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JoneStranger is a self-styled vigilante, ex-US Army intelligence officer (full bird colonel) fed-up with runaway crime, failure of law enforcement to curtail crime in fictional city of Metrobia, like gang turf wars over illicit drug trade, police, political corruption. 

JS’ alter ego  Rushia (RUS-sha) Gerard makes himself a committee-of-one to make an impact on the madness, initially to bring to justice the young urban thugs (JS calls Yutties) to justice, whom law enforcement has had little success (purposely) in interdicting.

What drives Rushia Gerard into action is a rumor on social media of a declaration by Crips and Blood gang factions a 100-day gangland murder spree to kill 100 innocent people adorned in a red or blue clothing item. Several random shootings marked by one physically-challenged teenager who wore green laces in his sneakers sends JS into the night to find and apprehend the shooter and deliver him (with evidence) to the Metrobia County Sheriff Department or the Metrobia Police Department (MPD) 77th Street station. 
JoneStranger is adorned in carefully designed attire that blends with his environment (black trousers, shirt, gloves, loose-fitting trench coat, black Stetson brim hat). Attire blends with ordinary to onlookers. Items are in actuality high-tech garments digitally wired, bullet-proof, stab proof; Wears a high-tech waist-belt device that obscures his physical appearance rendering him nearly invisible at night. 

JoneStranger zips about in the darkness in a modified Swedish-made hyper sports car—the Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut, with a top speed of 330 miles per hour, the fastest car in the world.



JoneStranger’s modus operandi is to refrain from killing, but when unavoidable can and/will use deadly force in drastic situations. As story evolves, he will kill one individual who left him no choice. This is when law enforcement interest in him will go from casual annoyance to “Top-10 Fugitive" when charges against him escalate to homicide. 

JS has a number of miniature immobilizing crime-fighting devices at his disposal attached in his light-weight trench-like coat. Here is his total weapons cache (doesn’t carry all of these weapons at once):


•  Light weight flex steel toe/rubber sole boots 
•  Black attire is light weight made of special super tough fabric
•  60,000 watt miniature rechargeable (cell phone-size) taser  
•  Tranquilizing darts tipped with concentrated ketamine tranquilizer 
•  Red powder mist immobilizer (small cubes that explode into red mist on impact)  
•  Special light-weight alloy .357 magnum with 20-clips and silencer 
•  Miniature lithium battery-operated police scanner 
•  Portable lithium battery operated night vision (infra-red wrap-around eyewear); cell phone and camera 
•  Specially-designed unbreakable, cut-proof, fire proof plastic hand ties
•  Street fighter. Japanese combat judoka/jui jitsu expert; Zendoryu karate, Hapkido expert.  JS’ repertoire of offensive/defensive skills include pin-point kicks, punches, knee strikes, back fists, 180- and 360-degree spinning kicks, elbow strikes, knife hands, ridge hands, back fist/bottom fists, spear hands, joint manipulation, arm/wrist locks, arm/knee bars, and a multitude of chokes. 

JoneStranger also employs tiny robotic creepy-crawlies—Micro Drone Insect Operatives or MDIOs  that ingenuously mimic bugs, insects and arachnids, engineered with cameras and recording devices for intelligence gathering. The design of US biomechanics, the MDIOs operate as flying drones—bees, flies, butterflies and dragonflies—and common crawling insects like water bugs, beetles, grasshoppers, locusts and crickets.

JoneStranger targets murderers, thieves, rapists, drug dealers, gang bangers, abusive cops, and illicit drug lab operatives—message to them, “I will be watching!”

Will be spun around real crimes in the fictional city of Metrobia with interplay from mayor, council, police chief, activists, community leaders with fictitious names to provide a sense of reality, although the storyline will be enhanced with false, but imaginative angles and sub-plots.


JoneStranger is not a full-time crime fighter, but hits the streets periodically to throw off law enforcement about his movements, and to keep the Yuts (Young Urban Thugs) and other criminal elements skittish, unable to get too relaxed for fear of “The Spook With the Brim” as they call him, lurking nearby at the edge of darkness.

JS: EP 1


The 'Green Shoelaces' murder




Rushia Gerard springs awake, abruptly throws the covers from his body,

knowing he has much to do. A glance at his bedside clock reveals a false

alarmit is only a quarter past five. He’d been restless all night and

 didn’t sleep well. The green shoelace killer weighed heavily on his mind.

Hopping out of bed, Rush grabbed his bathrobe and flopped into the

big black leather chair before his computer, fired it up and waited 

for the Google 10 logo to appear. 

Before the screen in thought the lit screen casts him in silhouette:

“Crimes have gone down since I slept…. I know County Sheriff

Rob Muna's cowboys failed to corral the killer of that young boy!

Perhaps the press should pay more attention to escalating

crime in Metrobia, and less to side-shows like

Ronald Rump's media theatrics!”

"The strategy meetings between the political heirarchy

gettin' stale. Mayor Katie Fisch, Congresswoman Roxanne

Rivers, Sup. Janna Hall and Muna may mean well, but I



“Time to make another roundpay those Yuts, the 

Lime Street gang a night call. They killed that kid

‘cause he wore greenlaces! And they're still

walkin' around free and braggin'!

“I’ll round ‘em up! Congresswoman Rivers is

right‘someone’s gotta pay for the damage they

did to Metrobia, flooding it with drugs and guns!'”


Consternation in his expression.

“… and gotta plug the cartels too or they’re

gonna reduce America to a stupor ...

if she's not already there!

"But, first need to gather some intel on the

 Lime Street gang responsible for the kid's

murder. They hang out daily at The Bistro ... .

I'll pay the joint a visit and deploy MDIO-1 to

 gather some irrefutable intel for indictment 

and conviction... ."


Rushia Gerard sits at a patio table outside The

Bistro inconspicuously munching on a double

cheeseburger and fries, having already released

MDIO-1 water bug, which scurried to a hidden locale

out of sight inside the guest dining area ahead of any

of the arriving Lime Street gangsters.

