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The battle for London... the battle for Europe.

A History Lesson:


2131...

For more than a century Earth has been in turmoil. Feared, revered nations like the United States of America and the People's Republic of China have warred and spiraled into horrific disarray. In 2021 Iran made successful testing of its first nuclear weapon. In 2029, Iran's second hit Chicago. That same month the UN declared war on Iran and, quote, "other violent nations who would threaten the security of our planet." At this time, of course, the United States and Britain were still immersed in a bitterly unsuccessful "war on terror." NATO itself was ready to call it quits in the Middle East and return to "more imminent problems." In May, 2035, North Korea entered the war by attacking the United States with its nuclear stockpile. By 2040 the Geneva Convention ceased to hold any merit on how war was fought. Civilian casualties soared, terrorist organizations ran their pestilential course throughout the allied nations of the UN and NATO. Within a few months of '35, China invades North Korea and, after a year, controls the country. Eager to bring democracy to the whole of Korea, the United states attempts to bargain with China for the land.

In November, 2045, the UN still at war with Iran and its allies, journalists report the death of U.S ambassador Thomas Greene in North Korea. Two months later it is announced that a Chinese official was to blame. Immediate detainment and "interrogation" by the U.S brings light on Chinese plans to push the U.S from Korea entirely and move on Japan. Needless to say, the United Nations declare war on China, who immediately makes a shady alliance with Iran, Palestine, Lebanon, and Syria. Ten years and ten million casualties later, the Third Great War is finalized with the Treaty of Damascus. Iran, Lebanon, Palestine, Syria, Iraq, Kuwait, and Saudi Arabia are merged into one country: The Arabian Provinces. The pogrom extends itself when the Castro family fails to produce another totalitarian leader for Cuba, resulting in the U.S moving to take the island. In one fell swoop, the White House authorizes movement to not only Cuba, but Mexico, Guatemala, Haiti (which is the collective name for the united government of The Dominican Republic and Haiti), Belize, all the way down to Panama.

Whatever posessed the United States to make such a hainous move also outrages socialist Brazil, Venezuela, Columbia, and Ecuador. The temporarily extended United States is then assaulted by government-funded, South American terrorists. At this time, remember, the UN is still at war with the remaining Peoples Army of China. Enflamed with patriotism and knowledge of South American nations funding terrorism, the United States ceases all trade with said nations; taking a heavy toll on the world economy. In 2069 China is finally "cleansed" and divided between the U.S, Britain, France, and Russia. By this time oil reserves are slim, but hydrogen and electrically powered vehicles are popular among civilized nations. Violence in Africa continues as it had in 2007 and the Middle East, though united, is still plagued by Islamic terror groups like Al-Qaeda. The unrest continues through 2070 with a decrease in violence, but an increasing rift in the UN. By 2080 terrorism has caused the United States of America to fall into chaos and cease to exist as a national entity, a shock to the modern world. In 2091 Southern Ireland and the unified Scotland-Englad nation of Britain merge into one nation, ending Catholic-Protestant feuding in Ireland.

All is resolved in 2100, when the Holy Republic of the British Isles announces its complete ascension to the throne of the world's most powerful nation. A Protestant Autocracy, the Republic disguises itself as a democracy to please the shattered UN.. which falls shortly after in 2109. With the fall of Germany, France, the Netherlands, Canada, and the like... NATO is disolved as well. Divided China as abandoned to its people, who incite civil war for rule of the nation.

2131, and the Holy Republic of the British Isles stands piously among the ashes of a torn world. Nations like Japan, Spain, and Italy struggle to maintain existence while terrorists devour the world in a conflagration.

But one more fight awaits... the Holy Republic is oppressive, its people yearn for revolution. Now, this short lived nation will find itself on the center of the world's stage... not as one nation under God, but as two disgruntled factions battling for the future of Earth itself.

Before you choose, friends, take these ideal weapons layouts into mind.

Holy Republic:

Police
- 12ga. combat shotgun
- 9mm Glock
- Carbon fiber police baton
- Eye spray (mace)

Soldiers
- H&K MP7 5.56mm modified with a 30 round magazine
- H&K USP .45 with 12 rounds clip
- Flash, smoke, and/or fragmentation grenades

Reapers
- Silenced H&K USP .45 12 rounds
- Miscellaneous assassin weapons

Of course other weapons are used for specializaiton (mechanized cavalry, machine gunners, mechanized infantry.)


