"YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!" a voice screamed through the bunker that the Utopian military had set up in.
"I'm sorry sir, but we can't find anything, not even a hair."
"Sergeant Major, I had better start seeing results or you're going to be the next to die and I'll do it myself!"
"Yes, sir, Lieutenant."
"Dismissed." The Sergeant Major turned and left. There was a flood of papers that flew through the air and hit the floor. Amongst those papers was the file for Disturbed. It fell open to the picture. He picked it up and stared at the picture of the band. "I swear on everything that I find holy in this world, you sons of bitches will pay. I'll see your wives made whores, your children adopted by upstanding members of the movement, and you bastards dead before this war is over, mark my words."
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"Commandant, may I see you in my office please?" Director Richardson said over her intercom when she got back from her trip.
The Commandant came right away. "You wanted to see me, ma'am?"
"Yes, have a seat Commandant." He took a seat. "Now, Mr. Draiman informed me that he asked you almost two years ago see that their recording equipment replaced, but when I look through the files, I have no report of such a request. What gives here?" She really didn't care what his explanation was. She was going to replace the equipment and that was that. But, she was also launching a thorough investigation into the request and lack of report.
"Madame Director, I..."
She held up a hand. "I really don't want to hear any excuses. Draiman's monologue isn't the most important thing. Inspiration for our troops is more important than that. At first, that's what the monologue was used for, but now? It's nothing but a glorified news report. Well, that's coming to an end. He's going back to what the monologue was supposed to be originally and after the new equipment has been installed, they're going to start working on a new album. As for you, Commandant Henchly, after you secure the contracts for the Russia trip, you are suspended indefinitely pending investigation into your inaction. Any questions?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good. Get out of my office."
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"Agent Cherkov, where are we on those contracts that I asked you for?"
"They should be faxed over in the next day or so. Why do you ask?"
"My boss is suspending me after those contracts are in my possession. I would really like to see this as a vacation from the shit, but at the same time, there is too much work to be done and getting that information is key to ending this war. Get on the horn and get on your boss's ass. I want those contracts today." He picked up his phone. "Master Guns!" He called over the speaker. "Yeah, do what you need to do as far as the MRSI hit goes. You're going to be the one left in charge of organizing it until I get back. Yeah, because I failed to report that your brother in law's recording equipment was shit, I'm suspended until the new Director investigates. Absolutely, Master Guns. Keep the men on task. One final hit and it's done. This should bring the Utopians to their knees." He hung up.
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All of the guys were stoked. Dan had started playing with new rhythms for the new album already. David had broken out the journals that he'd been writing song ideas in and matching them to different riffs that Dan would lay down, or a kick ass beat that Mike would play. Even killer bass riffs that John would bust out with. They were working on a kick ass album and they knew it.
The new equipment was installed within two weeks. They had a fucking party when the installation was done. The guys decided to grill and the woman made the sides. It was the best day they'd had in the new safe house. They finally had the equipment they needed.
There wasn't a day that went by that David didn't look at the scar on his left arm. He used it as a reminder of what they were fighting for, what they had gone into hiding speaking for. Freedom to be an individual. Freedom to be outspoken. Freedom to stand up for what they believed. Freedom to raise their children however they wanted.
Brie had never seen David happier than when he was working on a new album or on stage performing ... well, other than watching the births of his children. He had his bliss and she was glad to see it.
He also had his inspiration. He spent every moment he had out of the studio wither with his family as a whole or with his wife locked in their bedroom. Not that she was complaining. Hell, every moment they could get together was a blessing as far as she was concerned. He worked his best, it seemed, when he was getting laid regularly and getting massaged regularly... sometimes both at the same time. He was the only person she crossed that boundary with because he was her husband. He was the man she loved and was committed to. Nothing would ever change that, not even their deaths.
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