"The confirmed bombing on the White house leaves thousands of Americans in panic. Secretary of Defense Rachael Roget made a brief statement yesterday, " The destruction of one building does not foreshadow the destruction of an entire country. We have overcome such disasters before and we will not let a disaster as trivial as this break our courage." Still unknown is the group behind the recent bombings…"
"At least Roget seems to be doing a better job than that lunatic Umbridge," a woman stated glaring over her neighbor's shoulder at the memory.
"Another bombing," sighed Kassandra Rewett, a twenty-six year-old photographer.
"The third one this week," Angelina Morabelli confirmed, "All of them directed towards the most influential people in our government. The only coincidence is that no one was killed in any of the three bombings."
"There's no such thing as a coincidence," a man growled lifting his head from its resting place on the table in front of him, "There are only planned attacks." The speaker a grave twenty-six year-old laid his head back onto the table closing his eyes with a sigh.
"This week has been hard for us," Paul Macmillan said indicating himself and Aden Black who had started to snore softly as his head began to slowly slide off the table and onto his lap. "The guys at work are constantly on their toes waiting to either smooth over current affairs in our defense policy (which seems to be failing)," he added as an afterthought, "Or to be bombed themselves."
Paul Macmillan worked for a rather corrupt branch of the government. He kept insisting he stayed with the job only for the great welfare benefits and hot older women, but they all knew that he stayed to help divulge information to the public. He did this through Angel.
Angel Morabelli worked for a branch of CNN that was kept hush hush. Her job was to take on different jobs in the government under false identification to leak information out to the American public.
America was at war and their government was doing nothing to help keep the American public informed. Angelina and her group of friends took it upon themselves with CNN sponsoring them to keep the public on its toes.
For three years now a woman named Helena Lestrange had been trying to find the leak of such pivotal information. Last spring she had finally found the last piece of the puzzle when she was mysteriously found dead in her home the day she had scheduled a press conference. The coroner could not find a reason for her death, only that she had a look of utter fear carved across her face.
To this day the four friends still could not figured out what had happened.
"I don't envy you," Angel said who was now looking over a stack of papers strewn across her side of the table. Looking quite disheveled she began to work her way through the papers occasionally muttering 'not good', 'too trivial', or "Shit!" she exclaimed lifting a paper off of the table her eyes glued to the dark flowing handwriting that covered the page as she started to chew on her lip in an annoyance.
"What… where?" Aden exclaimed jumping from his seat and plunging his hand into his sleeve. Paul who was sitting next to him glanced at the annoyed woman as he gently pulled Aden's hand away from his sleeve pointing at Angel.
"I have another assignment," she muttered gloomily as her annoyance turned into exasperation letting her head fall onto the table with a soft 'thud'. Her elbow was still resting on the table; her hand was still clutching the paper.
"Oh, I know that voice. So where are we headed?" Kassandra, who insisted on being called Kass, asked excitedly as she got up from her seat to look over the paper that Angel had in her hand. Frowning in what appeared to be frustration, she pried the paper out of her friend's hand and strolled back over to her seat, sitting down and crossing her legs her right foot jiggled why she read over the paper.
"Who mentioned that we were actually going to go?" said Angel her voice slightly muffled due to the fact that she was talking towards the desk. Either Kass didn't hear her or just chose not to acknowledge her as she replied, "London… Wicked."
All three heads turned to stare at her as though another eye had just appeared in the middle of her forehead.
"What?" she asked glancing at the stares, "I'm brushing up on my British."
"Heh, I don't envy you now," Paul said smirking at Angel, "The rate of bombings in London has grown from the occasional three per week to one each day."
An uncomfortable silence seemed to wash over the room. The occupants looked at each other as the same though rushed through their head. How bombings, which came in threes each week could be occasional was beyond them. But the idea that it did seem occasional illustrated the desperation and terror that this war, now dubbed the Third World War had wrought.
"Kassandra…" Aden started staring at the paper in his wife's hand, "I… err… that is to say…" he seemed to either be at a loss for words or too tired to string together a competent sentence. Either way, by addressing Kass by her full name the other three knew that the two newlyweds were about to bicker.