Brotherhood of Man:

AK-47s are popular because of how cheap they are, though the Holy Republic's weapons are common as well. As the rebels are
citizen soldiers with no formal ballistic income, everyone's weapons are different. Some small sects equip themselves with
uniform guns and even give specific names for themselves.


These are all subject to editing and changing for characters, of course.

Now for the rules!

Under Our New Consitution, Appendix C: Doctrine 557 of Our Lord through Sir William Stanton, Regulations Are As Follows:

- Submit your profiles to me via PM in this layout:



- No godmodding in any form.

- Come on, guys, this will be a "lit/adv. lit" roleplay. You know how to post.

- OOC will be conducted, with proper identification, in this thread.

- Follow Gaia's ToS.

- You will post the sector you're in in the top left of your post and if in-post you move between sectors you will specify. In this fashion: [1]

- This is open ended, you can be neutral if you want! Love, hate, death, blood, gore, cursing - All are acceptable! Just because there's war doesn't mean there's life and human emotion.


Profiles are kept here (Red for Brotherhood, Blue for Government, Black for Neutral or undecided.):

Faction: Brotherhood of Man
Name: Timothy Blanche
Nationality: English
Religion: None, Atheist.
Age: 23
Looks: 6'4", white male. Hair is brown and cut short, approximately an inch long; normal men's haircut. When on the attack and with revolutionary comerades he dresses in urban digital camo pants, tucked into black combat boots. Usually wears only a white sleeveless undershirt, in cold weather a British military jacket. Wraps a red bandanna around his face, covering the mouth and throat, always wears black polyester gloves with the fore and middle fingers cut out. Moderately muscular, tattoo of a barcode on the back of his neck. Green eyes, no facial hair, miscellaneous battle scars dotting his body. Most notable is a grotesque, purplish scar on his right calf, as well as large, white scars tracing over his chest.
Weapons: T.A.R 221 5.56mm assault rifle with 30 round magazine. H&K USP .45, fragmentation grenades. Boot knife, weighted combat knife on his belt.
Small Biography(Optional): Timothy lived in Britain all his life under the regime of William Stanton, exceeding in his scholastic studies and forced to attend church by his parents. When he came of age he moved out of his home, an outspoken atheist and anarchist. With his friends he helped start the Brotherhood from a basement in Kingston, England. He regularly spits on images of the crucifixion and vandalizes churches whenever possible. In recent days he's caught some flak from the other revolutionaries about his evident hate for Christianity, but he disregards this in its entirety.

Faction: The Brotherhood of Man
Name: Ethan Wynterfield III
Nationality: English
Religion: Athiest
Age: 24
Looks: Ethan stands short at only 5'11", but has a strong, toned muscular build, weighing about 180 pounds. His dyed red hair falls to his mid back, kept in a ponytail. Dark brown eyes, with a light beard.
He has a dark burn scar on his neck, where he was hit with an ejected bullet shell the first time he fired a gun. He'd held the gun sideways, and moderatly close to himself, like he'd seen in some movies.
Wears a heavily scratched black leather jacket, with a tan sleeveless shirt underneath, and light brown pants, made with several zipper pockets along the legs.
"Keep On Rockin' In The Free World" is tattooed on his back.
Weapons: FAMAS 5.56mm, 30 round magazine. Para Ordnance Double Action 1911 chambered in .45 ACP, double stack clip, 16 rounds plus one in the chamber.
Small Biography(Optional): Born in Wolverhampton, England, Ethan was raised by his father alone, who moved from Phoenix, Arizona to Wolverhampton March 4th, 2070, with his parents, when his father was only three. Ethan was brought up Athiest by his father, who shared his hatred for the way the goverment was running things. Ethan grew up with a gun in his hand, as taught to him by his father, who had anticipated more violence in the coming years. And he was right. Ethan II was shot, and killed, by terrorists in 2124, when his son was seventeen. For a while, Ethan lived on his own, as he never knew his mother. He'd tried asking his father about her several times, but he would always just grunt and change the subject. At eighteen, Ethan joined the Brotherhood of Man, waiting for his chance to make his mark on the world. "If you're not remembered, you never existed.", his father used to always say, and Ethan lived by that.

