Listening to Bad Religion...

Maybe you loaned me your car in good faith, and I wrecked it, leaving you without a way to get to work. But I don’t give a crap, because I’m rebellious.

Maybe you needed comforting in your darkest hour, and I tried, I really tried for a little while, but ultimately couldn’t be bothered to do much, because, you see, I’m rebellious.

I wanna live in your house, eat your food, stink up your bathroom, spend your money and expect you to listen to every low-birthrate idea I have as if it’s the gospel, all while I call you every name in the book, because I’m rebellious.

Yeah, that was your little sister I experimented on last night, and even while she cried tears of blood to you as you begged her to go to the doctor, the embarrassing pain kept her locked in her room. Sorry about that. I’m rebellious.

My poetry is facile, my valor paper-thin, and my bravery short-lived, but I’ll fill your ears with my rage. And if in fact if it came to an actual fight, I’d hide behind you. I’m tough as nails as far as I know: I’m rebellious.

I embrace collectivism, except for me (can’t go with the crowd, now can we?). Religion sucks, except what the church of what I want right now. I’ll wipe my ass with anything you hold sacred, and I’ll burn down your house to toast marshmallows.

I’m rebellious.

Don't tell me:

You haven't thought of it:

Across the blue and metal Los Angeles skyscape, a dark late model SUV crests a small hill and charges hell bent into the city below. At the helm is none other than Jack Bauer, again, pushing the vehicle full tilt and operating a cell phone with one hand and steering, navigating and computing with the other, again. The vehicle is badly damaged. So too is Bauer, again.

“Chloe! Damn it! What the hell happened back there?!” (And 2 ½ million shots of vodka disappear across the collegiate countryside.)


In a private room in CTU, Chloe, at a computer screen, responds with characteristic understatement, “Jack we’re still working on it. It looks as if you’ve been ambushed.”

“You think?! Everyone was full auto, and we held them with what we had but, Chloe, these people were trained and they were well armed. Military weaponry. Right now I’m guessing Hassan’s men. Only he had the resources to put together something like this so quickly.” Bauer grimaces as he stares out the windshield. There’s blood coming from his mouth – bright red.

Jack slams the dash. “Damn it!” In a hundred colleges, more vodka disappears. Then more quietly, “Chloe, I’m a mess. I got real lucky back there.”

“Also, Chloe, tell Buchannan that there was someone else there, too. I think he’s the reason that I’m still here. I have no idea who he was or where he came from, but he was definitely a pro, maybe military. We’re getting help from someone.”

Buchannan leans in over the speaker phone, behind Chloe: “That’s a negative, Jack. This is a completely black operation (again!). You’re operating on your own, and without the consent or the support of the President on this one (again!). We’d definitely know if one of the other agencies was involved.”

“No! That’s not what I mean! I can’t tell you much about him, but he was European, probably British from what I heard when he shouting. He was good, Bill, and he kept this op alive. We need to find out who or what he was all about.”

“I’ll get with Intelligence and see if they can advise on any friendly foreign ops dealing with Hassan that may have crossed over our borders.”

Chloe interjects, “Jack, we’re starting to see some security footage of what happened.”

What they saw was Bauer huddled behind his truck (again) with said truck slowly transmogrifying to junk as the bullets riddled it. Two security guards lay dead. Near an industrial and drab looking building approached a phalanx of gunmen, all firing. Their weapons were powerful, judging by the recoil, and the truck – though armored – didn’t stand a chance. Bauer was already hit once.

Next they saw what Chloe would later describe as a systematic dispatch of a superior force using tactics, luck and small arms. One of the gunmen – the one lagging the others - went down, fired upon obviously from behind. Only one of the phalanx noticed, turned to see what happened, then turned again to notify his squad mates. He went down before he could accomplish this. Now, five were down to three. As those three went turned to assess just what the hell happened, Bauer returned fire from the direction they were no longer facing. Down went another. At this point it looked as if someone were trying to communicate with the remaining gunmen. Bauer and his unknown ally took advantage of the ensuing confusion to kill the remaining two.

They only got one brief glimpse of the rescuer as he crossed behind the truck to help Bauer in. He was male and athletic. Chloe could not make out any features, but… was that blond hair?

Bauer coughed into the phone, “And Bill?”

“Yes, Jack. We’re here.”

“He’d been drinking. A lot."

Hey, it could happen.