Chapter 2: Activism at Oswald University

Monday, November 4, 1963

As it turns out, Adam did have to stop at the Grassy Knoll Army Depot when he arrived in the Alamo Republic State, but not to join the base guard. Instead, he needed to retrieve the high-powered rifle, scope, suppressor, and ammunition he would use to complete his mission.

From there, he headed into downtown Grassy Knoll to rent a hotel room under his alias, "Michael Weber," a local union organizer sympathetic to the anti-war cause.

Changing into blue-collar street clothing, and trying his best to get into the mindset of a labor man, he headed out to reconnoiter the President's route through the city.

The urban setting made him uneasy after years of living at Fort Keith in rural Shelton County, when he wasn't in foreign prisons or jungles.

The city bustled with life. Students rushing between classes, businessmen in suits, tourists taking photographs of the historic buildings.

Adam moved among them, anonymous in his civilian clothes, mentally noting security positions and potential vantage points. He collected radical newspapers and brochures from around the college campus, looking for anything that would help him blend in and understand the environment better.

During his reconnaissance, he realized the President's motorcade would go through a relatively bohemian, poorer area on the outskirts of downtown. This was where many students on a tight budget lived. It was also a heavily integrated neighborhood, where the city and state's segregation laws went largely ignored.

As Adam tried his best to fit in, he saw it. The perfect vantage point: a third-floor apartment overlooking the route.

It didn't take him long to discover, from the marked trash in the building's dumpsters, that the mailbox marked "H. Eaton" and the apartment associated with it belonged to a woman named Heather Eaton. He immediately recognized the name from one of the anti-war pamphlets he had found, which also conveniently contained a picture of the young woman.

Adam staked out the building for several hours until he spotted her.

Heather was an attractive brunette with shoulder length brown hair, intelligent green eyes, and an impish smile. She was a pretty enough distraction, but Adam didn't let that deter him, so he hatched a plan to bump into her at the coffee shop across the road from her place. He wanted to use the pamphlet to strike up a conversation.

"Excuse me," he said, approaching her table. "Aren't you her?

He held up the pamphlet, pointing to the picture and associated quote.

Heather looked up, surprised. Her face had a natural warmth to it, and her smile came easily.

"Oh… hi, yes!" she said, gesturing for him to sit. "I didn't realize they were distributing those so widely."

"I found it at the union hall," Adam explained, before introducing himself as he sat down. "Michael Weber. I organize for the local factory union."

"Heather," the 22 year old replied, shaking his hand. "You're with the union? I didn't think they took positions on war."

"Not formally," Adam said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "But we all know working people shouldn't be sent to die in foreign lands for corporate interests."

Heather's face lit up with enthusiasm.

"That's exactly what we've been saying! The military-industrial complex is the real enemy, not the people of the Sunset Isle who only just shed colonial capitalism!"

The Oswald University medical student suddenly blushed and laughed nervously, putting a hand over her mouth.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "It's easy to get worked up about these things."

Adam grinned broadly. She should apologize, he thought. Such youthful ignorance about the Bolsheviks and their puppets can never be indulged.

"No problem," Adam chuckled. He had to admit to himself that he was oddly compelled by her idealism. "Why don't you tell me more?"

Two coffees and forty-five minutes later, Adam had managed to learn a bit more about her.

Heather apparently hosted meetings of anti-war and social justice activists in her apartment on a regular basis. Her boyfriend, John, lived with her... typical of the kind of "man" who supported these causes. John was also the head of the local Bolshevik Friendship Society.

Adam had to suppress the urge to punch the woman as she mentioned that final detail.

By the end of their chat, Heather felt comfortable enough to invite "Michael" over to attend a meeting of the Bolshevik Friendship Society the next evening, where he would meet John.

Adam walked away from the coffee shop pleased with his progress, knowing that getting access to the apartment was now only a matter of time.

***

Tuesday, November 5, 1963

Early Tuesday morning, Adam drove around the neighborhood near Heather's apartment, planning his escape routes for after the deed was done. The best thing he could do, he ultimately decided, was to simply walk away and blend into the crowd.

As the afternoon wore on, he studied maps and photographs of downtown Grassy Knoll to occupy himself. Thereafter he spent a good hour practicing his "Michael Weber" persona in the mirror, adjusting his posture and gestures as he memorized his invented backstory.

Just after six o'clock, Adam set out for Heather's apartment building. Dressed casually in slacks and a button-down shirt, he passed through the lobby and took the stairs up to the third floor, arriving right on time.

