Marcus, a former, and highly decorated U.S Navy Seal. Was tasked with one job, and one only. To keep the President of the United States alive. He failed, and he wasn't used to failing. He was used to winning. So, when he awoke to a room, filled with blood, and his colleagues, he knew it was looking bad, he aimed his pistol at the only other Agent in the room. "What the hell happened here? My head.. I think somebody knocked me out" Marcus said, rubbing his sore head. The dead President caught his attention next, and Marcus immediately lowered his pistol, and checked for a pulse. "Mr President, can you hear me?!" He shouted, pushing him off his chair and performing CPR. No good. The President had been filled with bullets, and there was no return. The Secret service radio buzzed to life. Reporting rouge Agents within the White house.

"We have a problem"

"These boys tried to execute me the second I came to investigate. I heard something - suppressed gunfire, so I kicked the door in. Worst fears realised; there's the President, dead... Next thing I know, our own guys pull their damn guns on me." The other still-breathing agent in the president's office muttered.

He was new, but certainly not inexperienced. Randall Cross, or 'Randy' to most, was an ex-Force Recon marksman, one of the deadliest shots the country had to offer. After retiring from the USMC for reasons relating to the loss of several comrades, Randy was contacted by the Secret Service to act as a ballistics advisor - to determine where and when people may be able to take pot shots at the President himself. After successfully saving their leader once, the guy decided to join up for good.

...He'd never expected to be standing in the same room as the President himself. Even more so, he couldn't comprehend exactly what the hell had happened here. It was pretty obvious, but... why?

"Do we call it in? I already took out the assassins - we should be in the clear... God damn it, I can't believe this..."

"Our own guys did this?" Marcus asked, confused. "Shit, erm.. Okay. We'll tell them what happened. Call it in. I'll submit my side arm, they'll know I didn't shoot our leader" Marcus said, not really having faith that they would believe them, but he guessed the truth would come out. That they would be in the clear. He clicked on his ear piece. "Hello, does anybody copy? Agent Marcus on the line, assigned to President detail. The POTUS is down. I repeat. POTUS has been killed. Send in backup to the oval office, ASAP" Marcus reported over the SS lines of communication. "Done. Now we wait"

"Now we wait..." Randy agreed, nodding once before checking the not-so-friendly friendlies he'd shot for life signs. Nope. His aim was still perfect, ...but now he wished he'd let at least one of them live. That dead eye of his didn't agree, and put down everyone in the room.

Thirty seconds passed, feeling like a damned hour thanks to the suspense of the situation, "Come on... SS operators don't take this long to respond, what gives?" Randy sighed heavily.

"I don't think this is good, not for any of us. We're in a bad situation right now, the way it looks? One or both of us killed the President. I know it wasn't me, and I'm near on %100 it wasn't you. Maybe they'll believe that we took down his killers. Let's find out. We go out there, and surrender our side arms straight away. I don't want to give any reason for them to drop us where we stand, agreed?"

"Ah, shit... I see where this is going, don't you? We go out there, they have more than enough reason to put us down the moment we show our faces, whether we're carrying our guns or not. It's a difficult situation..." Randy said in a hushed tone, "Let's wait and see. Maybe we'll hear something on the radio, or get called out at some point by some idiot with a loudspeaker," he suggested.

"What do you suggest we do? In that sense, we're screwed either way. We run, we die, we go out there, and we potentially die. What's the next thing to do? Wait and see what happens?"