 "Now, I'll await for the transferral of the intel..."

 Rushia thought to himself, slurping a Pepsi.


Several hours elapsed since Rushia Gerard planted

the robotic spy at The Bistro, now enveloped in the

darkness of nightfall. The Lime Street gang numbered 

20 strong on this nightseveral engaged in a game

of bid whist, four more slamming dominoes, and the

rest munching edibles, fixated on the Lakers and

 Nuggets game on a mounted 60-inch big screen.

Unbeknownst to them, the robotic spy had been

gathering intel and transmitting undetected to 

Rushia Gerard for hours now in a chandelier 

hanging from the ceiling.

The bid whist action dominated the scene,

with the gang set's 30-year-old leader Rayvon

"Gallows" Charles commanding attention with

his raucous outbursts.


Slapping a winning card hand on the table...

"That's a plus-seven," he bellowed. "Me and my

pot-ner triumph! Hell, that was easier than

smokin' that lil chump wearin' green shoe

strings in my 'hood! He had to go, and ya'll

gotta pay! That's "Gallows" truth!" 


"MDIO-1 aced it!" Rushia Gerard shouted.

"Got a confession and photo ID. I will make

a house call tomorrow at The Bistro to gather

the package for the Metrobia County Sheriff,

 along with digital evidenceand a scoop for 

Metrobia Herald Editor Jerrold Goodfellows...


"I will sleep soundly tonight."


initiated his action plan before sunrise,

messaging the same intel directly to both

the rookie Sheriff Muna and the Metrobia

Herald's veteran publisher Goodfellows. 

Glancing at his watch, several hours expired

since he pushed the "send button" on his PC.

"Both men should have the message by now,

aware that an extraordinary event will befall

them soonthat a new breed of crime snuffer

will emerge in Metrobia to make the city a

safer more lawful place.

MEANWHILE ... at both Sheriff Muna's office and

the Metrobia Herald, similar energy was churning.

Muna read the note with interest, aware from

36 years in law enforcement that vigilantes would

from time-to-time rise with grandiose notions of

single-handedly circumventing crime. Muna was

very careful not to overreach as former Metrobia

Police Chief Renard C.P. Larks had done in the

1990s to Kurt Sliwall and his Guardian Angels,

when they voluntarily instituted patrols of 

Metrobia's worst neighborhoods.

Instead, he assigned Undersheriff May Tardee

to follow-up and keep him posted.

At the Herald, Jarrold Goodfellows wasn't

about to pass on a potential scoop, unaware

if any other media had been apprised. He

assigned coverage of the story to long-time

reporter Doug Lincoln and the Herald's

star photojournalist Roddie Rashly. Their

task was to quickly get the story posted

online ahead of the competition. 


The Bistro was teeming with activity, with the 

entire Lime Street Gang presentas was the case

most nights during the weekengaged in table-top

gambling, billiards, attuned to sports on the big

screen or chowing down.

They hadn't noticed the sudden appearance of the

guest adorned in all black at the entrance to the

cafeuntil he caught Gallows' eye.

"This ain't open to the public from 7 to 10 p.m.

it's a private party," Gallows lied, something

he and his cohorts had been doing for a year to

maintain their exclusivity. The owner dare not

object and the gang kindly obliged him with $10k

per month to serve them food, and to use the

cafe as their private gang set for three hours on

weekdays and two additional hours to midnight

on the weekends and holidays.


The stranger held a red cube in his right clench,

trench coat collar turned up, and brim hat tilted

low over his brow so that his face was hardly

discernable. He also wore a black mask over his

mouth and nose, and didn't flinch.

"I said this is a private set, maanwhy you still

standing there?" Gallows barked. That's when all

eyes turned on the stranger, who subsequently

tossed the red cube several feet above the gang,

hitting the ceiling and bursting profusely into a

red mist, quickly enveloping the entire cafe in

a rouge mist, rendering everyone instantly

unconscious, collapsing to the floor and

slumping where they sat. 

Unfortunately, the cafe owner suffered the same

fate. But the stranger took special precaution to

turn off stove-top burners and ovens to prevent

a fire in the cafe.

"Never planned to remain here, Gallows," the stranger

said, after which he shackled the gang leader's hands

together with two indestructible plastic ties around a

circular steel pole in the center of The Bistro dining

area extending from the floor to the ceiling. 

The stranger emerged from the cafe activating a device

within his trench coat that renders him hard to detect

during nightfall. He blended into the darkness not a

moment too soon.

Just then, four Metrobia Sheriff units pull up and one other

vehicle bearing a reporter and photographer from the Herald.


The time was 8 o'clock p.m.


JS: EP 2


By the Light of the Moon:

Justice in the 'Green Shoelaces' murder



Sheriff Rob Muna didn't take part in interrogating

suspects or attending interrogations. But this one was

special involving the slaughter of a kid scarcely

past the growth spurts of puberty.

The indicted but yet unconvicted Rayvon Charles, aka "Gallows,"

was seated on a stool with hands bound behind his back.

"I just had to see for myself what kind of muck puts a .38

caliber slug into an unarmed kid over some damn green

shoestrings?" Muna said.

"I'm innocent. I AIN'T DONE WHAT I'M ACCUSED OF ...

THIS IS A RACIST SET-UP!" Charles snapped.

"Oh, we got our man! We have your confession on tape, 

and a video of you mouthing the confession bragging

about your deed, Rayvon Charles, alias GALLOWS!"

Charles turned to Sheriff Muna in the low-light room.

 "The Sheriff Department ain't pissya'll deputies ain't dog

piss! Some spook in all black crashed our party and somehow

drugged us," Charles complained. "Next thing I know, um in

the back of a police car! My homies laid it out for me!

That's got to be illegal!

"The evidence will stand up in court this week, where I'm

confident you will be found guilty and hopefully put away

for life in a Federal or State penitentiary!" Muna scowled.

"You won't be a guest here at Metrobia Central, long.

We're shipping you out, Charles!"

