Boston, Massachusetts When he opened his eyes, at first, Jack York thought he was in heaven. After all, everything was white. There was a bright light above him... His bed was in white sheets... He was wearing a white uniform... And there was someone else wearing white, standing above him... The person in white was saying something... He had trouble understanding it... Was it in some kind of angel language...? He saw two men enter the white room he was in. One was in the white that the first person was wearing, the other in green... Both men came up to him... The one in white was shining something in his eyes... The green one was... Talking to him...? "Sir?" He said. Sir? Oh, yeah. He was in the military, right? "Sir?" The man in green repeated. He saw something on the one in white... A cross...? A red cross...? Oh. He was in a hospital. Oh. He was alive. He was alive. Huh. Everything came into focus then, every memory from that day came flooding back. He looked again at the man in green. It was Randolph Metzinger, his second-in-command. "Ugh..." He groaned. "Randolph?" "Sir." Metzinger said. "How long have I been out?" He asked. "About a week and a half, sir." Metzinger responded. A week and a half...? "Did you catch him, Randolph?" "He resisted, sir. We had to kill him." York nodded. That was good enough. He would have preferred to kill the bastard himself. "Who was it?" He asked. "Just some suit. He worked for Hatfield, and was a known member of the League." The League. God damn the League. They had presented the most trouble in the past few years. York looked to the doctor. "How am I?" The doctor was writing something down on a clipboard. The question seemed to surprise him. "Hmm? Oh, you're fine. Well, now anyways. You slipped under a few times during the surgery, but we got you back out." York nodded, and tried to sit himself up. He felt something tearing inside his chest, and flopped back down. "You're probably not going to want to do much for a while, sir." The doctor said. "You'll probably need a few weeks rest before you can get up and move around without any complications." Metzinger looked at him. "You're real lucky, sir." York nodded. "I guess I am..." He thought a moment. How many more times would he get as lucky as he had? Probably not many. "You said the guy who did this was a League man?" York asked. Metzinger nodded. "For now, I want you to keep tabs on every registered member of the League. We don't want them trying anything like this again, on me or anybody else." Metzinger nodded again. "Any other news?" York asked. "Duncan been trying anything while I've been out?" "No, sir." Metzinger said. "In fact, Duncan seems to be laying low lately. We don't know what it means." York scowled a bit. "It probably means he's going to try something big soon. Increase security a bit. Put some patrols in the sewers, too. We had trouble with those when the conflict was still in Boston. We need to make sure they stay clear of any terrorists." "Yes sir." Metzinger said. "Will there be anything else, sir?" York thought a moment. "No, I don't think so." Metzinger stood up, saluted York, and began walking out. "Wait!" York said. "On second thought, get me a piece of paper and something to write on." An orderly brought him a pen and a clipboard. He started writing. To Richard Herring From Jack York I am sure you will be pleased to hear that I am alive and well. As you probably know, there has been a recent attempt on my life. Due to this, I feel the need to increase security around Boston, both for my sake and the sake of every citizen who might be in danger from attack by members of the insurrection. Therefore, I would that your company and technical experts from the military work together to work on some form of device which might be used to assist in visual surveillance of the city. My experts will provide you with the technical details, if you accept my offer. I assure you that accepting this offer will be fore the best of every citizen of the Confederacy who remains loyal. Peace, Order, and Freedom. He handed the message to Metzinger. "Give that to Herring." Metzinger nodded, saluted, and walked out of the room. The doctor came over to him, holding something in his hand and a cup full of water. "Medicine." He said. York looked at him suspiciously. How did he know he was not being poisoned? For all he knew, the doctor was member of the insurrection... He sighed to himself. That was nonsense, and he knew it. He took the water and the pills, and swallowed both. His suspicions came back to him a second later, and he felt that he might regret taking those pills later. The doctor, a smile on his face, left the room. York could not stop thinking about why that doctor might be smiling.