Snake had survived. Against all these odds that surrounded him somehow he had made it. These days though he wished he hadn't. Every memory of his past was death. Everything he loved had died. People, in some ways hurt more but were easier to accept. Life was never certain. Everyone died eventually. One day they were there and the next gone. That was life as hard as that was to swallow. Life as always went on. His luck kept him alive even when others died. As much as he hated the deaths around him of people there was something worse.

America had died. Not the government or the country but the ideals he had fought for. Once he would give his life for the country. Had that really changed? The country after all was defined by the ideals. The dead ideals. Plissken sighed and looked up at the monitor. It had gone dark like his soul. The images he had played out were still vivid in his mind. Fire curling up on old paper and the smug smile on Robertson's face. Did he really think burning a paper erased what it meant? Plissken began to wonder. So few of the people who remembered life before the war began were alive or free. Maybe it would pass into memory. Plissken hated to think of it.

Reaching out he clicked the monitor off and sat back in the quiet dark. The America he had grown up in shared the same place in his mind as the friends he'd lost. It fueled the burning coal fire of hate that filled him to explosion. Pressure, pain, hate, all stewing together at the boiling point. The broadcast he'd just watched pushed him somewhere past explosion. Where he was now? He wasn't sure.

He learned now there was a place beyond his hate. Cold, dark and deadly all he wanted to do was kill. Not randomly. No, there was a list rolling through his mind set to perfect pictures. His mind worked in math and crystal clear images. Most of the strongest imagery had been put there by the people on the list. The killers of everything he had a relationship with, even his country.

Snake had not forgotten what was on that paper he watched go up in flames. In elementary school he'd memorized it. Now the words echoed in his head and down into the hollow of his soul where parts of him had been stripped away by death. The country was so far from those words now. There was no more "We the people…". Freedom was dead in America. America itself was dead. Plissken's eye had become riveted on the dark screen.

Moments past before he bolted up to his feet from the worn lounge chair. Something had to be done. It couldn't wait. Plissken couldn't wait. Grabbing his coat he checked his guns and headed for the streets. Someone had to pay for this death like people had for all the others. Snake could turn a blind eye to a lot of things; burning the original Constitution on a nationwide broadcast was not one of them.