• World War 4:
    Prologue:
    The U.N. leaders shaped the annual meeting, to discuss how each nation is doing and how to fix any problems, if there is any.
    One of the leaders stood at the door, head tilted to hear the nothingness in the hall; his face held the outline of the Chinese, his eyes showed that of the Japanese culture, his highly detailed face looked that of one who has mixed heritage, in fact that is what he is, mixed, little French, a little Germen, some Dutch, some are evident while others are not. He just stood there, head tilted, bored senseless, wishing to be back home, in his big house, on his chaise longue, laying down, watching the largest television in his house, if not that counting his massive stack of money, or so he wished.
    He stood up straight and slowly walked forward, each foot hit the floor with a click and a squeak, his suit ruffled and folded as his arms twisted, and swayed as he lifted each foot. His eyes quickly darted to a woman in the group of leaders. Her hair flowed of rich amber, her eyes, blue in color, winked at him, and he nodded, she nodded slowly. She, like him, had a mixed heritage; both of them had the grace of each culture, and knowledge greater then any other leader in the room.
    He knelt before the U.N. flag and felt the knife in his boot, the rounded butt of the handle, the hand wide shaft of the handle itself, then the halt separating the handle from the blade. He quickly stood up and hurried to the woman who he first looked at. The woman smiled knowingly and stood up and gave a look that basically said, get over here, you idiot, the man raised an eyebrow as he sat down right next to her, his bulky jacket went thump!, as he did so.
    The woman rolled her eyes and frowned, her voice was sickly sweet as she looked finally back at the man, “how long tell we leave, Michael?
    The man, who is indeed named Michael, returned her bored gaze with an equally bored one, “Until we hear the word ‘star’, you know that.” Michael smiled slightly, “you know that this is an S.T.A.R mission and you or I haven’t been on one of things ever. So I guess I’m nervous as well as excited.” He looked down slightly.
    The woman’s hand reached for Michael’s her voice softened and lowered to a bare whisper, “I know. Hey, almost a year ago, you were a computer monkey from Tacoma, and I was just a history dork. But look where we are now, not even in our thirties, and a part of the most influential groups known to man, with weapons not even in the data bases in our own government, on the mission of our lives.” She paused to notice Michael’s other hand shaking, “hey it’s okay,” she lightly pecked him on the cheek and the meeting begun.
    One of the leaders stood up and in a thick Chinese accent explained what old problems were fixed and what new ones arose in the solutions.
    The meeting continued for three hours, and with no sign of slowing down, no mention of S.T.A.R., but it seemed to hang in the air like a heavy cloud, waiting to be announced, invited, to choke them all to death.
    Michael twiddled his thumbs over his laptop, every once and a while he punched in some notes and sent them to a place he and the woman only know. While the woman listened in boredom, waiting for one little thing to happen.
    “We have been having trouble with a lot of aerial devices coming from the south-west, towards Mount Olympus” a Russian leader stated, “on those devices we have found something,” the group looked towards the screen in the middle of the room. Michael and the woman looked as well, Michael pretended to tie his shoe, but reached for his knife. The woman’s hand went right for the sleeve of her jacket, where she had her 9-millimeter Beretta stored. The leader continued, “It’s a five point star…”
    That was all he could say before a bullet entered his heart, killing him instantly, he fell and dropped like a rag doll. The group was in shock as the man fell and twice as much as they saw that two of the members of the group, highly trusted leaders were missing. Then the killing began, Michael pulled out his knife and stabbed the nearest member, cutting though the member’s spinal cord, Michael didn’t look like it, being a computer nerd and all, but he was an assassin, raised and trained by the monks of China, Japan, and Korea (the three largest sources of martial arts), that was years before the war started, even his partner was shocked by his quickness as he slide the knife out of the spine leaving a single cut mark in it. Michael then back-flipped, knocking the man he just killed forward and Michael went over the rail, blocking the exit. He dawned off his heavy jacket, revealing two swords slung, in their scabbards, over his back, and two magazine loaded guns, for those guns a few lists of magazines lined along the scabbard straps.
    The woman ran to the back of the room and quickly throw off her sports jacket, she, unlike Michael, was carried one sword, large and bulky, and her Beretta. She quickly shot straight at one member, the death count at two-zero.
    The real members where not unarmed, they seemed to know that something like this would happen, their weapons soon were out and varied, but they had the same area covered, Michael and his ally, but as they pulled the trigger, swing their sword, or what ever they had in hand, it never was there, no it was there, but it never reached its target. Michael noticed before the other weapons that where not his where pulled out, that the construction was poor, and the foundation was weak, so with the quick mind of his, he calculated the exact force of impact, what speed and angle it would take to knock out one pillar, once one is down the rest should fall and crush the rest of them, he thought like killing two birds with one stone.
    Just then the other weapons came out, Michael looked up at his ally, who was also about to receive the other weapons, and mouthed I have a plan, just trust me.
    She just looked at the swords in half-draw but mouthed back do it and hurry.
    “Stop talking Miss, but tell me what is your name?” one of the leaders, one from the Mongolian sector, her cold, curved sword was fully drawn and at the other girls throat, the leader continued, “and if you answer my questions, all of them, you or you friend here won’t die.” She snapped her long bony fingers, suddenly hidden sections of the room opened and there were clusters of arrows aimed Michael’s chest bone.
    “Stop, don’t shoot him” the girl said looking down and looked at Michael, he nodded and smiled, mouthed go ahead, I’m ready, she looked back at the Mongolian, and stared with mock fear adding her mock fearful voice, stuttering and seemingly going into a nervous breakdown, “m-my nam-name is Kris-Kristen.”
    The Mongolian looked satisfied with that answer, “kill the boy,” Michael looked up at the Mongolian and smiled very sin-like, almost deadly, and with one fluid motion he pulled out one of his swords, made from the strongest and lightest metals known by the Chinese, Japanese, and Korean blacksmiths, a Katana made thin and long, as long three quarter’s of Michael’s total arm-span. He did not look scared like someone sentenced to death, but pride that he was about to die. When he pulled his sword out of its’ sheath, the other guns’ triggers where pulled, the swords held over the others heads. Michael hit the ground; the bullets flew over his head; the arrows swished and clanked as they hit the walls behind Michael, he spin so that he was on his back and flipped back on his feet, Katana still in hand, he stabbed the nearest leader, the death count three-zero.
    Kristen let three bullets fly from her Beretta and each bullet hit different leaders, the death count six-zero. She nodded to Michael as she flipped over the rail to avoid being shot.
    Michael nodded recalculating his angle and the nearest pillar height, as well as the strength of his impact. He inhaled, pumped his legs for a jump, and unsheathed his other katana, stepped back, charged forward, and jumped…