"For the Statist, liberty is not a blessing but the enemy. It is not possible to achieve Utopia if individuals are free to go their own way. The individual must be dehumanized and his nature delegitimized. Through persuasion, deception, and coercion, the individual must be subordinated to the state. He must abandon his own ambitions for the ambitions of the state. He must become reliant on and fearful of the state. His first duty must be to the state-not family, community, and faith, all of which have the potential of threatening the state." -Mark Levin 'Liberty and Tyranny'
November, 2008 - Barack Obama is elected President of the United States
April 15, 2009 - Tea Parties are held nation-wide to protest higher taxes and bigger government. The silent majority aroused by the mounting usurpations and the recent election no longer remains silent and the situation escalates.
Sometime in the near future......
Texas has seceded, and other states are threatening to join them. Desperate to maintain control, the now-massive federal government has attempted to bribe and threaten the other states and lock down on education, frantic to indoctrinate the next generation into docile servitude. Furious parents and student bodies resist agressive government intervention, and thousands begin to move to Texas. This is swiftly followed by the closing of the US/Texas border. Those attempting to enter or leave the state are shot indiscriminately. A border war erupts as the citizens of Texas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, Arkansas and New Mexico resist the agents. Immigration to Texas continues as a network of Undergrounders begin to smuggle people out of the United States.
In the US, horrified citizens watch as a seemingly omnipresent government seizes their freedoms with no explanation. Regulations skyrocket, and the number of angry citizens grows drastically. Reaction to the rouge government is varied. Many large groups move into a state of civil disobedience. Other communities call out their militia and openly fight the government. The president orders troops to put down the rebellions, but the military itself is in a state of disorder. Massive numbers of soldiers simply refuse to march on their own countrymen, and in most cases, their superiors support them firmly. Attempts to court-martial are frequently thwarted by the sheer number of cases and the horde of furious generals. Troops begin to disappear by the thousands, and though the government says that they were shot for mutiny, it is rumored that they are acting covertly to protect the citizens from mounting tyranny.
It would seem as if the rumors are true. Agents attempting to raid homes are being ambushed by a mysterious, highly-trained enemy. The government employees become cautious, even frightened, and, as government control begins to slip in certain areas, militias take over, battling the government and each other for control. Every government crackdown attempt is violently halted by citizens utilizing gurilla methods. Senator Hillary Clinton brings the 30th Amendment before Congress, a bill that will effectively overturn the 2nd Amendment in the name of stopping the Rebels and bringing peace. Within two weeks, the amendment passes and is ratified.
The passing of the amendment is answered with increased violence. Most people refuse to surrender their weapons and fire upon those sent to confiscate them. The right to bear arms is literally being slowly pried from the cold, dead hands of American citizens. People begin disappear in large numbers, and despite the government's every attempt to tell the public that those who disappear are being imprisoned, nearly everyone knows the truth. A group called the Resistance Force, supposedly headed by a former Pentagon official, is setting up bases in the Rocky and Appalachian Mountains, as well as the canyons of Utah. Some of the most brilliant minds in every field are with them, and if you have crossed the government, they are likely to find and help you. Their mission? To overthrow the renegade government and restore the Constitutional United States - and the Federals will do anything to stop them.
Tucker Smith dropped into a bush, his dark brown eyes wildly scanning the street in front of him. "There he is!!" came the yell. "Truant! Get him!" Leaping to his feet, Tucker fled, picking his way through yards in an attempt to throw off pursuit. The small hand-gun hidden inside his jacket seemed to burn his chest. With the city swaying between the control of government forces, a few petty militias, and a powerful organization called Dirk's Revenge, he needed the weapon to defend himself. However, it had been purchased late one night from a black market dealer after the 30th Amendment had been passed, and now, if he was caught - a staunch young Rebel who was closely affiliated with the quickly growing Resistance Force, playing truant from government school, carrying an illegal weapon, and partially responsible for smuggling at least ten different families across the US/Texas border - well, the possibility of him being shot right then and there was not unlikely.
Machine gun fire tore up the ground around his feet, and he ran faster, following an erratic zig-zag pattern. Too close, they were too close. He dodged into a doorway, pulled out the handgun, and fired in the general direction of the pursuit, shaking too much to aim properly. The agents dropped against the pavement of the street, cursing. "D-- Rebel!" yelled the sergeant in command. His voice rose in pitch with his anger, flying almost into a falsetto as he screeched, "Shoot him! Shoot him!" Tucker fired twice more at the agents before the door swung open and he was jerked inside by a young woman.
"Quickly," said the girl holding onto his arm. "Out that window there! I'll scream, say you attacked me, pretend to go into hysterics and trip the agents up! GO!"
"Thanks," Tucker gasped as he jumped out the window and ran. More cursing erupted from the house behind him as the girl screamed and started her hysterical female act.