He knocked twice, and she opened the door quickly with a wide grin.

"Hi there," she said, beckoning him in.

"Hi, Heather," he smiled politely as he stepped inside.

Heather led Adam past stacks of books, magazines, and records, and into the small living room of the apartment.

"I'm almost ready," she said over her shoulder as she hurried down the hallway. "Just need to get these last pamphlets stapled. Make yourself comfortable."

"Take your time," Adam replied. "Let me know if I can help with anything."

There was a large, red banner hanging on the far wall that read "No War" in bold letters. The sofa, loveseat, and armchair were arranged to create space for guests to congregate. There were copies of progressive newspapers stacked neatly on tables, and shelves lined with books on social justice, radical politics, and Bolshevism.

Heather returned a few moments later carrying a box of fliers.

"Oh!" he said, walking toward her. "Here, let me help you with those."

"Thanks," she grinned, passing him the box. "Usually I'd judge a man for implying women aren't capable of carrying stuff, but today I'm spent!"

She winked and chuckled.

"Hey, we can't win them all!" he laughed.

"I guess not," Heather sighed dramatically, before smiling at him. "So, ready to meet the comrades?"

"Definitely!" Adam exclaimed enthusiastically. "Lead the way."

Adam followed Heather back outside, staying close behind her. From this angle, he took a moment to admire her figure dressed in faded bell bottom jeans and a tight white blouse.

When they got to the warehouse-looking building, Adam wondered aloud.

"This it?" he asked, glancing upward.

"Yep, it's the local school book depository," Heather said brightly, pointing up to a window on the second floor. "They let us use the upstairs room."

They entered and climbed the narrow staircase together. At the top, a handful of students were already gathering in the hall.

"Just put that there," Heather said, pointing at a table near the door.

Adam gently lowered the box and set it down.

"Come on, I'll introduce you," she said, extending her arm toward him.

As Adam extended his, he noticed someone else entering the room from behind Heather. A tall and lanky young man, with long red hair, a scruffy beard, and wire rimmed glasses.

"Hey babe," he greeted Heather with a quick peck on the lips.

"John, meet Michael," Heather said excitedly as John sized up Adam.

"Mike Weber, hi," Adam introduced himself, extending his hand.

"John Baynes, pleasure," the young man said friendily, shaking Adam's hand. His grip was surprisingly firm. "Heather tells me you're a union man! We need more working-class perspectives in our movement."

"Absolutely," Adam smiled, relaxing somewhat. "I try to stay active even while on a break from my duties."

"I hear you!" John laughed. "Can't just depend on others to fight for worker's rights!"

Adam nodded and smiled agreeably.

The three of them chatted idly as more and more people started filling up the room. Eventually, the entire group migrated into the main meeting space and took their seats.

John turned to the gathered group to address them.

"Welcome, everyone!" John addressed the assembled crowd, smiling brightly. "We're excited to have some new faces joining us this evening."

Adam gazed around the room at the young faces of the university's elite. These privileged children, many of whom had no idea how the world really worked, waved banners calling for an end to every conceivable "ism" except their own.

As the evening progressed, they discussed plans to protest the President's upcoming visit, with John leading the conversation.

"Kent might talk a good game about peace," John said, pacing as he spoke. "But he's still supporting the undemocratic fascists fighting against the people's government in the Sunset Isle. We need to show him that the American people demand recognition of the new regime there!"

There were cheers throughout the room. Adam forced himself to applaud along with them.

After several more speakers, the meeting adjourned. Everyone started filing out, chatting amongst themselves.

As the crowd dwindled, Heather and John pulled Adam aside.

"Thank you so much for coming!" Heather gushed, hugging him.

Adam grinned sheepishly, patting Heather's back awkwardly.

"It was really inspirational," he lied. "Thank you for having me over."

"Say, you should come by our place tonight," John suggested. "Heather says you're already familiar with it."

John winked knowingly.

Adam didn't quite know what to do with that.

"Ah, yeah..." Adam nodded slowly, seizing the opportunity. "I'd enjoy that."

Heather beamed happily as the trio departed the meeting together, chatting about the political situation and other issues on campus.

***

As they arrived at her apartment building, Heather led the men up the stairs and unlocked the door, holding it open for them.

Adam noted that the window he had previously eyed offered an unrestricted view of downtown Grassy Knoll's skyline.

