Based on a Concept by Corey Ayers and Brandon Michael Bolin
It was a pleasant afternoon in the theatre the president chose to patronize for the evening; he and his entourage had chosen a well reviewed edition of Our American Cousin to view, and unfortunately not featuring the equally well reviewed Mr. John Wilkes Booth. Even that decision had been made with the utmost care, Mr. Lincoln’s staff knew of the animosity the actor had toward the president, and wished to not spoil the evening for the president or for the actor.
This proved to be a mistake glaring enough to cause tragedy.
“Sic Semper Tyrannis!” shouted the adrenaline fuelled actor, he had prepared the next trick to truly confound the theatre. John Wilkes Booth lit his outer-cloak on fire, and jumped into the chaotic crowd. The crowd, as easy to influence off the stage as on, had taken the bait laid by Mr. Booth and his simple theatrics had been enough to cause pandemonium within the crowd, every man with a cloak was under suspicion, and people were trying to located the mastermind while fleeing the scene of the murder.
An officer on the balcony shouted at the crowd with great force, “Find a doctor, find a doctor, the President has been shot.” This man’s news was enough to shake the mob’s spirit to its core. If pandemonium had already broken loose, hell was now on the prowl in Ford’s Theatre. The people, who had been shouting about a man on fire and a gunshot earlier, were now mourning the president while even more frightened of the now incognito assassin.
Mr. Booth used this lack of order to his advantage, as had been his original plan; he quietly slipped out of the building through the actor’s section, where he simply had to shout the news at the top of his lungs to throw suspicion off of him as being into any dealings of a non-legal kind. This news brought new life to the pandemonium, and Mr. Booth worried that he had misjudged the mettle of humanity, and that his actions would cause both the chaos he wanted, so that his countrymen could rise in defiance, but also a spirit broken in everyway. The people he dodged as he headed toward the door were not only frightened, but they were listless, leaderless, and hopeless. These people would put up no fight to his people’s demands, but they would also be easier to lead, and easier to turn against his people. This was a variable he had not counted upon when he eliminated the tyrant lizard in man’s clothing.
Mr. Booth was finally let out into the street, the people shouting in terror and confusion could be heard behind him, so Mr. Booth took the direction that led away from the terror and started to walk. His plan called for him to meet with an ally at the edge of town and follow the ally through the houses of various fellow conspirators. This plan was still in place, and Mr. Booth expected to find his ally waiting for him at the road to Richmond, and the road to Freedom. On Mr. Booth walked, dodging confused and scared looking faces, lost without their tyrant the people of D.C. were in mourning almost as soon as word got out.
As Mr. Booth rounded the corner, he saw a group of soldiers hassling a group of men go towards the theatre, “Sir, sir, I wouldn’t go that way, haven’t you heard? The President has been shot in the theatre down the road, anyone on the street from that direction is to be picked up and questioned.” This turn of events shocked the actor; the warm gun was sitting in his coat’s pocket, and he would most assuredly be called into suspicion. Mr. Booth looked around him, he was flanked by storehouses erected to support the Army of the Potomac, and one such storehouse entrance was located not thirty feet from where Mr. Booth found himself standing, jauntily strolling to the storehouse door, Mr. Booth planed to cross the interior of the storehouse, and climb out of the building via the ventilation windows that stood at head level for Mr. Booth.
When Mr. Booth entered, he found not a near empty storeroom, but a man in an Army uniform sitting at a table in the centre of the room. This man had not yet noticed the entrance of Mr. Booth, but that would not last for long. Mr. Booth would just have to approach this man and hope he had not yet heard the news of what was expected of Union officers by the hysterical officer from the theatre.
In his haste to deduce a way out of his conundrum with the officer, he almost failed to realize the man was sitting in front of something rather large. The device was rather large, he gauged it as roughly the same size as a large coach. Emblazoned on the side of the device were the letters “TESLA-3,” which Mr. Booth was unable to recognize as anything other than a designation of name. He concluded that the device was called the Tesla-3, and that the man in the officer’s uniform was its owner. As he had never seen anything like the Tesla-3, he presumed it wasn’t a Union weapon, so he felt safer continuing the distance to the “officer.”
The man behind the desk looked up and waved Mr. Booth into a seat across from the man.
“Ah, you must be Mr. Booth,” said the man behind the desk, without waiting for a reply he continued, his voice growing colder and less magnanimous with ever word,” Allow me to introduce myself; I am a man of wealth and taste. I would like to employ you and your, esoteric, skills. Specifically, Mr. Booth, I believe you are the perfect man to pilot this current project I am working on, so I ask of you, Mr. Booth, Are you a Patriot?”
“Good sir, I am a man who stands by his principles. My principles guide my actions, not the authority of the men who claim to represent the interests of my community,” Mr. Booth said slowly, drawing on each word as a reprieve from the verbal knives the man across from him spoke with.
“Mr. Booth, are you a Patriot?” the man repeated, with more animosity in his voice.
“Good sir, I have answered the question.”
“Are, you, a, Patriot?” the man enunciated each word carefully, as if his accent was preventing communication between the parties.
“Sir, I do not need to take this, I am leaving,” Mr. Booth said with force while rising from his seat.
“Mr. Booth, Yes or No, are you a Patriot?” the man had stood up, and Mr. Booth could now see the pistol aimed at Mr. Booth’s chest, Mr. Booth sat back down quickly, “Good, now, answer the question Mr. Booth, are you a Patriot?”
“Yes, I am a patriot.”
“And whose cause do your serve?”
“I serve the cause of the Confederate States of America; I serve the cause of the South.”
“Good, now that that is over with, Mr. Booth, follow me into this cab, and I shall show you the necessary steps for you to complete this project for me,” the man picked up a cane, and Mr. Booth noticed for the first time the condition the man’s uniform was in, the edges were fraying and the colour was faded, it had been a trick of the light that he had earlier mistaken this criminal for an officer. Mr. Booth noticed the man’s laboured gait, as if he had seen combat long before and was feeling the true effects of a bullet wound. He said to Mr. Booth with mass ferociousness, “Mr. Booth, I implore you to join me in this carriage so we may continue our business elsewhere.”
Mr. Booth had decided that it had been decided long before he had stepped into this room that he would follow the man into the Tesla-3, and Mr. Booth had decided that if he were to defy whatever power sent him to this location and time, he would receive his response to his insubordination in a rather mortal way. The answer to his short debate was simple, he chose to live and to serve this odd man who was armed with cane, pistol, and Tesla-3.
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