Footfalls. Mutters. Barry could identify these indistinct noises coming from outside his hideout. His mission: take out Putin without being seen and/or caught. Easy enough, right? Nope, anywhere within 3 miles of the auditorium where Putin was delivering his speech was filled with guards, sentry turrets, and any other anti-assassin security measure imaginable. How to get in…

2024 was a rough year for the world. Joe Biden’s peaceful rule of America was drawing to a close. The polls had opened, and a mysterious man known only as “Mr. Block” had already overtaken Biden. With Biden losing the election,

America was losing more and more confidence in its government. But the story goes back further…

After being revealed to have been associating with the Russians, Donald Trump was impeached before the end of his first term. Since Mike Pence had no desire to continue conspiring with the Russians, trade and other international relations with Russia were cut off. Once again, America and Russia fell into what seemed to be an eternal stalemate. And that’s where Barry came in…

Joe Biden, still President, hired Barry Stephenson to assassinate Vladimir Putin, and leave Russia temporarily leaderless. However, Russia got wind of a potential assassination, and set up security in every nook and cranny within 3 miles of the auditorium where Putin was to deliver his speech to Russia. Now Barry had to find a place where he could get a decent view of security and avoid security. Okay, he thought. What would be an optimal location for a sniper to remain unseen, but still see? Balconies? Cliffs? Then it hit him. No one would notice him backstage. They’d think he was just a stagehand with a briefcase full of stage directions and spare parts. It was perfect!

Barry made his way through the crowded stage. His “borrowed” stage director outfit was working like a charm. All around him, people were shouting orders and scrambling to get the behind-schedule stage ready for the speech. With the most inconspicuous stride he could muster, Barry made his way to a less crowded area in the back. Until the speech began and the mob of stagehands receded, he crouched behind a speaker and waited until he could scale the auditorium’s looming walls in silence.

Vladimir began his speech with a warm welcome to all that had come to see him, which engendered cheers from the whole audience. Barry saw this as his time to strike. He lined up his scope. The crowd’s cheers faded in his ears. He exhaled, pulled his finger back, and…

That was it. No more Putin. The crowd was filled with gasps, followed by screams of terror. Then it occurred to Barry: How was he going to escape? His mind began tuning itself to listen to the shouts of the guards around him. One pair was searching the surrounding buildings for any threats. Another left the compound to relay the news to the capitol. For a moment, Barry felt satisfied. He had accomplished what he set out to do, and now he could go home a hero. Except… he wasn’t a hero. He just killed a man and started a war that would ravage most of the world. What had he done? He had ruined the world, that’s what. Now Barry was scared to return home. What would Biden think of him? What would his family think of him? What would the country think of him?

Before Barry could answer any of these questions, he heard footsteps approaching beneath him. Panicking, he scrambled to activate his winch and pull himself nearer to the top of the stage, but he only managed to unclip himself and fall to the floor with a thud.

When Barry woke up, he was in a cell. That was it, nothing else to be seen. Barry sat up with a groan, as pain shot up his back. It took a while for Barry to collect his thoughts, but he brainstormed any possible situation he could be in. The last thing he remembered was falling to his doom, and being surrounded by Russian guards as the world went black. He should be in a Russian holding facility, right? Barry tried to get up and see if he could extrapolate any other information, but his back kept him from going anywhere soon. Just as he was about to give up and sink back into the bliss of sleep, the door to his cell opened, and the man standing in its place was none other than Joe Biden.

Barry saw it now. He was a fugitive. Biden was no longer president and he was now a murderer. His worst fears were coming true. Now what? Was he to rot in a prison for the rest of his days? No. He would not allow himself to dwell on such things. He would sort things out with Biden.

Barry decided the best course of action was to play dumb. “Where am I? What happened?” Barry mumbled, feigning confusion.

“You were in a Russian holding facility for 2 days, until a… certain band of rebel soldiers came and broke you out,” Biden said. “When I heard the news, I brought you here.” Of course, Barry knew he was referring to the reformed Al-Qaeda organization, which had dedicated itself to helping humanity by any means necessary. Because of their previous reputation, Al-Qaeda never received the fame they deserved for coming back from such dark beginnings. Barry respected them, but Biden may not have shared their beliefs.

Biden retreated from the cell and left Barry to think. What now? Could he make two wrongs into a right? The only option was to redeem himself somehow.

Locked in a cell, Barry knew he had to escape somehow. If he needed to become fugitive vigilante, fighting for his own salvation, than he needed a way out of prison. He began scanning his cell. A barred window, a matress on a plank chained to the wall like a common crook of the 16th century. The only thing that could prove remotely useful was the fluorescent light hanging above him. He could break it and saw away it the already rusting window bars: worth a shot.

He smashed the light as quietly as he could, and picked a sharp edge of glass from the panel above him. He began to saw away at the thin bars, and sawed, and sawed, for hours until it felt loose enough to yank off. Barry planted his feet on the wall, tightened his grip on the bar, and pulled with all his might: except the bar fell out of its socket like it was buttered. He squirmed his way through the window into the desolate prison courtyard. Barry hadn’t planned on getting this far. Alarms began to blare all around him. How would he get away from the compound? Barry, feeling completely out of options, ran. He ran from the compound. He ran from the alarms. He ran from the guards who used to be his friends. He ran from everything from his former life. He ran for miles before ducking into a shady alleyway.

Barry hid under a damp cardboard box, breathing hard from his escape. All at once he realized it: He was back where he started. Crouched down in a dank alleyway while the soldiers patrolled the streets outside. The very event that caused him to become a known fugitive of America seemed to be occurring again, a vicious cycle of prejustified crime. Barry gave up. He knew he would never come back from assassinating a world leader. He knew he would never come back from starting a third world war. He knew he could never show his face again. So he kept running. He ran out of D.C. He ran from America. He ran from civilization. He ran to an uninhabited island off the coast of Argentina. He became a caveman, trying to forget all about the world. He wasted his life afraid of what he had done.