Faction: The Brotherhood of Man /Irish Republican Army
Name: Sean Patrick Mullen
Nationality: Irish
Religion: Irish Catholic
Age: 27
Looks: 5’7’’, 120 lbs. Sean is a little runty, with strawberry-blond hair worn long (and tied back) and blue eyes that need corrective lenses to see at 20/20. Sean dresses practically, with a fishing vest and cargo pants covered with pockets so he can carry everything he needs on him wherever he goes, otherwise wearing inexpensive, cool clothing that lets his body get the ventilation it needs. His prized possessions are a diamond ring handed down to him by his biological mother worn on a chain around his neck, a tarnished silver locket that is home to an aging photograph of his family, and a digital pet that keeps him “company” on long nights. Often wears a long tan trench coat and a green scarf, and carries his computer around with him in a messenger bag. There is a reasonable chance that he, if shot, might explode since shooting him in the wrong place will set off an explosive.
Weapons: Bleeding-edge laptop computer with wireless T-3 modem and portable uplink dish to the London Geostationary Communications Satellite, homemade explosives, Glock 9mm.
Small Biography(Optional):
The Irish Republican Army, regardless of whether or not Ireland is combined into one big country with Britain, is still active, especially in these modern times with religious totalitarianism and the complete subjugation of the old British Isles. The dream of the IRA is not realized; the freedom of Ireland, ALL of Ireland, from Protestant British oppression, and until it is, the IRA will fight with all its might. Re-militarized in 2098 after more than ninety years as a peaceful group seeking solutions through politicking and negotiation, it began to recruit Irish patriots who would fight and die for the cause.
Sean is one such man.
Recruited at a very young age (about 11) along with all the other boys and girls of his family once his parents “disappeared,” Sean was always the runt of the group and unsuited for military engagements. He, however, displayed the logical talents required for information warfare and demolitions expertise, and was taught the arts necessary for his craft until he was deployed in 2029. He has since left a smoking trail of confusion and obfuscation that has protected many members of both the IRA and the Brotherhood of Man from the scrutiny required to mark them as targets for Reapers.
Sean is, in truth, not a blood member of his family, though then again NONE of his siblings are blood relatives to him as they were all adopted by a pair of caring but politically conscious parents. Sean is actually descended from the Windsor family, his mother smuggled out of the country during the formation of the Holy Republic and regrettably soon found by Reapers. Sean is capable of ascending to the old British throne, though whether or not he would since the Brits are his sworn enemies is a different story.

Faction: The Utopian Ideal, subdivision of The Brotherhood
Name: Zeke Harper
Nationality: German
Religion: Atheist
Age: 24
Looks: His hair is totally white, not one hair is any other color. His eyes are the color of sapphires, with small flecks of ruby red in the irises, and even a few in the whites. He covers these up with sunglasses to avoid notice from potential enemies. He wears a long black leather coat, black combat boots with black jeans tucked inside them and a black tee-shirt. Zeke also wears a black hoodie to cover up his hair, as it has become an easy identification mark. He will throw back the hood while fighting to let his enemies know who they have the misfortune of crossing paths with. He has tattoos of chains running from his shoulders to his opposite hips along othe back, and then up the front to the starting spot. He also has tattoos of chains spiraling up from his wrists up to his shoulders.
Weapons: An AK-47, a black combat knife and smoke and frag grenades, plus whatever happens to be on the closest dead body.
Small Biography (Optional): Zeke was born and raised in Berlin, but he moved to London to try to escape the turmoil. Upon arriving he learned of the unrest there and quickly joined in on the gathering resistance. He founded The Utopian Ideal with the precedence of the United States constitution in mind, and strives to create a unified sciety. He was at the firefight at the police HQ, and made his shots count.

Faction: Neutral/Brotherhood of Man ((she's not quite in it yet))
Name: Guadalupe 'Lupe' Marron
Nationality: Spanish
Religion: Protestant Christian, Baptist
Age: 18
Looks: [LUPE]
Weapons: AK-47, smoke grenades, and a small, home-made knife
Small Biography: Yes, she is a Protestant. Does that mean she sides with the Holy Republic? Of course not. Her grandparents with their parents emigrated to South America from the United States when the Third Great War first broke out. In some strange twist of events that her parents could never explain the same way, her great-grandparents sent their teenage children to Spain. By then the two were practically engaged and eloped weeks later. Years passed as the war fizzled away, the small family relieved to have near-peace again. In late-November of 2112, Lupe entered this world. In her memory, she recalls happy times brimmed with a sense of urgency. As the Holy Republic repressed countries similar to Spain, she somehow emigrated to the HP in the confusion of her childhood years. Her Protestant roots should have kept her safe, but her ignorance to the English language sent her into hiding. She met up with some members of the Brotherhood of Man, who taught her how to shoot firearms and what their purpose is. She refused to fully join the rebellion, since the Holy Republic supposively held her same beliefs; however, her faith in that fact dwindled around her fifteenth year. Now eighteen, she's prepared to fight for her survival, her country, and to restore her religion's old reputation.

