Snake pulled the newspaper from the stand opening the front to read the next government horror in blaring black and white.

Atlantic City Journal
Directive 17 Enacted by Life Term President Robertson.

Snake's eye scanned the article before opening the paper to see what more could be said about the new bastard in office. All he found at the bottom was a huge picture of his smiling face. Snake sighed from frustration before reading on.

"Snake Plissken convict and ex-war hero to be convicted in absentee under Directive 17. President Robertson stated earlier in a press conference that "Immorality will no longer be tolerated. This administration looks to the safety of its people and that can not be maintained with sinners such as the Snake on our streets." Later Robertson mentions that Plissken will be a prime target and example for the new order of a moral United States.

He continued reading the huge paragraph that followed listing his crimes. Snake took a deep breathe folding the paper to get a better look at the next column. The list was long and included things he had never done. It didn't really matter. One more crime on his list of over 200 would not matter, not now when getting laid by your girlfriend could land you in the electric chair.

Never had such bullshit been printed or even conceived. The article rambled on about the new constitution, the life term president, the theocracy, Snake was sick of it and folded the paper closed on the article before he shot someone.

It was all madness and it pushed the gauge a little closer to explosion every second he thought about them. The article only made it worse and so he resolved to ignore it for the moment and pretend to be a normal human being buying the Sunday paper from a local news stand.

Snake chuckled shaking his head as he headed toward the counter. He tossed the paper on the counter about to ask for a pack of cigarettes when he saw the sign. Plissken sighed heavily remembering last weeks list of crimes under the new directive. Everything that kept him sane was on the list like the government had to shove it in a bit farther because he hadn't been fucked hard enough yet. Snake didn't care and they really didn't want to see him without cigarettes. Especially not today. "You got any cigarettes?"

Snake dropped the blue back on the counter with his gloved hand, the bare fingers sliding over the plastic surface.

"We don……" The man's eyes looked between the paper and the hand then up the arm to his face. There was terror in the man's eyes as he stumbled backwards.

"Guess not huh?" Snake picked up the paper folding it in half with a cheerful smile. He turned the picture toward the cashier as he held up his newspaper. "I think I should keep it for nostalgia. Don't you?"

The man behind the counter stumbled for the phone and Snake turned on his heels toward the alley. This day was the worst in his life and all he could do was chuckle. For so long he had imagined things couldn't get worse. The blackbellies, the crazies, Hauk, New York, he had certainly underestimated the insanity level of his country. Snake glanced down at the paper as he straddled his newly stolen bike. America was still here somewhere under the chaos and dictatorship, Snake just had to find it.

For Snake the war had never ended and now he finally realized he'd fight the rest of the way alone.