The Earth’s only moon hid behind the cover of storm clouds, leaving the world below shrouded in a cloak of darkness and rain. The flash of lightning briefly illuminated the darkened master bedroom of the empty house. Its companion, the roar of thunder, followed close behind, waking William Morgan from a deep sleep. He looked around the bedroom; all was dark and the soft pitter-patter of the rain had returned. Morgan -- a member of the United Earth Council -- was not comforted by this -- he was terrified.

He sat up in his bed. “They’re here,” he whispered to himself. “I know that they are.”

Six black-clad men silently crept through the shadows of Morgan’s house. Each was dressed in black from head-to-toe. The only part of their uniforms which broke the pattern was a small gold badge that each wore over their left breast. The badge was a polished gold with a black omega printed on it.

Councilman Morgan glanced over at the other half of his bed -- where his wife usually slept -- it was empty. He was all alone. Morgan let his thoughts drift to a few days ago, when he had last seen his wife and family. They were “on a vacation,” while he “finished up some business with the Council.” The children believed it, but his wife, however, knew the truth; Morgan was going to be killed for knowing too much.

His wife was taking the children to Huron, where they could start new lives, and where they would be safe. He had given his wife a disk with brand new identities on it -- and he made sure that they would not be able to trace it. The councilman had called in all his favors on this one, but it was not as if he would need them in his grave.

“What was that?” he whispered, having sworn that he’d heard a floorboard creak in the corridor outside his bedroom.

The intruders were near the master bedroom now. The man in the lead raised his hand, a silent signal for the others to stop. They did. He pushed a button on the door’s control panel. A red light turned on -- the door was locked. This did not deter the assassin, however. He produced a data-pad, and, using a wire, connected the hand-held computer to the door’s control panel. With a few swift movements of his fingers, he heard the soft ‘whoosh’ that told him the door was opening. The black-clad assassins entered the bedroom, only to find that Morgan was sitting up in his bed -- he was waiting for them.

The councilman’s face was expressionless, and he was trying his best not to show any fear. He heard the soft whining of a blaze rifle powering up, and closed his eyes. Morgan, who had not even been to church since he was in elementary school, decided to accept his own mortality and make his peace with God.

The bolt of blaze energy hit the councilman in the chest, and he died instantly.

The black-clad assassins disappeared once again into the dark and stormy night. They were a squadron of the Task Force Omega, the United Earth’s secret police force. Councilman William Morgan, like many others before him, found out the truth about Task Force Omega, and, for this reason, he was killed.

The storm of the previous night had passed, and sunlight filled the master bedroom. It was a grisly contrast, as the house’s owner lay dead in the middle of the floor in a pool of his own blood. Detective David Clark surveyed the scene. Police officers were searching the room for even the smallest pieces of evidence, but they were finding nothing.

Clark turned to the policeman next to him. “Who found the body?” he asked.

“The housekeeper,” he replied. “She opened the door to clean the bedroom and found him” -- he gestured at the body with his hand -- “like that.”

“What about his wife and kids? They dead, too?”

“No one’s been able to locate them. They left for Paaren a few days ago, but nobody’s been able to find ‘em there.”

“This place has got a security system, right?”

The policeman nodded. “I suppose all the big guys on the U.E. Council or in the Parliament would have ample protection. I’m surprised he wasn’t surrounded by body guards.”

“Did it pick up anything?” asked Clark.

The policeman shook his head. “Nope. There was a -- what did that guy call it? -- oh yeah, a ‘hiccup’ in the security system around the suspected time of death. The cameras and alarm system went off for about five minutes, then came right back on. This guy was in and out -- must have been a real pro.”

“Yeah,” said the detective, seeming rather distracted. Clark was thinking over all of the facts that the policeman had given him. He had a habit of analyzing everything to death. It had to be a pro -- blaze weaponry was rather expensive and civilians rarely had it. Old fashioned guns that fired bullets were common among the civilian population. Clark had heard that even some of the U.E. Marine units had been issued the primitive sidearms during the Voinian War. Blaze technology works on principles similar to the primitive lasers of the early 21st century. A crystal is energized with a great deal of power, and the light it gives off is focused. Unfortunately, this process gives off a great deal of heat. To prevent overheating (and possible explosions), the Human designers created a unique and highly effective coutermeasure. They shot jets of liquid nitrogen at the energy system, quickly cooling the system down to acceptable operating levels. This allows the blaze cannon's famous high rate of fire. A highly effective gyro system keeps the system targeted despite the force of the nitrogen bursts. A side effect of this cooling method is that the bursts of liquid nitrogen occasionally overcool the gyros, temporarily sending the beams off course before they can compensate. The materials that blaze weaponry is constructed are very hazardous if not handled properly, this is one reason that blaze pistols are harder for civilians to get.

So, of course, these guys had to be professionals. They obviously had some connection to someone in the military or the police... Clark realized that the policeman was still talking to him.

“What do you think was the motive? Politics?” asked the policeman. “Yeah,” he answered his own question, “it had to be politics. I mean, who else would want to kill this guy?”

“Could have been politics,” replied the detective. “But you never want to start your investigation with a theory like that. You’ll only be looking for clues that make the motive fit politics, and you might miss the clues that say he was sleeping with someone’s wife or something.”

“I guess you’re right.”

These guys may have been professionals, thought Clark, but I’m going to find them and make sure they find their way on to one of the prison colonies. The detective continued to analyze the situation before him.