"W-h-a-t-e-v-e-r ... just another Black political

prisoner," Charles bemoaned.


"Send this misfit back to his cell!" 



Sheriff Muna stood at a podium joined by Undersheriff

May Tardee and other members of his brass. He revealed

a disconcerting expression to a bevy of reporters and

photojournalists assembled before him.

"I don't know how a newspaper managed to upstage me,"

Muna said, "but they did. Anyway ...







A local activist interrupted the sheriff, holding a

newspaper above his head bearing the a banner


"Looks like there's a new sheriff in town," joked Ali Najae,

prompting members of the press to turn to him.

"Where did you get that?" a young White female journalist

from the mainstream Metrobia Examiner asked.

"I don't knowyou'll have to ask them ... the story reads the 

Stranger said his name was 'Jones'. I don't know. Interview

the editorJarrold Goodfellows," Najae chuckled.

JS: EP 3


MDIO-WB Keeps on Transmitting:

Slippin' Into Darkness

Early Friday morning, Rushia was on the computer checking

with MDIO-1 to listen in on the chatter at The Bistro. Gallows,

their leader was tucked away in the California Correctional

Institute at Carlsbad, but it was business as usual with the

gang set busy as normal in the proliferation, movement

and sale of illicit drugs in Southern California with the

Colombia-based Zorra Colombiano Cartel .

A red light flashed intermittently on the computer

screen. Rushia was eager to learn what intel the

robotic operative had gathered for him this time.

"MDIO-Water Bug has attained the following intel for

Agent Rushia Gerard by text messaging and audio:

First, the test message: 'Representatives of the

Lime Street Gang will meet with representatives

of Zorra Colombiano Cartel @ 1 a.m. Sunday next,

at the remote rear of the South Bay Airport for

the transfer of 1000 multi-colored plastic 

vials, each containing 1,000 tablets of the

opioid fentanyl for a combined total

of 1 million tablets.'"

"Now the audio intel."

Rushia zeroed in on one of the Lime Street gang

Caspar Robinson, aka "Boo," who assumed "No. 1 G" 

in place of the deposed Gallows who was sentenced

to 90 years+ 10 years for each of the Andrae Tay's

12 years of life, without the possibility of parole.


Rushia Gerard turned up the volume on the PC.

"The meet and exchange of the package is set for

Sunday at 1 a.m.," Caspar confirmed aloud

to no one in particular.


"This one is extra SWEEET! Gonna make

bank on this one. Gotta do our due diligence.

Who said the American Dream ain't for us?

Believe that if you want sucka. Not me!

Turn up the jams—let's party!"

The Lime Street gangsters were completely 

oblivious to MDIO-1 and its meticulous spy work.

It hadn't occurred to them the place might be

bugged. Rudy Smith, The Bistro's owner, had

his suspicions that the gang was being watched.

Rushia Gerard pushed back from the computer

screen, rubbed his eyes and sighed.

"There's a helleva haul coming in," he mused. "This may

 be one of the biggest illicit movements of fentanyl in the

drug's history. Well, I'm gonna upset the apple cart.

"Uncle Sam is a chronic addict, and his lust for

mind-altering drugs is being fed at every turn. He's

desperate to escape the realities of life."


"All quiet at ground zero—a mite too quiet," the

stranger thought, sitting in his Black Cloud Koenigsegg

Jesko Absolut cloaked in near invisibility at the end of

the back street bordering the airport. "I'm indebted to 

Army engineering for creating this cloaking mechanism

that enables me and the car to blend in the darkness ... 


"Engenders the 70's soul classic, 'Slippin' Into Darkness,'"

by War," the stranger chuckles. "I inherited my dad's gold

LP collection. That jam soothed me a many days. But,

here I am now, slippin' in the darkness..."

Movement at the other end of the block snapped the

stranger out of his trance. He'd done his part. In position

and ready to close in once the cartel contacts appeared

with members of the Lime Street gang, were the sheriff

department, Drug Enforcement Agency, ATF, agents of

the FBI, and South Bay Police. They had positioned

themselves out of sight since the afternoon.


The stranger was only there to observe and mop up

any stray bad guys attempting to slip the trap. The

coalition had no inkling of his presence.


At 10 p.m. four vehiclesall dark-colored SUV's

turned onto the street and parked spaced apart

at the other end of the block. The stranger spied

them through night-vision goggles. Several men

occupied each vehicle. They did not exit the

vehicles immediately. 


The stranger knew they were scanning the area

for anything appearing conspicuously out of place.

Unbeknownst to them, they had already given the

coalition justifiable cause to search them.

Four SUVs appearing roughly at the same time late

at night on a sparsely driven street was suspicion. The

stranger wondered what was holding the coalition back.


"I gather the drug dealers are content to wait as close

to the switching hour or until 1 a.m. to execute the

transfer, making sure of no encroachment," the

stranger surmised.




The stranger flashed the time on the dashboard.

The time was 12:30 a.m. There had not been any 

movement from the occupants in the SUVs for

more than two hours since their arrival.


Then the stranger discovered why. Abruptly

appearing in the sky was a single helicopter

that didn't betray it presence. The stranger

spliced it all together.


"Obviously the other half of the party

most likely the Zorra Colombiano Cartel

arriving in a stealth chopper."     


The stranger watched the helo through his

night vision goggles touch down minus any lights

or noise. He readily recognized the craft.

"Hmmm ... heavily modified Sikorsky UH-60

Black Hawk helo, specifically to achieve several

goals: invisibility to radar, reduced infrared signature

minimizing the heat emitted by the engine exhaust,

and acoustic noise reduction," he thought. "The

cartel certainly has the money to buy such

 crafts, no doubt through a third party."

It all became clear to the stranger.

"I understand now why the coalition didn't move in

when the SUVs first arrived. They had intel I didn't, 

that the cartel would arrive separately by helo.

Kudos to them! he said.

The stranger watched 16 occupants vacate the

SUVs and enter an unlocked gate to the tarmac.

