Weaver claims she and her co-organizer, Ronald Moore, were specific targets. She says that even after she dropped to the ground, they continued hitting her.
“One of them said, ‘My brother was in New York.’ Then his boot came down. That’s the last thing I remember.”
Ronald Moore died of his injuries before an ambulance could arrive. Weaver was rushed to the hospital, where she underwent eleven hours of emergency surgery. She is expected to survive, although her injuries are…
August 8, 2013
MICROCHIP BILL PASSES
WASHINGTON, DC–The Senate today passed the Monitoring Oversight Initiative 73–27. The bill will proceed to the House of Representatives, where a vote is expected to take place within a month.
“Today is a great day for freedom,” said Senator Richard Lathrup (R, Arkansas). “We have taken the first step toward protecting our way of life.”
The controversial bill makes it mandatory for all gifted individuals to be implanted with a microscopic computer chip that acts as a tracking device, allowing governmental agencies to monitor their whereabouts.
While the legality of the measure is still hotly debated, the bill has found significant support that crosses party lines…
August 13, 2013
CNN.com
TERROR GROUP HACKS SITES, WARNS OF ATTACKS
NEW YORK, NY–This morning more than a dozen major online destinations were hacked, including social networks, online encyclopedias, major retailers, and this news agency.
Hackers replaced existing code with what appears to be a message from abnorm terrorist groups:
“All we want is equality. We want peace.
But we will not sit idle as you build concen-tration camps.
Call this a warning.
Heed it.”
Asked to comment on the possible source, a spokesman for the Department of Analysis and Response said…
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
In early September, six months after the explosion at the Leon Walras Exchange that claimed 1,143 lives, a Jaguar XKR maneuvered the abandoned streets of Chicago’s warehouse district.
The pavement was cracked by the weight of 18-wheelers and the relentless cycle of Chicago winters. The sports car had a racing frame with tight suspension for maximum road-feel, and every chunk of broken asphalt vibrated through the driver’s teeth. He rode slowly, steering around the worst of the potholes. Unconvincing rain dribbled on the windshield, too much to leave the wipers off but not enough to keep them from catching with a squeak on every backswing.
He passed a series of bland brick buildings screened behind rusting fences. A few blocks north the warehouses had been converted into massive party palaces, the douchy kind of clubs favored by the douchy kind of clubbers. Here, though, the buildings mostly retained their original function. Mostly.
He rolled over a set of long-abandoned railroad tracks, ku-chunk ku-chunk, past a graffitied Dumpster, to a two-story building of faded orange brick with a water tower on top. The fence was topped with razor wire, and a security camera stared down. After a moment the gate slid open. He pulled through and parked next to a polished Town Car with tinted windows.
The gravel crunched under his shoes, and he could smell rain and garbage, and under it, faint, a hint of the river. He took a plain black briefcase from the trunk and left his pistol in its place.
A tortured squeak of metal came from behind, a door opening. A guy in a track suit watched him without expression.
Inside, the warehouse was a wide-open space, cold and unfinished. The light that seeped from the high windows only made the shadows darker. Stacks of unmarked crates took up about half the floor space. A cherry-red Corvette was parked near the roll doors. Someone’s legs stuck out from beneath it, one foot tapping to the beat of a radio playing classic rock.
Track Suit said, “I need to check you.”