In the corner of a burnt out building you sit with the bomb. Don't sleep now it's almost time. Outside snow begins to fall as the car turns the corner. A figure rushes into the street clutching the deadly symbol of freedom, lets lose the destruction made of desperation.
The world explodes, bodies splatter. The car twists and bursts into flames, splitting burning debris in every direction. Screams and smoke rise- the assassin staggers from the wreckage, his work done - 'must hide'.
You move in shadow, the cold blue glow of a street in winter, through the snow to the house of the inner circle. You reach the door. 'Who is this?' - 'The fugitive'.
Welcome 'This is just a beginning', he says, but the rebels are betrayed. Doors burst open, and machine gun death rains in on the conspirators. The remaining few confess their crime and when justice is done, die. But the hope lives on; they die but the hope lives on.