A man could be seen being dragged by the arms. There were five guards around him: two dragging him and three with AK rifles aimed at him. The prisoner had a black bag over his head. His arms were behind his back, giving the impression that his hands were tied. He was shirtless and his chest was covered in blood and severe wounds, presumably endured during torture.

The man was dragged until the doors opened and he was in front of a large crowd of people. They were screaming and yelling at this man. None of them could be understood, but it was easy to tell they hated whoever this poor man was.

The camera man was at the side of the platform they were standing on. One of the guards stood forward. He raised his rifle as he spoke to the crowd. Everything he said was in a foreign language. Whatever he was saying was filled with fiery hate.

The guards threw the man onto his knees. The speaker turned back to the prisoner. He raised the barrel of the rifle to the man's head. The crowd was cheering even more than ever.

The screen cut back to the reporter. He was an older man with gray hair. The MNN News logo was slowly spinning in the corner.

"The video you have just watched was released today by the Iranian government. They claimed that a CIA operative has attempted to sabotage one of their research centers. They claim that this center was strictly used for energy purposes and that this attack was unprecedented. The Iranian government also blames this agent for power failures over the past few weeks in the compound.

"Russian President Demitri Puchkev, has claimed that these supposed attacks were highly uncalled for. He announced the start of a tighter defensive pact with Iran and threatened that Russia will take coercive action if these attacks continue.

"So far there has been no response on this issue from the White House or the Pentagon..."

The television shut off. Secretary John Doe loosened his collar. This was bad.

The President was the only one in the room with him, "What the hell, man? I left this up to you to solve this! You moron! You boob!"

John tried to justify himself, "In my defense, this is the fault of the Director of the CIA. I had no direct control over-"

The President was furious, "Now what are the voters going to think?! That wackjob in the Senate is going to publicize this! Not even a year in and I'm already a ruin! A failure! There's gonna be memes about this, and not the good memes!"

"Sir-?"

"Maybe if I can hold off free-...free...Free something until reelection! But this is baaaad."

There was silence in the room.

The President finally said, "I am not taking any responsibility for this. In one week's time, you will 'resign' from your post. You will take full responsibility for this and that you went behind my back. If you so much as breath a word of this conversation...The last thing I need is to lose Buzzfood...I don't know how I'm going to clean up this mess, but whatever happens is not going to end well..."

"OOOOOHHHH!"

"Okay! Okay! I get it Thomas!"

Rigby's 8-bit character on screen began to flash once his health bar depleted. Thomas was about to pull off his finishing move. "Come on! Don't make me do this myself!"

"No!"

"Come ooooooon!" Thomas pleaded, arm in the air.

Rigby pouted as he finally put up his arm. When Thomas punched in the combo on his controller, a group of construction workers entered on screen.

"OOOOOHHHH Build a house on that ass, it's an aaaaaaaasstate!" the two dweebs on the couch chanted in time with the digital workers dancing around a puff of smoke until a house replaced Rigby's character.

PLAYER 2 WINS

"Ughhh! Whatever!" Rigby groaned as he threw his controller on the couch, "That game is broken anyway!"

"Rigby, don't be like that!"

"BROKEN I SAY!"

Thomas chuckled as Rigby raided the fridge. With a few minutes left in their break, Thomas decided to switch the television back to cable channels. He scrolled through, numbingly ignoring the advertisements and awful cooking shows that flooded the airwaves.

Rigby, whose mouth was covered in chocolate, swung around the doorframe, "Wait! Go back!"

Thomas flipped the channel back one to find a local news station. They were watching the same broadcast from before about Iran. Thomas sat bored while Rigby focuses intently on the broadcast. He never really paid attention to the news. He mostly thought what was on it was unimportant, but this one actually scared him a little. He could not figure out why.

Rigby looked at the couch to see Thomas. One of his knees was shaking and his hands were folded at his chin after the man was shot. "Dude, you okay?" Rigby said. Thomas almost jumped out of his socks.

Thomas calmed down, shaking off what happened. He threw an obvious fake sneeze, "Aww, m-must be that cold."

"Hmm-hmm."

"Rigby, why do you care about the news so much?"

"I-I don't! Nope! It's all a bunch of boring people blabbering about the same stuff every day. Blah blah blah war in Africa blah blah blah shooting in the slums blah blah blah." Rigby replied.

Thomas thought this was odd. "I don't watch the news that much either but that's a bold statement. So if we were about to be nuked, how would you know if you don't watch the news?" he challenged.

"Well everyone else would be running around screaming, so..." Rigby replied shrugging his shoulders. Thomas groaned at this stupid answer.

Mordecai passed through the living room. Rigby backed up to allow Mordecai to pass to the kitchen. Neither of them even looked in each other's directions.

Thomas felt bad for the two of them. For the little time he has been working there, it seemed like those two were the best of friends. "Rigby, what's going on?" Thomas hinted quietly as his eyes darted between him and the kitchen.

"Don't know, don't care. Let's try that broken game again."

"Going for a high score of eighteen consecutive loses?"

"I'll kill you!"

Mordecai was making another one of his usual trips. So far there was only one thing that seemed to lessen the pain from the Crown: Alcohol. It was never a sound method, but it worked. "Bad habits, just make more bad habits," Mordecai muttered when crossed with this issue.

He parked the cart in McHooligan's parking lot. For a quick second, he checked the rear view mirror. His beard was growing. It was not very long, but it was getting thicker. He sort of liked it.

He walked in and took a seat at the bar. The bartender met him, "What'll it be this time?"

"I think today I'll just have a beer."

The bartender returned with a large cup full of the brownish liquor. He said, "You know, you've been in here almost every day-"

Mordecai interrupted, "I'll drink however I want." The bartender walked away shaking his head.

Mordecai was about to take a drink when he looked in the mirror on the other side of the bar.

The reflection wasn't his own. Mordecai only saw a grim reflection of himself, but far worse. His face was more wrinkly and he could see the snow falling behind him. Mordecai held his beer forward giving a toast to his hallucination before chugging the whole glass.

It hurt going down, burning his throat. His only goal was to drink until everything stopped hurting. The headache he constantly carried lit up again.

When he finished, he looked back at the mirror: only Mordecai's real reflection remained.

"Hey bartender? Can I get another round?"