This is the nice thing about being a part of the Resistance, Tucker thought as he raced down the streets. Most everyone is on your side. Many a trash heap was 'accidentally' overturned behind him onto the rushing agents, and those who dared leaned out their windows to give him encouragement, filling the air with rebel yells and age-old slogans from the days of the revolution. Guided by warnings from the residents of the subdivision, he turned his steps towards Three-fold Parish. Three-fold covered a quarter of the city and was controlled entirely by Dirk's Revenge. Tucker did not trust Dirk's Revenge. They had been known to hand Rebels over to the government if the reward was big enough; however, there was no substantial reward on his head, only a couple hundred thousand dollars last time he checked, which wasn't much when one factored in inflation. Tucker suspected that the Revenge would probably shoot the agents for their own purposes and ignore him entirely.
The borders of Three-fold Parish loomed in front of him: a pile of burned out, collapsed buildings laced with barbed wire, mines, and dead things. Bullets ricocheted around him, whining past his ears, screaming of sudden, violent death. He passed the reek of the border and entered the Parish. The street was covered with grass-filled cracks, and the empty houses were pocked with bullets and shrapnel.
A row of black-clad gunmen from Dirk's Revenge emerged from a boarded-up house, taking positions behind crates on either side of the street. Tucker tripped on a loose board as he came upon them, and they dragged him unceremoniously behind the barricade. Tucker began to rise, intending to run on, but two of the men promptly trained their guns on him. Tucker obediently remained lying on the ground as the agents chasing him came cautiously up the street. The gunmen waited silently for them until they were within a few yards, then opened fire. The agents crumpled to the ground without getting off a single shot.
One of the agents had fallen near the crates, and Tucker could see him: young, scared, coughing up blood. His eyes met Tucker's, and the two boys stared at each other, so alike, yet so different, both fighting for the cause they thought was right. The terrified blue eyes burned into Tucker's soul, and he wondered if the boy had ever considered that his life might end this way, watching his blood seep into the cracks in the asphalt. "I should have known," the young agent whispered. "I should have listened. Oh, why?" He flung his arms over his face as a gunman rolled him over with a boot, and his piercing scream of fright was abruptly cut off by a shot.
Tucker lay still and said nothing, for the guns were now trained on him. "Who are you?" the gunmen demanded.
"Tucker Smith." Tucker knew that his life depended on total honesty at this moment as much as it might depend on total dishonesty in but a few minutes.
One of the men pulled out an iPod Touch, worked with it a moment, then said, "Resistance kid. Got a reward on his head."
"How much?"
"Two hundred and fifty thousand."
"Two hundred and fifty thousand WHAT?"
"Dollars."
"Alright, kid. You run, and watch out for them agents."
Tucker ran.
Several minutes later, he reached his home. The doors were locked, as usual, but his sister, Angela, had seen him coming and swung the back door open before he could knock. The house smelled of chicken and old books. His mother was at the stove, stirring a stew, his father was reading the latest Resistance newsletter, and his younger brother, Darcy, was sitting on a stool at the counter, building a laptop, a carrot clenched between his teeth. Angela flung her arms around Tucker's neck and bent her head to his shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked as he broke the embrace.
"Yeah," he said, "just shook up."
Angela flung an arm around his shoulders as they walked to the table. She was as tall as he and quite slender. Her voice was deep and rich, like dark chocolate, and sometimes, like now, Tucker would forget that she was a girl. "What happened?" she asked. "You're all sweaty."
"I got shot at." Everyone in the family turned and looked at him as he sank into his chair. "Agents found me over by fifth. I was just about caught a couple of times and had to run to Three-fold. The Revenge got them; just about got me, too." Tucker thought again of the young agent he had seen die and shivered. Until now, the government had been faceless, the rumor of a nameless hatred that destroyed you, piece by piece. For the first time in his life, Tucker had seen past the sunglasses, identical uniforms and aura of invincibility. And he had not seen a hate-filled beast, but a fellow human whose eyes begged forgiveness, asked him to somehow halt the terrible death...the scream, the shot....Who was the monster, the Resistance, the Revenge, the government, the people who had brought them to this? So this is civil war. he thought. Father against son, brother against brother, the bloody history of mankind and their struggle for liberty.
The Resistance radio broadcast was coming on again. The family leaned forwards and ate in silence, listening to the news of the day that one would not get from main-stream media sources. Surprisingly, the broadcast continued. Usually, the government managed to stop them after half-an-hour or so, but not this time. This time, it continued for over two hours before the signal was finally taken over.
"Meeep!" said the radio. "This signal is being traced. If you are listening to this broadcast, you will be found and shot. Meeeeeep! Blip, blop, Meeeeeeeep!!!" They turned it off and Tucker fiddled with the buttons on the short-wave. Through the background of soft static came a transmission from the Texas stations and the slightly nasal voice of a Country Music star drifted through the kitchen.
"Oh tell me, tell me,
Is the world gone crazy,
Or am I livin' in a dream?"