He knew someone at the airport had abetted

the drug exchange—clearing the helicopter

landing, and leaving the gate unlocked.

"I'm confident the coalition will tie-up all the

pieces in the caper," the stranger thought,

as he could see coalition members with guns

drawn, slowly moving in on and surrounding

the illicit drug merchants.

Then, in a July Fourth-esque explosion of flash

bang grenades, flashing red lights, wailing sirens

and a bullhorn blasting commands, the quietly

serene wee morn was transformed.





DE TUS CABEZAS!" a second command blared in Spanish.

Members of the coalition began handcuffing the drug

dealers, while others removed metallic cases containing

the contraband from the helo.


The operation was carried out without a hitch. Not

one shot was fired in the sting with a round-up

of 20 total suspects, and an estimated grab of

1 million fentanyl tablets. 

The stranger was gratified by the outcome of the

operation. It was just one more evil deception

crushed into defeat. 


Rushia Gerard knew that the South Bay Airport haul,

and the huge intercept augmented by The California National

Guard supported counter-drug operations of the seizure of more

than 1 million fentanyl pills at the California-Mexico border two

months ago—including more than 592,900 pills at the state's

 ports of entry, didn't amount to a scratch in the big picture.

JS: EP 4


Morning Ritual:

Fitness to ocean sea breeze

20240507_174336 (5).jpg

Rushia Gerard's lair overlooks the Pacific Ocean, tucked

 away amid the rugged embrace of terrain created by the 

canyons and mountains throughout the Palisades. Panoramic

 vistas prevail offering sweeping views of the ocean shoreline,

  dramatic undeveloped scrub canyon and mountain landscapes.

Perfect seclusion for him and his alter ego.

Rushia took it upon himself to retreat to the rear—military

jargon of rest and relaxation from the front lines of criminal 

interdiction in Metrobia and to throw-off law enforcement,

  lest he provide insight of his clandestine movements. 

The secluded property was formerly annexed by the Oxnard Air

Force Base, part of Air Defense Command in Camarillo, Calif., as

the residence for commanding officers of the 414th Fighter Group,

the last of whom was Col. Paul D. Cofer when the base was still active.


The installation, which was built in 1940, served the US military until

1970, and was home to the 354th and 437th Fighter Interceptor Squadrons.

The base fielded F101 Voodoo interceptors, which were replaced in 1960 by

17 new F-106 Delta Darts. The base was highlighted in US Air Force Training

Film "Nuclear Attack Preparedness Procedures: Survive to Fight."

On January 1, 1970, Oxnard AFB, which deployed 99 officers and 990

enlisted personnel before its closing, was deactivated and the base became

surplus property. Through a special arrangement with the US government

and the army, the five-thousand square foot property was purchased from

the US Air Force for a sum that remains undisclosed. The property also

included some high-tech modifications—an olive drab eight-foot

high metallic grill around the perimeter of the property, wired

with cameras and motion sensors that spied twenty-four

 hours. The grill blended with the soil and rugged scrub

 brush from the air, and included an access gate

   for the Absolut that opened and closed on 

     voice command from inside the vehicle.


  The property also included a heli-pad for stealth choppers that

  was camouflaged from the air. The craft were able to detect

the landing pad in darkness and light by onboard

   sensors and receptors embedded in the pad.   

Fortunately, Ret-Col. Rushia Gerard was authorized

with the unrestricted use of the compound.


Rushia Gerard rolled out of the sack at 8 a.m., Saturday morning. Peering

through his bedroom window, which overlooked the ocean, balmy, grey overcast

skies filled the canvas. Through an open screen, a restless wind was adrift,

complementing ocean waves crashing the rocky seashore 300 yards away.

It was symphonic to Rushia's ears.

Rushia slid cocoa blinds to one side, opened the sliding window all the 

way, and deeply inhaled the sea breeze that wafted in.


"I just love the smell of fresh ocean air in the morn," he exclaimed,

parting a thick tan cotton bathrobe to allow the breeze to envelop his 

muscular dark-skinned six-foot frame.


When it gets warmer in the summer, I won't be wearing these skivvies to

bed, Rushia said walking back to his PC. Slurping his brew quickened

him to a daily ritual he had overlooked.


"Maan, I got calisthenics to do!"


Rushia burst into a rendition of Robert Preston's morning exercise

theme song, "Chicken Fat" ...




Rushia Gerard turned on a music tape of Preston's "Chicken Fat," as he

has done for 30 years on active duty to keep his physique taut, firm, and

ready for any physical challenge that might present itself on the dark, cold

streets of Metrobiafollowing the song's commands for multiple sets

of push-ups, sit-ups, deep knee-bends, body, arm, and neck twirls; 

jumping jacks, running in place, bicycles, and a variety of martial

arts techniques, including straight punches, knife hands, spear

thrusts, knee and elbow strikes, frontside-thrust, back, and

spinning back kicks; and blocks.

Following 30 minutes of exercise, Rushia entered his spacious

bathrooman exquisite work of craftmanship featuring marble face

bowl and drawers with pearl handles, and a huge 6x10 foot bevel crystal

glass mirror ringed with miniature one-hundred-watt light bulbs,

a silver-plated toilet, and a padded oak bench with footrest. To

one end of the bathroom was a steam room with two levels of

red wood bench seating, room enough for a dozen persons.


But the defining features of the bathroom were its step-down bathtub

and jacuzzi with twelve jet nozzles, and a large rustic slate & quartzite

shower bearing multiple copper fixtures for convenience and pamper.

This was the ultimate shower for the alpha male or female built to

accommodate two in sheer luxury.

But for now, it was the sole haven of Rushia Gerard.

He had grown to appreciate the finer luxuries of life as a reward of

sacrifice, hard work, and preparation.

Stepping out of the shower, spot-drying his chiseled black body

with a soft, oversized white towel, Rushia harbored special

praise for his benefactor:

"Thank you, Lord for all this you've blessed me with.

I am truly humbled."

