Host, Please Be Honest! What Exactly Are You?

Ahhhhhhhh!!!!! The sounds of bullets echoed heavily, cashing some to duck and flee with their tails tightly tucked between their legs. Of course many chose to stay, as they were journalists and could even stay still during hurricanes and heavy tornadoes if it meant they'll be the ones getting the scoop. What? An assassination. Attempt on the president's life and you expect them not to capture it all? ('0')

Click, click!~

Countless photos were taken in a flash. And with the sudden commotion erupting at the edge of the gathering, the Security personnel rushed towards an agitated man shouting incoherently about conspiracies and injustice.

The man in question even danced when he saw the incident happen. The man in question was also dressed very sketchily, with a long trench coat and an overly wide hat on his head. "Protect the President!" Victor's eyes turn cold when thinking of all that unfolded before him. It wasn't him, but another who pulled the trigger. And now, his long planned opportunity is gone. But what was even more aggregating was that the bastard had shot the President in the chest and on his upper arm.

Come on! Are you a fool? Don't you know that shooting in the chest is akin to wasting bullets? What President makes a speech without wearing a bulletproof vest? Again, you shot him in the arm and you're jumping happily over there? Why couldn't you aim for the head to ensure the president stays dead? One look and Victor could tell the bastard making the shot was an amateur who was probably not paid by anyone. His hands were shaky, and his eyes showed no discipline, but only pure hatred in them. "Stop him!" shouted a young female guard who was first on the scene to appear and hold down the culprit just long enough for Secret Service agents to spring into action. They tackled him to the ground, disarming him in an instant.

.

Again, the crowd erupted into chaos as people scrambled for safety. Cameras flashed wildly as journalists documented every second of the unfolding drama. The distraction provided Victor with the perfect opportunity to escape, although he was leaving with a grimmer face than when he arrived. Dammit! It was all ruined. The plan to take down President Ghant will have to be postponed indefinitely… at least until his target lowers his guard. Like so, Ghant was ushered away from the scene and taken into the Red House for safety and medical care. Weew-Weew-Weew~

The sounds of more and more police sirens emerging into the scene could be heard all around the space. It was amazing that these journalists didn't want to leave despite all that happened. They stood firm, wanting to find out more answers and questions from the guards, military personnel and police officers on site. "Excuse me, sir! Have you identified who the man taken in custody is?"

"When will you disclose the news to the world?" "What grudge does the man have against President Doyle to make him so rampant?" "How do you all feel knowing that you're all so incompetent enough to leave an enemy stray into the Red House you claim is incredibly secure?" "Hello sir, can you tell me if you think your mother will be proud of you for failing to fulfill your duty of protecting the President?" "Madam guard, can you please tell us how you reacted so swiftly, despite the slow reaction from others? Could it be that you were in cahoots with the attacker, so you can make yourself look like a heroine?" "Sir! Sir!"

"Miss!"

"Sir, sir!" "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah~"

… President Ghant was now breathing heavily when lying on his back, surrounded by many medics and important personnel. Vice President Doyle and several others with high positions also stood motionless, like tall trees protruding from the deepest parts of the jungle. "Sir, we must not let such acts go unpunished!" Secretary of Defense, Mitchen Rongulf, stated with a stern face. And as he spoke, his thick mustache moved, as though dancing on its own. "Mr. President, if you ask me, this incident serves as a reminder of both our vulnerabilities and our strengths," he said solemnly yet optimistically.

"Yes," Vice-president Doyle and several others agreed. "Mr. President, we all know you love peace, but many times, war is what is needed to keep peace afloat. So now is not the time to falter in our original plans." Doyle expressionlessly stated. "Mr. President, I got off the phone with the guards, and the man in question said he was sent an invitation by someone who claims to be a member of District 47. But that's not all…" Doyle took a deep breath staring at everyone in the room grimly. "It appears there might be all sorts of killers, both skilled and amateurs, heading your way."

"So you see, Mr. President, the time for peace has long passed." Many nodded like chickens pecking at a barrel of corn, because they completely agreed with Doyle. Now, the only thing that can bring back their former peace is WAR!

So what's there to hesitate? Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!

Ghant stayed silent, feeling his entire being disagreeing with them all. Intuition told him that if they did go to war, they would lose big time.

However, it was clear that he was outnumbered in voting. So what else could he do but stall the situation at hand until he thinks of something clever on his own? There were quite a few military personnel that he trusted with his life. Since there will be more assassination attempts headed his way, it's time he called in the heat of the best to step in not only protect, but think of suggestions to diffuse the current situation at hand. "Alright, alright… I'll think about it." Ghant gave them a promise, cashing several people's faces to fall. Think? This was not the time for thinking, but the time for action instead. So what the hell was this guy thinking about here? (?^?)

Tsk. They suddenly despised this shift hearted and weak president. Damn, if only it was Doyle and not this wimp who became president. As it stands, only if the President dies, will Doyle take over his spot. So what if–

Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh. Many already had dangerous thoughts brooding in their hearts. But the moment they left the scene, Ghant quickly took out his phone without hesitation. It was time for a certain someone to repay the favor to him as promised. "Wiggins you old bastard! Where the hell are you? You better see this Voicemail fast. I need you pronto… you owe me one!"

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