"Mind if I use the bathroom?" he asked.

"Down the hall to the right," Heather directed him as she set her keys down on the kitchen counter.

He nodded and headed into the hallway. Once out of sight, Adam familiarized himself with the rest of the apartment, noting the various doors and rooms, and the positions of furniture and potential obstacles he might need to navigate quickly.

When he returned, John came up to him and handed him a beer.

"Check this out," the activist said as Adam nodded appreciatively for the drink, moving away some boxes and grabbing hold of a large photo frame.

Inside was a small Bolshevik flag, alongside a large signature.

"Can you believe it?" John asked proudly. "The First Secretary's cultural attaché gave it to me himself. Said our work for peace was admired by the Bolshevik people."

Adam's hand instinctively twitched toward a weapon that wasn't there. These naïve students had an active relationship with America's adversaries.

"That's quite an honor," Adam forced himself to say, his voice steady despite his internal rage.

"I thought we could hang it in the Society office," John continued. "A symbol of international solidarity."

"Careful, John," Heather teased. "Some people might get the wrong idea."

"Let them," John replied defiantly. "I'm not ashamed of standing for peace."

"You guys got an office?" Adam asked, noting the potential treasure trove of intelligence.

Both John and Heather chuckled.

"If you could call it that," John said, laughing.

"Yeah," Heather continued. "It's just one room on campus. A glorified closet."

"I think you're doing great work," Adam lied. "Only way from here is up."

Heather smiled warmly and took hold of Adam's arm, lightly rubbing it as she led him to the couch. John also took his seat.

"Thank you," Heather said as she pulled Adam down with her, virtually sitting on his lap with her boyfriend a few feet away in the armchair. "This stuff is important."

Adam swallowed, somewhat unsure of how to react to the intimacy, but playing along.

"How did you get involved?" Adam asked with a warm smile of his own.

"My father was killed in the Last War," she said, looking away for a moment. "Seemed natural that I'd end up here."

"Sorry about that," Adam said.

"I was only 11," she said, her voice soft with memory. "Two men in uniform came to our door. My mother just collapsed when they told her. He was a pilot."

"I'm sorry," Adam repeated, genuinely sympathetic despite himself.

"That's why I want to be a doctor," she continued, now smiling. "I want to save lives, not contribute to a system that takes them."

John leaned forward, his expression happy and enthusiastic. And totally unmoved by his girlfriend's closeness to a man they both just met.

"Imagine if we spent all that defense money on schools, hospitals, creating a society worth living in," John said, eyes bright with passion. "Instead of teaching men to kill."

"Yeah," Adam agreed, careful not to roll his eyes.

He hesitated, then fished for his wallet, knowing he had to contribute more than that to this conversation. This was pushing it.

Opening it, he showed Heather a photograph of Mary.

"She's why I try to do my bit for the cause," he said. "My everything."

"She's beautiful," Heather said, studying the picture. "We'd love to meet her sometime!"

"Ah..." Adam mumbled, realizing how his lapse in judgment could break his cover and end the mission. "She's... uh... she lives with her grandma in the Cascades."

"Aw," Heather said sympathetically, rubbing his arm again. "You must miss her."

"Every day," Adam admitted, seeing genuine care in Heather's eyes. These were real people with real feelings, not just abstract enemies of the state.

Is he really going to…?

Heather pressed her body against Adam's, interrupting his thoughts.

"I think it's sexy, the quiet strength of a caring father that you have."

John watched them with a curious intensity that made Adam briefly uncomfortable. He couldn't blame the young man for feeling possessive, yet strangely enough, it was the last thing Adam felt as Heather caressed his hand.

"Uh... thanks," Adam smiled nervously, swallowing hard.

"Another drink?" John offered, standing up. "I think we could all use one."

Adam nodded.

As John headed to the kitchen, Heather whispered to Adam.

"He doesn't mind sharing, you know. We've done it before."

Adam gulped quietly. He hadn't entirely expected this to occur during the planning phase of his mission, but it could offer some advantages… to the mission, of course.

"Is that what you want?" he asked quietly.

"Maybe," she replied with a smile. "We'll see where our passions take us."

The tease, he thought, chuckling with a sly smile, as he leaned his face toward hers, which Heather reciprocated.

But then the apartment door flung open violently, causing Adam to jump.

For a split second, his mind went to traditional military mode, and if things did not reveal themselves like they did, his new friends would surely have seen him act quite unlike "Michael Weber."