JS: EP 5



Intensity of Criminal Turpitude 


First Lt. Rushia Gerard's military career was shining brighter than the north star

very early soon after matriculation at the Virginia Military Institute, where

he graduated at the top of his class of 600 cadets.


Only 23 years old and two years removed from college, Rushia was already

totally immersed in military intelligence norms at the Central Intelligence

Agency, where he had been highly sought bearing a high-level recommendation

by the then Forty-second President Greg H.W. Bosch. Cadet Rushia

had maintained the highest scholastic standards, earning a

baccalaureate degree in Global Military Intelligence,

compounding a perfect 4.0 GPA.

Additionally, he successfully completed ROTC Advanced Camp at Fort Knox, KY,

was designated as a "Distinguished Military Graduate" by the Professor of Military

Science there, and ultimately ranked in the top 1 percent of United States

Army ROTC Cadets nationwide in 1999.

Lt. Gerard's life and career was surrounded by family luminaries. His wife,

Second Lt. Jeanine Gerard, in service to the US military, as well, was a army communications officer at the Pentagon in Arlington, VA at the time. Her

father, Ret.-Gen. Zachary Otis taught "History of Warfare" at West Point,

following retirement from active duty where he commanded the all-Black

92nd Infantry Division in Sommocolonia, Italy. Of the 909,000 Black

Americans selected for duty in the Army during World War II, only

the 92nd Division saw infantry combat in Europe.


Rounding out Rushia's circle of luminaries was his mother-in-law

Maybelle Otis, a retired professor of African history at

Spelman College in Atlanta, GA for twenty years.


Lt. Jeanine had arranged for her parents to be part of a special media

tour of the Pentagon on Sept. 11. 2001. Lt. Rushia was scheduled as a guest

of the tour delegation but was forced to cancel a week earlier after

CIA operatives in the Middle East uncovered a plot by Islamic

terrorists to attack targets in America in September.


The plot involving the US proved prophetic. The glimmer radiating

around Lt. Rushia Gerard was shattered on Sept. 11, 2001, when Islamic

jihadists hijacked American Airlines Flight 77, deliberately crashing into

the West Wall of the Pentagon killing 189 — 58 passengers, 125

Pentagon personnel, including 6 hijackers.  Lt. Rushia's wife,

motherand father in-laws perished in the attack.


Ironically, the 9/11 tragedy could have been averted had the

CIA been able to clearly decipher its findings one week earlier. 

The plot involving a team of suicidal al-Qaeda operatives crumbled

the World Trade Center when American Airlines Flight 11, and UA

Flight 175 plowed into the skyscrapers at 600 mph, with a

fourth plane crashing in a field in Pennsylvania at 10:03

a.m. after passengers fought back. Intel surmised the

hijackers planned to attack the Capitol Building

in Washington DC.

The CIA quickly learned American Airlines Flight 77 was a scheduled

domestic transcontinental passenger flight from Dulles International

Airport in Northern Virginia to Los Angeles International Airport in

Los Angeles. The Boeing 757-223 aircraft serving the flight was

taken by five al-Qaeda terrorists on the morning of Sept. 11, 2001,

as part of the Sept. 11 attacks. 

Flight 77 became airborne at 08:20 ET. Thirty-one minutes after takeoff, the

attackers stormed the cockpit and forced the passengers and crew to the

rear of the cabin, threatening the hostages but initially sparing all of them.


Lead hijacker Hani Hanjour assumed control of the aircraft after having

undergone extensive flight training as part of his preparation for the attack.

In the meantime, two people aboard discreetly made phone calls to family

members and relayed information on the situation without the

knowledge of their assailants.

Hanjour flew the airplane into the west side of the Pentagon at 09:37.

Many people witnessed the impact, and news sources began reporting on

the incident within minutes, The Boeing 757 severely damaged an area of

the Pentagon and caused large fire that took several days to extinguish.

By 10:10, the damage inflicted by the plane and ignited jet fuel led to a

localized collapse of the Pentagon's western flank, followed forty

minutes later by another five stories of the structure.


Flight 77 was the third of four passenger jets commandeered by

terrorists that morning, and the last to reach a target intended by

al-Qaeda. The hijacking was to be coordinated with that of UA 93,

which was flown toward the US capital in Washington, D.C., The

terrorists on Flight 93 had their sights set on a federal target

not far from the Pentagon, but were forced to crash the

plane in a Pennsylvania meadow when the passengers

fought for control after being alerted to the previous

suicide attacks, including Flight 77's.


Lt. Rushia Gerard conducted himself becoming of a professional

soldier and intelligence officer, even though he was under great

duress over his loved ones in harm's way.


That became the impetus for him to devote a solo career to fight

a blitzkrieg against criminal malfeasance in Metrobia,

and wherever he encountered it.


JS: EP 6


City of South-East Metrobia 

straight outta.jpg



South-East Metrobia is a city of 98,000 in Metrobia County, populated

primarily by Blacks and Latins. Blacks retain a strong grip on political

power, even though out-numbered three-to-one. But accounting for

the heavy numbers of Latins are undocumented persons, who have 

not gone unnoticed by the US Citizenship and Immigration

Services, US Immigration and Customs Enforcement 

and the Metrobia County Sheriff's Department.

While the three agencies are keeping a watchful eye on the

undocumented populace, Rushia Gerard has developed a keen

interest in South-East Metrobia due to credible intelligence

that the city, which is patrolled under contract by the

Metrobia County Sheriff's Department may harbor an

illegal deputy gang called Executioners, an outlaw

group mired in racism and lawlessness. 

Sheriff Rob Muna denies the existence of the Executioners, but

US Congressional Representative Roxanne Rivers called for a

  Department of Justice inquiry into the existence of the gang.



Up at 6 a.m., Rushia Gerard worked out for an hour,

showered, consumed a breakfast of hot oatmeal, sliced

apples, scrambled eggs and sausage and freshly

squeezed orange juice, before plotting a

strategy of action for SE Metrobia.