Faction: Neo al-Qaeda
Name: Sujes bin Laden
Nationality: Saudi Arabian
Religion: Kurdish Muslim
Age: 25
Looks: 6’8” and 180 pounds. He has an olive complexion, is right-handed. He wears a plain white turban and no longer dons the traditional Saudi male headdress, generally white.
Weapons: Glock 20C, 10mm, 15 round magazines and a combat knife.
Small Biography (Optional): Born June 6, 2106. Additional background remains a mystery.

Faction: Anglican Communion
Name: Rt. Rev. Thomas Cranmer Morgan
Nationality: Republic of Vermont
Religion: Episcopal
Age: 46
Looks: Standing just above average height at 5'9", his slim build nonetheless keeps him below average weight. His hair is dark and comes to slightly above his shoulders, his face is cleanshaven. His eyes are dark green, almost brown, and his skin just slightly tanned. Befitting his status as a Bishop, he wears a purple shirt with a clerical collar, with a wooden cross on a chain around his neck.
Weapons: None, though he does now how to use handguns and rifles thanks to his time in the Boy Scouts. He also knows how to use a bow and arrow, crossbow, and sword, but that's less likely to come up. And he has a black belt in karate.
Small Biography(Optional): Bishop of Vermont, he has recently traveled to England on a fact finding mission for both the Church and the Republic of Vermont and its allies. Things have not gone as expected while there. . .

Faction: Holy Republic (Reaper)
Name: Sir Walter R. Heidrich IV
Nationality: ½ English, ½ German
Religion: Anglican
Age: 31

Looks: Walter is about 6’ 0” in height, and well-muscled. His hair, which is kept neatly slicked back, is platinum in coloration, and his eyes are a deep cobalt color. His well-proportioned features are pale, and marred only by a dark scar (inflicted, supposedly, by a member of the Brotherhood of Man), which begins at his chin and runs all the way down his throat—an injury which left his cold, seldom-used voice sounding like an almost metallic rasp. While he is fond of wearing his military uniform (usually the dress blues; his insignia states that he is a Major) in public, while working he could be wearing almost anything—after all, he reasons, a Reaper is no good if his target can spot him a mile off. Most of the time, however, he favors a black blazer and trousers and a black turtleneck, gloves, and mirrored sunglasses. On his forearm the phrase “Na wo zum Teufel ist dein Gott jetzt?” is tattooed in ornate gothic script—a phrase which translates from German to “Where the Devil is your god now?”

Weapons:
-Silenced H&K USP .45 12 rounds
-Silenced H&K PSG-1 7.62 (5 round magazine; 2 clips)
-Black KA-BAR Tanto

Small Biography (Optional): Born to Dr. Naomi Wolfe and Field Marshal Walter R. Heidrich III in November of 2100, Walter was raised in the Holy Republic. His father came from a long line of military men, and he is able to trace his German ancestors back as far as 1942, when his great-great grandfather was a Sturmbannführer in the SS. His parents were deeply indoctrinated into the Holy Republic, and in turn taught their son the ideals they held so dearly. Before his death at the hands of extremists in 2115, his father served as a military consul to Sir William Stanton. Unsurprisingly, Walter went to Sandhurst when he came of age, and was made an officer in the army before long. Rising quickly through the ranks due to his charm and skill, at 31 he is one of the youngest Majors in the history of the Republic. After assisting in an operation which resulted in the capture and execution of twelve Muslim extremists and the deaths of many more, Walter was Knighted, the ultimate honor for an officer such as himself. Due to his skill and his societal status, it was unsurprising when Walter was recruited to join the Reapers and serve as “the sword of the Holy Republic”, a position he takes quite seriously and works hard to live up to.

-> Reserved. <-

[1]

Grimy walls reflected the dim light from an ancient candle. The flame flickered once, then twice, obscuring the letters on the page of the open book. A leather bound volume salvaged from a personal library, it was all that remained of this woman's past. Estamos Triste it was called, meaning "We Are Sad." It was a collection of poems written by different Latin artists during the Third Great War.