"John! Heather! Chicas, despertaron!" he heard a young Latina voice cry.

"Ana!" John chuckled from the kitchen. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

The girl rushed into the living room and nonchalantly plopped herself down in the armchair where John had been sitting, laying back and eyeing Heather and her new friend.

Adam immediately felt uncomfortable with this child seeing them in such a state of obvious physical arousal.

Ana was a petite girl of 13 or 14, with big brown eyes, dark silky hair, and flawless olive skin. She was dressed in faded blue pajamas decorated with starry galaxies.

"Who are you?" she asked bluntly, cocking her head quizzically.

Heather blushed and quickly composed herself, fixing her rumpled dress as she sat upright.

"Ana, mind your manners!" Heather playfully chastised the girl. "This is my friend, Michael."

Heather turned to Adam, blushing, as John returned with their drinks.

"Ana Rivera here lives two apartments down from us," she explained, looking back to Ana. "And she's known to come in here without knocking!"

Adam remembered that this is an integrated community. Seeing a Latina in an apartment building back in his childhood neighborhood in Laurel Valley was unthinkable, even today.

The girl giggled as John placed Adam's beer on the coffee table, then walked over to his armchair.

He motioned for her to move, before sitting back down. Ana fell onto his lap, eliciting a slight pained groan.

"You're lucky I like you, munchkin," John said with a wry smile. "Why are you up at this hour?"

Ana rolled her eyes melodramatically.

"Diego won't shut up! Dad's trying to work late... and I was thirsty," she said, seeing John's beer.

Heather glanced sideways at Adam apologetically, shrugging.

"I guess we're the local liquor store, then," he joked as he handed it to her.

The girl eagerly took the bottle and took a large swig before handing it back to him.

"Eh! Hijita, don't drink so fast!" John chuckled.

Adam suppressed a shudder as he watched John casually feed alcohol to the little girl.

"So what's your story?" Adam asked Ana, taking a sip of his beer.

Ana shrugged.

"Homework?" she responded disinterestedly.

Heather chuckled, shaking her head.

"Ana's dad brought her and her brother here three years ago," she explained. "They 'fled' the Sunset Isle. Santiago Rivera is a bit of a... reactionary."

"Mi padre es un gusano capitalista!" Ana exclaimed, causing both John and Heather to chuckle.

Adam's Spanish was rusty, but he got that she just called her father a "capitalist worm."

He forced himself to join in the laughter at the expense of an obviously honorable man.

"He hates the Bolsheviks," John added, reaching over to ruffle Ana's hair. "But we're working on him through this little revolutionary here."

Heather nodded encouragingly.

"Ana is already joining some of the meetings we have here," Heather said proudly. "She'll convince her dad to embrace liberation... but not by insulting him like that!"

Heather shook a playful finger at the girl, who stuck her tongue out cheekily.

Adam smiled, nodding along, as he experienced internal revulsion at these two hippies corrupting this impressionable young mind, radicalizing her.

He quickly put it out of his mind as he stood up and walked over to the living room window.

The third-floor window overlooked the main street. It would provide the perfect vantage point for a shooter.

"Great view," he commented casually.

"That's why I took this place," Heather said, joining him. "A bit more expensive than I can really afford on a student budget, but worth it. You can actually see where the President's motorcade will pass next week."

"Really?" Adam said, feigning mild interest while his mind calculated angles and distances.

"Yeah, John and I are planning to watch from here. You should join us," she offered.

"I might just take you up on that," Adam smiled, before turning around. "But, for now, I should go. It's a school night, at least for some of us!"

Ana giggled loudly at that as Adam hugged Heather goodbye.

John walked over to hug Adam too, startling him. But John grabbed him tightly, and held him close, almost aggressively so, for an uncomfortably long amount of time.

"Don't be a stranger, Mike," John said firmly, releasing Adam.

"Oh, definitely not," Adam assured him. "I will see you both very soon."

Heather walked him to the door while John and Ana talked among themselves.

"Sorry about that," Heather said shyly, giggling. "But I'm sure we'll... finish what we started."

Adam smirked as Heather reached forward and grabbed his ass.

"I bet we will," he murmured, kissing her gently on the lips, eliciting another grin.

"See you later!" Heather said cheerfully, waving as Adam departed the apartment.