"South-East Metrobia is not a town I have had much

interest in," Rushia thought. "The confusion there is

untenable. A couple mayors have exacerbated the

undue tension that roils daily—namely twice-

elected Chyna White, and now Irma Shareed.

But that's politics—not my baliwick!"



"My interest is the existence of the Executioners,

who need to be eradicated, if they do indeed operate

there, and to a lesser extent—for now anyway—intel

that indicates truckers in 18-wheeler semi's may

periodically roll into South-East Metrobia at

the airport in the wee hours off-loading

illicit drugs and guns."

The time was now 9 a.m. Rushia knew the drive time

from Oxnard to South-East Metrobia was going to

consume more than ninety minutes and could

take longer if morning traffic persisted.

"Okay—will be deploying two MDI0 agents—at

the South-East Metrobia sheriff's sub-station, and

the airport traffic control tower," Rushia said,

recording the message into his cellphone.

"Time to go!"

Rushia entered the garage attached to the house,

where his black Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut and white

Range Rover SV Carmel were parked.

Entering the Range Rover, he turned on the ignition,

then activated the system-wide security system to the

compound, which wouldn't go hot until the vehicle

passed the gate. He glanced quickly about, then

proceeded ahead to the main gate, which

opened and shut automatically.

Rushia drove slowly another half mile along a gravel road

before it became Occidental Drive, which ensued for another

quarter mile before arriving at Interstate 101 at a stop

sign. Rushia looked left, then turned right onto I-101,

quickly accelerating to high speed.

Traffic was light on a beautiful sunny morning, amid a

cloudless powder blue sky. Rushia embedded ear plugs and

turned the radio dial to his favorite Christian talk radio

station—KKLA 99.5 FM, where programming included

progressive talk, Bible teaching, news, and 

contemporary Gospel music.

"Lord, what good Word do you have for me today?"

Rushia invited. "Lord, I accept all the wisdom you want

to impart to me as I undertake this mission today.

Oh gentle Savior, cover me with your protection

as I enter the stronghold of the enemy. I am

declaring the victory in your precious

holy name, Jesus—Amen. 


Operatives MDI0

Waterbug and Dragonfly

The succession of KKLA-FM radio talk programming and praise music

was so relaxing to Rushia Gerard, and the Carmel Range Rover such a

smooth ride, fifty-five minutes driving time felt much shorter to him.

Encountering very light traffic, Rushia was already transitioning from

the 101 South to the 405 East flying past Westwood and UCLA.


South-East Metrobia was only thirty-five minutes away now.


Rushia thought the time was appropriate to brief his tiny

operatives on their mission. A digital app embedded in his

vehicles allowed him to speak to his robotic cohorts to plot

intelligence strategies against an enemy or target—in

this case the S.E. Metrobia Sheriff's station, and

the airport traffic control tower.

The communication was one-way—from Rushia to

the MDI0s. This generation of robotic units weren't

engineered to exchange discourse; but merely to

absorb strategic planning. Rushia was only able to

input to one at a time.


He turned off the radio.

"MDI0 Waterbug, Come Alive!" Rushia commanded.

The units were in a wooden enclosure in the

vehicle console. MDIO Waterbug acknowledged the

transmission, emitting a pulsating red aura in its

abdomen, and its antennae moved circularly.

Rushia noticed traffic was slowing after he exchanged to

the 10 Freeway from the 405 near Western Avenue. He

also peeped a California Highway Patrol motorcycle

officer through his left sideview mirror, twenty feet to

his rear shadowing and watching him.

"This guy's got his eye on me. But why? I'm moving

with the flow of traffic ... must be 'DRIVING IN AN



"MDIO Waterbug—Stand By/Stand Down!"

Rushia ordered.

MDI0 ceased to pulsate immediately. No sooner

did he order it to "go dark," did the CHP officer

flash his blue and red lights and blip Rushia to 

pull over. Rushia was in the third of six lanes and

the officer stalled traffic in the first and second lanes

permitting him to pull over to the right shoulder.

Rushia's driver's license and registration were in

the console preventing any unnecessary movement.

He watched the officer through his side view mirror

slowly approach him, then he pressed the button

lowering the driver's side window.


"Driver's license and registration, please!" the

officer asked politely. 

"Sure, officer," Rushia acknowledged without malice, 

grabbing his registration and wallet from which he secured

his license, handing them to the officer. He was burly 

more than six-foot.

"Sit tight. I'll be back shortly ... ."

Rushia watched the officer walk back to his cycle

and call his information in.

"He's checking to determine if the Carmel's stolen,"

Rushia thought, jotting down the officer's badge

number and name on a notepad. "CHP 6856.

His name tag read 'T. Cox.'" 

In less than five minutes the officer returned

the items to Rushia Gerard.

"Retired army colonel, eh? I served two army

tours in Afghanistan," the CHiP officer said.

Rushia Gerard was not impressed.

"Just wanted to peek the car, Officer Cox?" he deadpanned.

"No sir. Standard procedure for extremely expensive

vehicles," the officer responded.

"More like an unwarranted stop to me... ."

The officer grinned wryly. 


"Have a pleasant day, colonel," he said walking back to his cycle.

Rushia didn't start the ignition right away. The CHP officer 

motioned for him to enter traffic while he stalled oncoming traffic.

But Rushia sat there. He didn't have to move.

mdio wb.jpg

The officer doused his flashing lights and finally sped away.

Rushia started the ignition, signaled left and entered

traffic, which was flowing freely.


"MDIO Waterbug, Come Alive!"


MDI0 WB was pulsating luminous red at once and

twitching its antennae.

Moments later Rushia Gerard was transitioning

to the 110 Freeway South from I-10

"MDI0 Waterbug, Notate! S.E. Metrobia Sheriff Station

is your target for intel. Upon arrival seek cover, avoid

identification and capture. Seek photo and audio intel

of the presence of Executioner deputy gang. Over!"


MDI0 WB then went dark.


"MDIO Dragonfly, Come Alive!" Rushia commanded.

MDI0's sheer wings pulsated luminous blue. 

