ASP: First Strike
by Scott Arnold

A tall man in crimson robes stares at himself in a mirror, his eyes heavy with the weight of what he must do. His build suggests him to be middle-aged, but with two fingers he traces a wrinkle on his face worn of cares, and bitterness, beyond his years. One last deep sigh escapes before he fits a dark metal mask over his mouth and nose, then pulls a hood down to his eyes. He turns, straightens his posture, and leaves his private quarters.

As he steps into a long, stone hallway a cloaked guard raises his arm to salute; a golden snake wrapped around his sleeve catches the light of a slowly flickering torch. The hall smells of a century's dust and is silent save for the man's booted steps across the limestone floor. Two more guards, similarly dressed, salute their leader as he nears the end of the hall, then turn to push open a pair of large wooden doors that let out a creak and a moan.

The man steps through onto a raised platform in a large, open chamber. The walls here are also of laid stone, the ceiling supported by ancient pillars, but echo the sounds of modern technology. High on the far wall a huge digital screen displays satellite telemetry of the Sahara and casts a soft light into the room. To either side of the screen large crimson banners hang with the emblem of a golden asp. The man walks towards a large chair facing the main screen, but passes it to stand at a balcony overlooking the rest of the room. The floor below is full of activity as similarly cloaked figures bustle about from numerous computer stations. One such figure approaches the man and salutes. "Sir, we await your orders."

The commander clears his throat and all motion ceases; all eyes turn towards him. In a deep, authoritative voice that resonates throughout the chamber he speaks "Brothers! For too long we have waited, while the enemy whispers empty promises and insults our very manhood, while our government does nothing! Well tonight we take matters into our own hands, and our enemy will learn to fear Asp. We know the government will brand us as criminals; they will condemn our actions as too harsh. But remember, our enemy struck first, and continued to strike despite our pleas for mercy! No, our measures are both justified and necessary. Remember, we do this not for ourselves, but for our children, that they may not have to suffer the way we have. Now... let us begin!"

He takes a step back and carefully seats himself on the throne. He barks orders that are echoed back in confirmation. "Initiate transfer. Lock on target. Charge the weapon."

Somewhere in high orbit over Africa a dormant satellite whirs to life. A metal panel slides open and a large cannon extends towards the planet below. A dozen solar cells, already spread like wings, transfer enormous amounts of energy to the weapon until it is glowing with power and the entire satellite rattles, on the verge of tearing itself apart. Back at ASP headquarters the man raises his hand to speak: "On my mark... Fire!" The satellite unleashes all its power and a glowing lance of energy hurls down to the earth. All in the ASP chamber look up at the monitor where the image of a majestic palace is suddenly consumed in a shaft of light. An explosion roars, a cloud of debris is tossed into the air, and the image goes black.

Cheers erupt over the chamber floor, but fall to a whisper when the commander stands to again address them. "Gentlemen, that Nigerian Prince will never bother us again. Tonight we celebrate victory of the Anti-Spam Patriots' first strike. Now, someone go upstairs. Recon reports that the pizza's almost here."