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An Untimely Awakening Part 1

Phillip Davis was a retired accountant from Fort Wayne, Indiana. He was seventy-four years old, a widower, and those were probably the two most interesting facts anyone knew about him. If you could find someone who remembered him at all, they would likely tell you he was entirely unremarkable, and also that they were depressed now.

He was a man who won the lottery twice and never cashed in his tickets, a man who performed each job with an almost calculated balance of competence and lethargy, he was a man who took mediocrity to middling heights, and whose ability to go unnoticed was remarkable only in the fact that it was never noticed.

Whenever an opportunity presented itself, whenever he had a chance to stand out for a moment, for good or for ill, Davis unerringly managed to steer it back into obscurity. If anyone had cared, they might have said he was very passive, but persistent about his self-destruction.

And his story, such as it was, would have ended that way, if not for one sunny October afternoon, when, while flipping through channels on his dusty television in his curtained living room, he managed to catch the precise combination of words he'd been subconsciously listening for for his entire life.

The change was sudden and unpleasant. His remote and iced tea hit the floor as he doubled over on his arm chair, head cradled in his hands. Training he'd never known he'd had came flooding back, and long lost knowledge was suddenly fixed in his mind as if it had never gone.

When he finally stood and checked his surroundings, he stood taller than he had in years, and moved with an economy of movement he'd never possessed. His mouth was dry, his head hurt, he was confused, tired, and strangely angry. Part of him knew he wasn't thinking quite right, that his thoughts were slow and muddled.

But there was one thing he knew for certain. He had to kill Richard Nixon.



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