Peace

It was a chilly day in Washington DC, mid-February if I can recall. The Capital City, once a place where anyone could come and live prosperously has now become a secure stronghold where the President, Oscar Booth, governs his nation from the White House. The city looks straight out of 1984. Security cameras and propaganda everywhere on the streets, increasing in quantity as you move closer to the border wall.

The Metropolitan Police have grown exponentially in size, becoming like a small army. Metro Police have outposts on every block in the city, save for the outer limits, where it's reduced to one every few blocks. The largest platoon, however, has been charged with the greatest task in the nation: defending the White House, the Ground Zero for the coming conflict.

President Oscar Booth sits in the Oval Office behind his grand desk, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. Booth's young, but young enough that his hair isn't graying and his face is slightly wrinkled. There's a strange look in his eye. A look as if he has something massive planned for the country. Behind him, the doors open and Francis Lincoln, the United States Secretary of Defense, enters the office.

"Good morning, Mr. Booth. I'm glad you answered my emails, I've been trying to meet with you for months."

"Take a seat, Lincoln," Booth commands. Francis obeys and sits across from Booth. "I read your plans for additions to the armed forces. I like them. But I was thinking: Why not make that a global thing?"

"What do you mean, sir?" Francis asks.

"I was inspired by your plans to create a new domestic defense corps to combat crime."

"But sir, crime has dropped by seventy-five percent since you entered office, why would we need a domestic peace-keeping corps?" Francis asks.

"Because our people still have free will and nothing to convince them not to commit a crime. The people need something physical to fear. Cameras and posters won't scare them into conformity, but a physical army will. Imagine it: a precinct in every city, keeping a watchful eye over every home, every restaurant, every bank, anywhere that can be robbed, and be able to prevent the crime in an instant," Booth explains.

"That sounds... scary, Sir," Francis says.

"There would be no need to be scared, Francis. There would be only peace!" Booth exclaims.

"And what do you propose we do with the criminals? Build more prisons? Ship them off to an island to die?" Francis asks.

"It's simple... we kill them." Booth grins.

"We WHAT?!"

"There will be no need for prisons anymore! We can tear them down and turn them into housing!"

"For who?! You're talking about killing off our nation's population! That's practically GENOCIDE!"

"Look at everything we've already accomplished, though! How much of a stretch would this be?" Booth asks.

"Too much, Oscar. Too much. I'm sorry, but I'm out. I cannot, no, WILL not be involved in this... Murder Force of yours!" Francis exclaims as he collects his files and heads to the door.

"It's a shame," Booth says, a smile on his face. Francis stops and turns around.

"What is?"

"Your wife, she's a beautiful woman. It would be a shame if those robbery charges on her were brought up."

"What robbery—oh my God, are you trying to blackmail me?"

"Who said anything about blackmail? The choice is up to you if you wish to walk away from this project. I'm just saying that it would be a shame if your wife were to be thrown in prison, which would, you know, ruin your reputation here and anywhere you'd possibly go to work," Booth explains.

"So that's your tactic? Fear? Alright, Machiavelli, what do you want from me?" Francis asks.

"I want your full backing on this initiative."

"Just because you have my support doesn't mean you have this passed."

"Oh, you weren't the only one on my little list here. You were just the final piece of the puzzle. Now, will you back this initiative?" Francis looks down at the files, then back to Booth.

"Fine. You have my support. Now, what do you propose we call this new Nazi Party?"

"How about... the Peace Corps?"