If your eyes die from the lack of plot-or abuse of it I AM IN A LAWYER FREE ZONE!

That's all, please R&R!


The world meeting started as usual, or as usual as normal. That is until the President came in, bawling his eyes out. He draped an arm over the Prime Minister and rested his head on the shoulder of the other man.

"Obama. What happened?"

"I.. I told him okay. . . It's all—all my f-fault. . ." He nestled his head deeper into the Prime Minster's shoulder and started to sob even heavier.

"What is?"

"Meri—Meri, Can-Canada forgive me. . .

I'm. . . completely respon-nsible. . ."

"For what?"

"For everything."

A day earlier

"Prez, we're short on pilots, ya want me tah go?"

"Well Al, you'd have to do some risky things. . ."

"Don't worry about it! After all I'm the hero!"

"Oh alright, you need to take down this plane. . ."

"Freedom One, heading Southeast over the Atlantic."

"Has arrived in destination. Going to take out targets."

It was too much. These terrorists, not the ones he was supposed to take out, had the actual Al Qaeda with them. He shot them missiles at them, but too fast and too slow, did he realize that they sent bombs at him. The bombs that could kill an actual nation, that corrupted their blood.

"Goodbye." He whispered as the world went black.

He was intently watching the screen for the little blip of Alfred's plane, Freedom One to destroy it's targets, but what he saw. . . Alfred's red blip disappeared along with the enemies.

He pulled his hair and fell to the ground. "This wasn't supposed to happen..." His started his sobbing and knocked the chair over, angry and sad at himself. . .

Somewhere in Israel

"Oww. . . Where am I?"

Alfred shifted his posture only to realize he was covered in bandages and that he hurt all over. His favorite leather jacket was torn in half and covered in blood and Texas had little impact fractures on the edges of it.

"Ah, I see your—awake?" This woman had a funny accent, but she spoke English which was a good thing.

"Yes! Where am I?"

"Israel. I am known as Aliza, pleasure to meet you. . .?

"Alfred Jones, Al is fine though! But, why'd'ya take care of me, Ali?"

"My mother told me to care for anyone that was injured, like God says to us."

"Mmm. So where's lunch?"

"Oh, here and it's dinner." Aliza handed him a bowl of hot soup and resigned herself to staring at Al.

Alfred looked over Ali, the person who took him in, and realizing she was a gorgeous as a model hidden under all that fabric used his manners to eat his soup politely.

"Who are you?"

"Funny thing is. . . I only remember my name. . ."

"We should teach you Hebrew and get you some clothes so you don't stand out then, because if someone was after who ever you are they'd notice you a mile away."

"Oh alright. . . By the way, thanks."