***

Over the next week, Adam became increasingly embedded in John and Heather's social circle. He attended rallies, helped distribute leaflets, and gained their trust. He found himself adept at playing the role of a working-class radical, drawing on his observations of real leftists he'd encountered.

The three of them in particular fell into a comfortable routine, with Adam spending most evenings at their apartment, discussing politics, listening to music, and sharing meals.

"The bosses and the generals are two sides of the same coin," "Michael" declared at one meeting, earning approving nods from the students. "They send working men to die while they count their profits."

But that next Monday, November 11, news broke that President Kent had agreed to start negotiations to withdraw American advisors and military trainers from 'Nam as a "gesture of goodwill."

Adam watched the announcement on a television in a bar near his hotel, his fists clenched tight as Kent spoke about "a new era of peaceful coexistence."

"Goddamn traitor," muttered an old man nearby, a veteran judging by his bearing and the military tattoo visible on his forearm.

Adam nodded slightly in agreement, but said nothing.

Surprisingly, only a few hours later, Mr. Wilson appeared outside his hotel room.

"We need to talk," he said, pushing past Adam into the small room.

"I thought there would be no contact," Adam said, checking to see whether anyone he might recognize from among his new social circle were nearby, then closed the door.

"Kent's announcement has upped the stakes," Wilson said. "Our assets in the Bolshevik Union say the First Secretary is already planning to send more materiel to allies in Southeast Asia once our advisors leave. There's also rumor of more missiles coming to Sunset Isle in light of our so-called President's weakness."

"I under…" Adam began to say, sitting on the bed.

"You think you do," Wilson said, flatly, as he sat down on the wooden chair nearby. "But I need to make sure you understand how much rides on you succeeding."

"Uh, I don't think I follow…" Adam said with hesitation.

"The Vice President is ready to step up, immediately, once Kent is gone," Wilson explained. "If Kent, for whatever reason, survives the trip, the VP will resign, as will half of our military associates. Then the game is up for America."

"Vice President Jones is involved?" Adam asked, surprised by this revelation. "Fuck..."

He was never too into domestic politics, but he knew Larry Burchell Jones, the Vice President, represented the right wing of Kent's party. However he never thought Jones would go this far.

"Not directly," the handler clarified. "He has no knowledge of you or this specific operation. But he's aware that steps are being taken to... address the problem. He understands what needs to be done and will reverse Kent's policies… if you succeed."

"I see," Adam said, processing this information.

"Are you still committed to your mission, Lieutenant?" Wilson asked, studying Adam's face.

"Absolutely," Adam replied without hesitation. "After what happened to Trevor and those men in Mongoose Bay… seeing how Kent is betraying our allies in 'Nam… you have my full commitment, sir."

"Good man," the handler said, tapping on the table, before standing and heading for the door.

"Uh, sir," Adam said, standing up. "I just wanted to inform you that I have developed a plan... and I think it's a good one. But it will involve..."

Deep down, he wanted Wilson to forbid what he was planning to do. Instead, the spook just held up a hand, silencing Adam.

"If you need to fucking wipe out an entire school..." Wilson interrupted. "... you fucking do it. Nothing comes between you and success."

Then he was gone, leaving Adam alone with his thoughts.

***

That night Adam was at Heather's, as usual. John had cooked a vegetarian pasta dish, and several bottles of wine were opened as they discussed politics deep into the night.

"Kent's announcement today is a step in the right direction," John said, gesturing with his wine glass. "But it doesn't go far enough. We need complete withdrawal and recognition of the People's Republic."

"The military will fight him every step of the way," Heather added. "They're too invested in all-out war in 'Nam."

"What do you think, Michael?" John asked, turning to Adam.

"I think power corrupts," Adam replied carefully. "And those in power will do anything to keep it."

As John passionately discussed the evils of American imperialism, Adam silently planned out how to neutralize the occupants of his chosen firing position.

Finally, after dinner, they retired to the living room, where John lit a joint for them to share.

As the drug took effect as time passed, their conversation became more philosophical.

"The problem with America..." John mused, sprawled on cushions arranged on the floor. "... is that we've forgotten how to love. We've replaced it with power and domination."

"Love is revolutionary," Heather agreed, her head resting on Adam's shoulder on the couch. "Breaking down barriers between people."

Adam played along.

"Maybe that's why they want us fighting wars instead of connecting with each other."

"Exactly!" John exclaimed, sitting up excitedly. "You get it, Michael! Connection!"

