Bullets flying. Commander Jogjebi lay sprawled on the floor. He knew that this was the end of the weasel forces. The end of everything as he knew it. At any moment, he would be forced to fire his missiles at his own army base, utterly wiping them out from existence.

There was only one thing left to do. One last, final resort. He struggled to rise to his feet, but only fell back down again. Crawling on his hands and knees, he made his way towards a secret panel in the wall. No one saw him amidst the chaos and fighting.

He discreetly slid open the panel and pulled himself inside, closing it again behind him. He stopped to breathe, and listened to the sounds of violence outside.

"Sir?" a voice came from the darkness.

"Is that you, Kurrajong?" The Commander's voice was ragged and breathy.

Kurrajong was a weasel, one who looked remarkably like the Commander, and was quite adept at imitating his voice. After some training, he was capable of mimicking Jogjebi's mannerisms exactly. Trained specifically to replace the Commander in a dire situation.

After nearly sacrificing his own brother in a staged assassination, Jogjebi was hesitant to put a family member in danger again. He did, after all, put great value in loyalty, and loyalty to family especially.

"Sir. I-it's time, isn't it? I… I can hear guns firing."

"Yes, I'm afraid so. …I hope you haven't been bored living here all this time."

"A little, sir."

They paused for a moment, listening.

"…I'm scared, sir."

"Hmm." Jogjebi managed to lift himself up slightly, and closed his eyes in thought. "I understand, Kurrajong. The squirrels are not known for their mercy."

Kurrajong shivered.

"But if the weasel nation is to ever rise again, they need someone to lead them. I don't know anyone more qualified than myself." He chuckled lightly, and continued. "This is for your people, Kurrajong. Without a great leader, our people will have no direction. No one to turn to. I shudder to think what will happen to the weasels after this day. But some day, years from now, I will appear again and restore our former glory."

Kurrajong fought back tears. "S-sir, I'm proud to do whatever it takes. For the weasels, and for you, sir."

"Good," Jogjebi said simply. "Now, get it together, man, no one's going to believe you're me if you're blubbering like that!"

"Y-yes sir!"

Kurrajong stood up, and Jogjebi could now see his face in the dim light. He really did look just like him. The weasel stood still for a moment, and in a flash he puffed out his chest and a sudden change came over him. The grim self-confidence that the Commander was known for, the double exuded perfectly. He stepped out of the secret alcove and was gone.

Jogjebi was alone again. He bowed his head in respect. You'll probably not survive this night, Kurrajong, but if you do die… He raised his head again. …Give me a death worthy of my name.

With some effort, the Commander stood and flicked on a small light on the opposite wall. Before him was a sparsely decorated room, containing only a cot, a table, a pantry, and several books. He picked up a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, and the books, and tossed them into a large satchel. He pressed another button on the wall and a second hidden panel slid open.

Jogjebi peered through the door and into the night air. Just outside was a motorcycle, ready for his escape. He didn't dare hesitate any longer. Any second the entire area would be bombarded with missiles. He sat himself down, revved the engine, and disappeared into the mountains beyond.