Copper eyes reflected the flame with an intense fury, black strands of hair falling over Lupe's sharp face. Her temporary quarters were spacious this time, void of the explosions and gunfire heard from above. It was a lucky find, but she knew in the back of her cluttered mind that it would be destroyed within the next few days. Every lodging she enjoyed had either been seized by the Republic or completely demolished and there had been no exceptions.

"Una mujer
Suave
Joven
Manos y patas perfectas
Pelo rubio con luces
Ojos azules
Boca rosada
Vestido blanca
Es una angela
Representando vida
Representando amor
Representando muerte
Esa mujer perfecto"

She read this poem -not aloud, but in her mind- about the perfect woman. "'Angela'," she whispered, the name of the piece barely passing her lips. To her, this poem symbolized life before the wars. The things she'd learned from the others in the Brotherhood all summed up a perfect past. The present, however, was an alternate universe. She closed the book just as dust from the concrete ceiling sprinkled down as the result of another blast. She snuffed the candle with two fingers, pulling on two ripped, fingerless glovesTime to go, she thought hastily, grabbing her weapons and book. She placed them hurriedly in special pockets inside her trenchcoat.

Her legs carried her up some stairs in the back of the facility, which used to be a hospital. She used the fire-escape stairs farthest away from the progressive attacks. A foreigner like her was unwelcome in this hellish situation, her accent and Latino features sentencing her to a near-immediate death.

She reached the surface, cold attacking her exposed face as her boots hit the frozen asphalt. She stood in a deserted alley free from debris save for a few broken bottles and bricks. "Ay... " she muttered as an explosion rocked the ground where she stood. They were close, meaning the Brotherhood was closer. She peered down the alley, men trooping out a few hundred yards from her location. She cursed in Spanish under her breath and ducked below an overhang to plan an escape route.

((Edit: Okies, I'm finally awake and forgot the sector thing... WOW. I just looked like a n00b for a few minutes mwahahaha.))

[1]

Sneak away from the Brotherhood. The soldiers will go there.

Lupe smiled lightly at her plan. Naturally the attacking soldiers would go for the known rebels. She preferred to avoid conflicts, as did most women, but she had different reasons. She wasn't part of a rebel faction yet and that made aquiring supplies near-impossible with her foreign roots. Her copper eyes darted left, right, left again.

No soldiers yet. The gunfire became increasingly louder, indicating that the soldiers coming closer to the alley. She didn't have much time. As if driven on an impulse, the woman darted from her brief hideout and sprinted commando-style in the opposite direction of her alleged comrades.

Bssskeeeeeeew!

Her body hit the ground. She'd heard footsteps behind her moments before the shot fired, the bullet clipping her hair but not resulting in injury. She rolled into a back alley just as more shots hit the ground where she landed, the dirt stinging her face as she reached for a grenade.

A man shouted something she couldn't understand, but interpreted as a foul name for foreign people. She bit her lip, more annoyed than frightened. They always do that... Knowing she probably looked more like a man with her bulky trenchcoat than a woman, she prepared for a surprised soldier to catch off-guard.

"Stand up yo- Whoa!"

The muzzle of the young soldier's gun slammed into the side of her head, her jaw locking as a reflex. Her eyes darted towards the weapon, then the man holding it. For a few agonizing moments the soldier seemed in shock. Lupe's eyes were an intense shade of brown, which is referred to as copper. They caught every possible glimmer of light, temporarily hypnotizing anyone for a few seconds. Those seconds were her vital tool.

Smiling, she muttered, "Oye," or 'Hey," and pulled out the grenade's pin with a flick of her wrist. This motion broke the soldier's focus on her eyes and he pulled the trigger on his rifle just as she threw the smoke bomb. She jumped to her feet as the bomb exploded, confusing the boy as he tried to fire at her head.

He missed considerably.

Instead of going on a Kill-Bill mission that most rebels liked, her specialty was mind-tricks. He thought he was firing at her head, but he didn't consider that his would-be victim ducked and now was running down the backstreets towards the main road. After the smoke cleared, it was evident that Lupe had disappeared.

Now at a major street, her sense to hide increased. The government vehicles frequented this road and she had no way to disguise herself as a normal citizen except for a hat. One of the boy's bullets had grazed her left arm, leaving a minor pain pulsating near her elbow. She silently thanked her heavy jacket, which absorbed most of the hit. She felt a light trickle of blood running down towards her hand, but nothing to worry about until later. Right now she needed her beret.