Heather turned and kissed Adam suddenly, a deep, passionate kiss that took him by surprise despite her earlier flirtations. When she pulled back, she looked over at John, who nodded slightly.

"We like you, Michael," she said simply. "Both of us."

Adam glanced between them, smiling.

"Well, then maybe we should... go to the bedroom," he suggested.

Heather leaned forward, kissing him again as she rubbed his groin.

His body responded instantly, betraying any remaining notions he had of staying emotionally detached.

Heather grinned, pulling away, and stood, holding out a hand to him.

"Let's," she agreed.

John followed behind as they entered the bedroom, standing in the doorway, watching intently as Adam removed Heather's blouse and bra and groped her soft breasts hungrily.

"This okay?" Adam asked John, glancing over his shoulder.

John nodded, grinning as he stroked his growing erection through his pants.

"Get on the bed," Heather urged Adam, unbuttoning his jeans and lowering the zipper.

As soon as his pants were off, Heather pushed him back onto the bed, before slipping him into her mouth sucking eagerly. She moaned as he ran his fingers through her hair, savoring the sensation of her tongue exploring his cock.

With some trepidation, Adam glanced over at John, uncertain of his involvement.

"Enjoy yourself, man," John advised, his eyes glittering with excitement. "If you're going to fuck my girl, you better make sure it's worth her while."

His words seemed to encourage Heather, who sucked even more enthusiastically, gripping the base of Adam's shaft firmly as she licked around the tip.

After several minutes of oral pleasure, Heather paused to strip naked and climb onto the bed, straddling Adam. Looking over her shoulder at John, she guided Adam's throbbing erection to her moistening pussy.

"Fuck," John muttered, unable to resist stroking himself harder as he watched the erotic scene begin to unfold before him.

"Don't cum inside me," Heather cautioned Adam. "Okay?"

"Sure thing," Adam said, reaching up to grab her hips.

She lowered herself slowly onto him, her slick vaginal walls squeezing tightly around his manhood as she slid down the length of him. She gasped with pleasure when his cock finally bottomed out, filling her completely.

"You feel amazing," Adam groaned, loving the sight of her shapely figure hovering above him, her nipples erect, her face flushed with arousal.

"So do you," she whispered, beginning to rock her hips forward, grinding against him. "God, you're huge..."

Her movements grew more urgent, her breathing quickening as she rode him faster, bouncing up and down on his rigid dick.

Heather cried out as a climax flowed over her.

Adam held her firmly, thrusting upward in a slow, controlled motion that prolonged her orgasm, drawing out its intensity.

Just as Heather collapsed forward, she felt another pressure, this time against her anus. She looked over her shoulder, surprised to see John kneeling on the bed, fully naked, his stiff penis probing gently against her puckered hole.

Adam was also startled by this development but adapted quickly, holding Heather tightly against him. He felt her heartbeat pounding furiously, echoing his own.

Heather gasped sharply when John penetrated her ass dry, her breath hot against Adam's neck. As John eased deeper inside, Heather let out a moan of pain and pleasure. Her fingernails dug into Adam's shoulders as her body struggled to accept the additional intrusion.

Eventually, she adjusted to the feeling, relaxing her muscles and welcoming John's cock into her.

Once he was fully seated within her, the three found a rhythm, rocking as one, united in a single sensual purpose.

Each of Adam's nerve endings were on fire, alive with desire and arousal. All thoughts of missions, nations, and wars faded from his mind, leaving only this singular ecstatic moment.

The shared intensity of their connection caused him to let out a series of involuntary grunts, increasing in volume as he drew closer to release.

Heather continued to ride him as John fucked her ass.

As Adam felt his climax approaching, he bit his lower lip, struggling to stave off his orgasm. Just when he thought he can't hold back any longer, he felt Heather tensing once more, signaling the approach of yet another orgasm.

Her cry of pleasure echoed in his ear as his own orgasm arrived.

Adam awkwardly tried to pull out so as not to ejaculate inside her.

With Heather on top of him and John thrusting her even further against him, however, there was nowhere to go, and Adam instinctively tightened his grip around her waist as his cock exploded deep within her womb, filling her with his seed.

An overwhelming sense of elation enveloped him as he pumped wave after wave of sperm into Heather.

She clung to him tightly, shaking violently, as John released his load as well, spilling his cum into her rectum.

Adam's entire body felt weightless and electrified simultaneously. His brain was awash in hormones, flooding him with feelings of warmth, tenderness, and euphoria.