"Yes, Black," asked Kass turning stiffly to face Aden. "Spit it out." Aden glared at her managing to string a sentence together finally, "You are not going to London."
"Really?" drawled Kassandra bristling, "I didn't realize you were my mother."
"Kassandra you know fully well that I am not trying to be your mother. God knows you don't need to deal with her again," Aden stated digging himself deeper.
"And what are you implying, dear?" asked Kassandra.
"Nothing, Munchkins." Oddly enough the other two occupants of the room started to slowly back away as the two called each other by their supposed love names.
"Good because I am going to London and you can do nothing to stop me."
"Really?"
"Yes, you moron," She stated as if she was talking to a two year-old. "Really."
"No. It's not safe. I won't let you go."
"Ha! Like your job is any safer." Aden, who worked for the FBI, continually had to go to different parts of the world including known enemy zones to gather information and intelligence. Two years ago he was hospitalized after stepping onto a land mine that a child had lead him to. He suffered from internal bleeding and extensive blood loss. At one point, the doctors feared the worse.
"That doesn't matter now. I know how to cope in dangerous times. You have never experienced such things before." A sharp intake of breath followed his last statement. Kassandra's eyes grew larger, her hair somehow became wilder, and her pale face glowed like moonlight. In all, she seemed to be the poster child for fury.
"Like hell I don't!" She spat.
Kassandra was a photographer for many different newspapers and magazines. Her work was praised by critics as some of the best in the nation.
Three years ago fresh out of interning Angel and herself were given a mission to spy on the Canadian government, one of the strongholds of the new terror that was striking such terror in the hearts of many. Their mission was more of an initiation or hazing process. Many of the decaders, those who worked for the company for more than ten years, in their branch of news thought the two were simply naïve interns seeking the chance for adventure.
The two had found themselves in Canada at the worst possible time. The dictator of the country was killing those from the proud nation of the USA left and right. And though the two girls had fake Ids, passports, and accents a spy seemed to have leaked information through to the dictator, Peter Pettigrew, who rose to the challenge of killing them off. Unfortunately, the spy seemed to have carried mistaken information over for Pettigrew thought the two were not American news reporters but members of the FBI there to sabotage his 'government'.
The two barely escaped with their lives. After being tortured for two weeks in the clutches of that madman they vowed never to set foot into the country of Canada again. Strange enough as it was, the two could never truly remembered what happened during their two weeks of torture. All they knew was that there was pain. Pain that they had never dared to imagine one could feel.
Aden seemed to have noticed his mistake around the time Kassandra began to shake with fury. "Kass… Kassandra… honey. You know I didn't mean that. I just…" he stopped for a second to take a slow, hitched breath, "I just… I can't bear the thought of losing you again. You have no idea how I felt those two weeks when no one knew where you where. Each day was hell for me. I don't want to lose you again, love."
Kassandra's shaking still hadn't stopped. Though now she seemed to be shaking out of passion because her eyes had began to mist over. She emitted a soft 'oh' and rushed over to him. Aden embraced her, stroking her hair lovingly as he wiped a tear off of her face with his thumb.
A cough interrupted their moment.
" Though I cannot bear to end this tender moment," Paul started as Angel snorted, "I for one do not want to see this scene go any farther in my presence. Though I cannot wait to hold a baby Black. I really don't want you two to show me how it's… uerhm… done."
"Fuck off, Macmillan," Aden stated glaring slightly at his smiling wife, "Don't you start too."
"So, does that mean I get to go?"
"Yes…" Kassandra had started to pump her fist into the air, "On one condition."
She groaned, "What… dear?"
"That your loving husband come with you." He grinned impishly as he tickled her side, "What say you?" Unfortunately, Kassandra was unable to speak due to her lack of breathing.
"Dude, Black, don't kill her," Angel said smiling.
"Wouldn't dream of it Morabelli, wouldn't dream of it…"
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So, how do you like it? There's not much of Harry Potter in here yet, but I assure you this is just the prelude and there will be much more going on in later chapters. I apologize for its shortness, but the story wanted to end and who am I to argue with it. Please review and tell me what you think.