"MDI0 Dragonfly, Notate! The S.E. Metrobia Airport

Air Traffic Control Tower is your target for intel of any

suspicious activity. Gather photo and audio intel by

aerial means; avoid identification and capture.


Zero in on the suspected presence of gun-running

and illicit drug trafficking by small single and double

engine aircraft, helicopter, 18-wheeler semi trucks

or any other vehicular means parking on streets and

in lots parallel and adjacent to the airport.  Over!"

MDIO Dragonfly then went dark.

A few minutes later Rushia Gerard exited the

Harbor Freeway at Alondra Boulevard. Towering in

the distance was the S.E. Metrobia Superior

Court Building situated downtown.

The sheriff's station was in the same complex.

The airport was a mile due West.

Rushia arrived at the S.E. Metrobia Airport first.

Exiting his vehicle, he gingerly gathered and cradled

MDI0 Dragonfly in his right palm, raised his arm

high, and the robotic spy fluttered into the air

toward the air traffic control tower, where it

would launch its covert operation.

"Now onto the sheriff's station," Rushia muttered,

Re-entering his vehicle, the crimefighter drove three

minutes to Willowbrook Avenue, where he turned right

and parked directly in front of the mid-sized station,

 next door to City Hall and Council Chambers,

and where the mayor's and council offices

were located.

Before he exited the car, Rushia placed MDI0

Waterbug in the right pocket of his sweater.

Walking up a slight metal-railed incline, Rushia gently

took MDI0 WB from his coat pocket, releasing it behind

him outside the entrance to the station to avoid video

detection by digital cameras, which may or may not be

concealed. MDI0 WB was going to have to use its

ingenuity to gain entry into the station.

Rushia was surprised to find the waiting area of the

sheriff's station so austere and uninviting. The first

thing that caught his attention was a help counter 

shielded by thick bullet proof plexi-glass, which

spanned the width of the public area.

Rushia approached the lone deputy at the counter.

"I'd like to know when Capt. Jon Bonhart will host

his next 'Coffee With the Captain'—I'd like to

attend," Rushia Gerard pretended.

"Those coffee klatches meeting times change all

the time, sir. You'd do better checking the website

at for updates.

That's my best advice," the deputy said.

"Okay, thanks deputy. Much obliged."

Exiting the sheriff's station, Rushia exhaled. This was the

town he grew up in, matriculating at Franken Roosevelt

Junior High, and Manuela Domingo High School where

he ranked third academically in his graduating class.

Rushia Gerard was an only child born to Jay and

Charlotte Gerard. His parents succumbed in their

early sixties to natural causes ironically days apart

while Rushia was away preparing for military

service at the Virginia Military Institute.

The interment and double funeral he was granted

special leave by the army to arrange, had been the

saddest time of his life. Months later he was tasked

 with having to arrange the sale of the home he'd

grown up in, to a young Latino family. 


Rushia contemplated driving to his old home

at 1528 S. California Ave. for nostalgia reasons,

but he turned back after driving onto Greenleaf

Avenue, which intersected with his old street.

He loved his mom and dad and was content to

tuck them away amid his fondest memories 

of them in his heart, soul and spirit.

"This town is not the same place I once knew.

It's a stronghold of vice now. But mission accomplished

today. Better be getting back to Oxnard. I'll do more

to interdict the vice here that has ruined a once very

nice middle class enclave.


"But I will be back to help lift up this town, eradicating

the dark virulent shadows that have seized

S.E. Metrobia," Rushia promised. 


Fort Belvoir, Virginia

US Army Intelligence and

Security COMMAND

ft belvoir.jpg

Rushia Gerard was thankful the return trip to his Oxnard compound was much faster than the drive to S.E. Metrobia minus the traffic. Back at his computer, he ran a quick assessment of MDI0's Waterbug and Dragonfly. He was pleased to learn that Waterbug

had successfully infiltrated the sheriff's sub-station, and Dragonfly was perched atop the air traffic Control Tower awaiting nightfall to probe the tower, airport and corresponding activity.


Rushia also noticed a message from intelligence headquarters at Fort Belvoir.

Fort Belvoir, VA, the United States Army Intelligence and Security Command

(INSCOM), is a direct reporting unit that conducts intelligence, security and

information operations for US Army commanders and partners in the

Intelligence Community, and national decision-makers. 

Ret.-Col. Rushia Gerard owes all of his intelligence capability to INSCOM.

A gifted intelligence officer when he was on active duty, primarily keeping track

of the globe's tyrannical terrorist strata in the Middle East, the army's powerful intelligence component have now provided Rushia with the power and apparatus to interdict the criminal strongholds in Metrobia, the drug cartel intrusion, political/

police corruption, and other facets of criminal malfeasance that may manifest.


Rushia hastily received a message from the Sierra Army Depot, a strategic

component of his crime fighting network, providing critical logistics support

including compound maintenance, vehicle mechanics, fuel, clothing, food

and water, and toiletries. The periodic visit also provided medical exams

to assure he was in top health. Rushia looked forward to her calls.

"Hello Maj. Smith, how's my favorite 'Gingerbread,'" Rushia teased

audibly, referring to commanding logistics officer, Maj. Ginger Smith.


Maj. Smith is based at Fort Belvoir but rendezvous' with the Sierra Army

Depot to join with key personnel and gather supplies, including gas and oil

for his vehicles, which were always topped off, and the surplus left behind.


The major attained a medical degree from the University of Chicago. After a

one-year residency, Smith was admitted into the University of Chicago Medicine physicians a University of Chicago Physicians Group, which includes about 900 physicians and covers the full array of medical and surgical specialties. The

physicians are faculty members of the Pritzker School of Medicine.

Smith was already enrolled in Reserved Officer Training Corps when

she entered UChicago Medical School. She had a duty to serve, and

and always knew the right time would converge, preparing her for

   interdisciplinary thought leadership to lead within the military.


Maj. Dr. Smith had a lot crammed into that brain of hers, but

no one could determine that by looking at her calm, youthful

demeanor. At thirty-nine, she looked ten years younger.  