Pulling the garment from her coat, she casually pulled her hair up into a high bun. She then placed the hat carefully over the bun to conceal it. Though her build was feminine, she looked quite manish with her sharp face. That sharp face was unisex, actually, but with her curvy body and long hair hidden by her clothes, she could easily pass as a man. The trick was to not make eye contact, for many officials knew those eyes.

Buttoning her coat to perfect the disguise, she started down the sidewalk. She would deal with her ranks among the Brotherhood when things died down a bit.

[3]

What a lovely night, thought Sean Patrick Mullen, drinking in the air that was only slightly marred by the constant ratta-tat-tat of small arms fire in the distance. At his hip was a thermos of hot tea mixed with No-Doz to keep him awake, picking a beverage/drug combination that, while no Mountain Dew, definitely is the right stuff for a long night of programming.

He was seated on the roof of the abandoned house in which he was squatting, his satellite dish adjusted just right and his computer running full steam ahead.

One problem insurgents always have is being identified. Once they are identified, it becomes much easier to target them for elimination, and if there is one thing that governments have figured out how to do in the spectacularly unsuccessful War on Terror, it was identify large groups of people using whatever means necessary. In London, the problem of identification is mildly different, since the Brotherhood operates somewhat openly, here; it was having their bases of operations spotted. Once picked out, the superior strength of the government of the Holy Empire could smash these safehouses to bits, and enough meeting halls have been lost to airstrikes that preventative measures have taken on a new tone.

Elsewhere in town, a cell of IRA was meeting with Brotherhood of Man assets, in an attempt to broker a deal with the Brotherhood about supplies and troop strength. If this meeting is discovered and the people involved arrested, not only would it be a blow to both freedom groups, it would also sow distrust between the two groups for years to come. And, what with the gonzo space programs of the early 21st century and the recent acquisitions of the Holy Empire in terms of spy satellites, it would take a minor miracle for the Imperials not to notice the congregation of two groups in a suspected safehouse.

"That's me," said Sean to himself. "The miracle man."

It had taken the better part of three days and two feints at unrelated areas of the Imperial information security grid (once at the power relay stations and once at the Imperial Mint), but Sean had found his opening, and was counting down the time until he should throw up his interference and inject his virus into their system. He had to time it just right, otherwise they might force him out of the system too quickly or they'd get around his virus too soon. If he acted too late, then he might as well not have acted at all. And so he watches the countdown on his watch until the designated time; two in the morning.

At 1:45 AM, he stretches, eats a granola bar, and pisses into a bottle. Ten minutes later, he drinks half of his thermos of tea, and at two AM exactly, he springs into action.

Entering the access codes to the dummy account he set up on their computer network, he quickly uploads his virus and sets about deleting as much as possible before they shut him out. Slash and burn, do damage to prevent them from looking at incoming data, and be sure to garble their in-flow of information as much as possible. By 2:05, he was done, and by 2:30, the computer center keeping track of the group of spy satellites monitoring London was thrown into complete disarray.

Sean smirked at a job well-done. He had bought the meeting the hour or so it needed, at least from eyes in the sky. Eyes on the ground weren't his department, so he was certain to be off of the roof by the time the virus fully hit, and he had the satellite dish folded up in the corner of his makeshift headquarters. If all went well, he'll recieve orders in three day's time. Until then, he had to lay low and be certain to keep his face out of sight.

[1]

As so often happens to bystanders during an insurgency, both the innocent and the guilty alike, things simply blew up in his face without warning. He had been walking down the street, enjoying what had been a relatively peaceful day, when no more than twenty yards ahead of him, the street erupted in gunfire.

As practically any man without training would have done, he simply stood shock still for a moment, then instinct told him to run. He resisted it, though, knowing that, without a large crowd to shelter in, running made one a more obvious target. Instead, he turned and simply started walking away at a determined pace. Nearby, he saw several others run. One side or the other, mistaking their fear for guilt, shot at them, and by the blood Thomas could see, at least one was hit, though none fell.

He had made it some distance down the street, and thought that this would be no different from the several other times he had encountered similar situations on his trip. But no sooner had he started to think that he was once again a lucky man – no, that he was once more shown God’s mercy – a stray shell hit a building ahead of him, spraying debris onto the street. The remains of the building stood in one place for a moment, teetered, and fell, blocking the road. Something inside the ruins caught fire. He was trapped.