyes.

Walter smiled, “A patriot, a free man representing a whole nation of free men who will not be kept in servitude by you or your like any longer. Power to the people. Ops Popu…” He stopped as he saw Phillips’ eyes dart to Walter’s rear.

He spun with the gun outstretched; saw a blur of movement just before excruciating pain filled his face and head. Walter dropped to the ground, but managed to fire his pistol at the unknown assailant before everything went black.