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from the massive crowd defined the moment. The press shouted their questions, trying to overreach security with their microphones.
    “Back away!” commanded the guards.
    The media did not heed the warning. “Move!” With his massive forearm a guard drove a reporter into the ground.
    In emotion unbecoming of the circumstance, the faces of the former hostages appeared vacuous. The energy surrounding the moment appeared to have no effect.
    Following an arduous trek, they eventually reached the podium. It seemed cold and, notwithstanding all the people, very lonely. The front of the podium displayed the seal, “Metropolitan Police.” In reality, the local authorities couldn’t have been less in control.
    Wasting no time, the commissioner approached the podium. He was greeted by a seemingly endless sea of microphones, cameras, reporters, and inspired citizens.
    “At approximately 5:45 this afternoon, members of an extreme Islamic militant group known as the Loyalist Ali Front, or LAF, infiltrated the Palace of Westminster and took four members of the House of Commons hostage.” His eyes remained glued to his notes. “There were ten men involved in this terrorist act. Not knowing their weapon capabilities or if they intended to harm the hostages, we had little time to act. To ensure the lives of our MPs, we saw no other option but to take swift action. With the help of the military…” the commissioner took a second to acknowledge the soldiers that stood behind him, “…we carried out a successful raid and killed the terrorists. As with most terrorists, we can only assume their primary goal was to disrupt our quality of life. At this point we have no reason to believe more attacks are imminent. I would now like to bring forward MP Richard Sykes. This is obviously an emotional time for the MPs and all their families. We ask the media to be respectful. He only wishes to say a few words.”
    The commissioner stepped aside and proudly shook the MP’s hand as he reluctantly stepped to the podium.
    From his breast pocket, Sykes pulled out a postcard sized piece of paper and unfolded it carefully. His eyes purposely avoided contact with anyone in the crowd or beside him on stage. The onlookers and media remained amazingly quiet, eagerly awaiting his testimony. He delivered his speech in much the same way as the commissioner—with stunning apathy.
    “When confronted with a tragic situation, you never know how you’ll react. Such was the case for me and my three fellow countrymen. At first, it was simply some yelling from down the hall. Before we knew what happened, four masked men burst into our room. They put guns to our heads and began shouting out commands in what sounded like Arabic. We could not understand their orders, so they beat us with their weapons.”
    Sykes took a step back to calm his emotions. In a touching display of solidarity, one of his fellow MPs placed a caring hand on his shoulder. The surge of camera shutters embraced the moment which would come to symbolize the ordeal. With the help of his colleague, Sykes managed to gather his composure. He returned to the podium with a quivering voice.
    “They tied us all together and put us in a closet. All I could think about was my family at home and wondered if I would ever see them again. We sat tied, blindfolded, and gagged while they spoke amongst themselves.”
    Despite his best efforts to remain strong a tear formed in his eye. The pride he regarded as his greatest virtue disallowed him from wiping it away. As a result, the tear broke free and gracefully rolled down his cheek.
    “When our brave military stormed the room and started shooting, we all thought we were going to die. It lasted barely a few seconds, but as you can imagine, it felt like an eternity. I know many of you want more information. We ask that you please respect our wishes and let us heal.” He took a deep breath. The next words would be the most difficult. “God save the