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“It’s just…there’s ….I think someone stopped the bullet. They’re just standing there. In the air. I think they’re…I think the guy’s flying…” The sniper said, his previous tone was nowhere to be found; instead, he spoke with dismal disbelief.

“What?!” Another mercenary shouted, no longer caring about keeping his voice down at all.

The sniper turned to the rest of his team and gulped loudly, suddenly feeling the sweat trickle down the insides of his armor.

“And...and this guy…he’s wearing red, white, and blue…” uttered the man, suddenly stricken with feelings of fear he had never experienced before. He didn’t have to explain to his team what that meant. What the implications were. His team knew exactly what that simple fact meant. It was evinced when one mercenary, one who had been silent the entire operation opened his mouth to say just two words.

“Oh, sh—“


“—oot! I repeat, do NOT shoot!” yelled the President’s head of security, a tall, athletically built man named Jeffery Hopkins, his salt and pepper hair stayed perfectly jelled into place even as he ran through the dense crowd of onlookers around the famous reflecting pool in front of the Lincoln memorial. Hopkins mentally berated himself as he pushed and shoved his way fanatically through the motionless mass of people, he had felt something was fishy about his security detail, and the resounding boom of the gunshot had shown exactly how right he had been to feel suspicious.

The End

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