The three collapsed together on the bed, their limbs entangled, basking in the afterglow of their collective exertions.

"Sorry," he sighed into her ear. "Couldn't pull out."

Heather, panting for breath, shook her head weakly.

"Don't apologize," she whispered. "It was incredible."

***

Lying awake between his sleeping victims that night, Adam experienced profound disconnection - he'd formed a genuine bond with people he had to kill. Their bodies were warm against his, John's arm flung casually across him, Heather's head nestled against his shoulder. For a moment, he considered abandoning the mission.

"This changes nothing," he reminded himself silently. "Their actions help America's enemies."

He silently got dressed and left the apartment, taking the opportunity to retrieve his rifle and bring it back as John and Heather slept. He concealed it, disassembled, in a duffle bag behind a bunch of old cleaning equipment and brooms in a hallway closet that he saw had not been touched in a while, evidenced by the dust and spider webs inside.

His task done, he decided to quietly go through some of Heather's documents, hoping to find something that would push him to spare her life. He found that Heather recently went to the Sunset Isle for two months - apparently part of her medical training.

"Medical training," Adam muttered under his breath. "In the Sunset Isle, of all places."

He continued searching, finding correspondence from a "Cultural Exchange Program" with a Bolshevik letterhead.

Sighing, Adam left the apartment again, walking the dark streets of Grassy Knoll in mental turmoil.

The city was quiet at this hour, with only occasional cars passing by. Adam walked without direction, his mind replaying the evening's events and wrestling with his conflicted feelings.

"They're not bad people," a voice in his head argued. "They're just misguided."

"They're traitors," another part of him countered. "Working with the enemy during wartime."

As dawn approached, Adam found himself in the vicinity of Oswald University, and decided to use the opportunity to check out the office of the Bolshevik Friendship Society. Here, too, he hoped to find something - anything - that could resolve the impasse in his mind.

The office was small and cluttered with pamphlets, posters, and books espousing Bolshevik ideology.

A large map of the Alamo Republic State was hung on one wall, with several red pins indicating what Adam assumed were locations where the group had activities planned.

He also found that John had gotten around to hanging up the framed and signed Bolshevik flag.

Shaking his head, he started scanning the rest of the room, searching for something useful.

Finding an activities journal, Adam sat down and paged to the most recent entries. The names of individual students were listed, each assigned a number code name. Next to the code names were dates, times, and notes about campus events.

However, one entry was dedicated to someone not quite a student yet.

Ana Rivera.

Adam stared at the page, reading incredulously.

There were brief descriptions of the meetings, noting how Ana was gradually contributing more and becoming more engaged in discussions. But the final two entries were what really caught Adam's attention.

The second most recent one indicated that Ana had managed to convince her father, Santiago, to attend a Bolshevik Friendship Society meeting. He was quiet and disengaged throughout, but the margin notes indicate that John was optimistic about slowly bringing the man around.

Adam clenched his jaw, feeling his blood boil, as he began reading the last entry.

"Ana mentioned that she had seen her father hosting other men critical of the Sunset Isle government in their living room at night. Perhaps we should reach out to the embassy to inform them?"

Not only were they trying to turn Santiago, they seemed prepared to sell him out to the enemies of freedom.

"Fucking Red rats!" Adam spat, slamming the notebook shut and leaving the room as he had found it.

He returned to his hotel room as the city woke up and cleaned his silenced pistol with mechanical precision, the familiar routine calming his mind and steeling his resolve. As he worked, he thought of Trevor, of his wife and daughter, of the oath he swore to protect his country from all enemies.

Adam sighed, knowing that he needed to return to Heather's place that day to quell any suspicions they might have developed at his absence.

And in fact that evening Heather did express her disappointment that he was gone when they woke up.

"We were worried about you," she said, her voice warm. "John thought maybe we'd scared you off."

"Not at all," Adam replied smoothly. "I just had an early union meeting. Sorry I didn't leave a note."

"Well, we were hoping..." she paused. "... that you might want to spend tomorrow night with us. The day before the President comes."

"We want you with us tomorrow," she said. "All day."

"I'd like that," Adam accepted, knowing they'd just invited their executioner into their home.

"Wonderful," she said, sounding genuinely pleased. "John's cooking his famous vegetable stew."

"Sounds perfect," Adam replied, his voice betraying none of the coldness he now felt.

In less than 48 hours, both John and Heather would be dead, and President Kent along with them.