Her appearance was probably due to an ever-present smile.

"I'm doing fantastic, Col. Gerard. I trust you are as well?"

"I absolutely am. This operation couldn't be smoother."

"I'll have to take your word for it on a number of things

due to the classified nature of them," Maj. Smith resigned.

"We will look at the high performance Koenigsegg Jesko

Absolutthat's one of the tasks."

"The Koenigsegg is out of this worldjust a fantastic machine. 

And the cutting-edge enhancements are incredible," Rushia said.

"We've got a lot to go over when we get there, colonel.

High priority, at the least, anyway," Maj. Smith said. 



CHP Unwarranted Stop

Rushia did not forget about the CHP motocycle officer that ordered an

unwarranted stop on him, and the deliberate lie he spoke about certain

expensive vehicles being subject to law enforcement stops. A high-level Army

intelligence officer, he knew everything there was to know about global

terrorism, domestic terrorism, and US law enforcement agencies

operating outside of the purview of the law.


Now he was going to file a complaint with the US Justice Department,

California Highway Patrol, California Attorney General, and Metrobia

District Attorney to impart a lesson to CHP Officer T. Cox.


And he had direct access to the top personnel due to his stature

in the global US and allied intelligence community. 

Rushia was going to present himself as a solo victim of

an unwarranted stop because he knew police, deputies, 

and state patrol officers did not maintain official records

for unwarranted vehicle stops as a standard procedure.

But he possessed the intel to prove what occurred

to him may befall Black and Latino motorists 

routinely on a national basis.


Rushia presented as "Ret.-Col. Rushia Gerard of Army

Intelligence, because he knew there would be no mistake

who he was. The respect was high-level. No major metro

police chief, county sheriff, federal marshal or state

highway patrol officer didn't know who he was or

his stature in the intelligence field.

He initially sent emails to each agency's boss at 

the US Justice Department, California Highway Patrol,

California Attorney General, and Metrobia District Attorney.

But now they were returning his call.

One call zinged his office land line, and another rang

on the second of four lines, going directly to voice mail.

"Hello, Col. Rushia Gerard," he answered.

"Good afternoon, Col. Gerard! Delighted to hear from you,"

CHP Commissioner Shaun Dury said.

"Good day Commissioner Dury. I'll get right to the point.

I sent an email earlier to apprise you of an unwarranted

traffic stop regarding me, that I documented from the 

beginning to the end I hope you might investigate."

"Yes, Col. Gerard. I read the message, and I must say,

I'm disturbed. The department is on top of this and

probing Officer Cox's actions," Dury said.

​"The Commissioner of the CHP is responsible for one of the largest

law enforcement agencies in the nation," Dury explained. "With more

than 11,000 employees and 100 offices, the CHP is responsible for

more than just patrolling the more than one million miles of road.


 "It also serves in protecting California citizens and visitors against

terrorism, computer theft, and is responsible for emergency response,

anywhere in the state. By land, sea, and air, the CHP is there to provide

the highest level of Safety, Service, and Security," Dury added.

"I hold the CHP in the highest regard," Commissioner, Col. Rushia

said. "That's why your officers must harbor a sense of discipline and

the highest professional conduct. It must always be the honor

systemyou never know when someone's watching."

"Sir, the CHP will investigate, and submit a report

to you. We will not tolerate a rogue patrol policy

that is not CHP policy."


"Thank you, Commissioner Dury. Much obliged,"

Col. Gerard ended.


Rushia saw that the second call originated from the

California Attorney General. The AG Walt B. Csonka left a

 message for him to call back ASAP at (916) 210-6276,

extension 711. 

Rushia dialed the number. Surprisingly, it was picked up

on the first ring. It was AG Walter B. Csonka.

"Greetings, my friend Col. Gerard. How are you dear Sir?"

"I'm doing great, optimistic," Attorney General Csonka,"

Col. Gerard professed.

"I was hoping you'd call back before I had to leave for

a news conference, which I'm due for in ten minutes,"

Csonka said. "Colonel, I want you to understand, I will

pressure the CHP to discipline the motorcycle officer for

his unlawful activity. Errant law enforcement cannot

be tolerated. My office will not stand for it."


"I'm thankful for your concern," Attorney General. "I'm

concerned whenever crime happens at the hands of

criminals in the street or at the hands of lawmen and

 lawwomen that masquerade bearing a badge or shield."


The time was five-thirty five p.m. Rushia was pleased

that fifty percent of the powerful men that headed the

agencies he petitioned, reached back to him promptly.

Given they were as critically busy as they were, it could

have required several days for a response. It demonstrated

the gravity of importance attached to Col. Rushia Gerard, 

and what his skills meant to national security.

Rushia was content to wait until the Metrobia District

Attorney or the US Justice Department responded by letter

or phone, when the phone rang a third time at five-fifty five p.m.

Rushia Gerard was mildly surprised.


"Col. Gerard!" he said tersely.

"Absolutely, Col. Gerard! How are you this day?"

greeted Metrobia County DA Joseph Newfield.


Like the others, the district attorney had sat through

a number of Army intelligence briefings by Col. Gerard

on the possibility of domestic terrorist assaults

on home soil, especially in the wake of 911.

"You know I'm not one to complain, Joseph. It

 never worked in the Army. It will not work now.

You know that ol' buddy!'

"How well I know, Rushia. Well, how are you getting

about. As for me, I recently won a second term to

to the District Attorney's office."

"I'm working on some minor projects that keep me

 consumed keeps my noggin alert," Rushia said. 

"Nothing momentous like your work bringing charges

against criminals, indicting them, ultimately

convicting them in a court of law, sending

them to state or federal prison."

"I've been in meetings the day long, Rushia," Newfield

said. "Unfortunately, I was only able to read your

very important letter a few moments ago."

"I appreciate that, Joseph."

"Obviously, I don't have any jurisdiction over the

California Highway Patrol as Metrobia DA," Newfield

said, "but I'm a good friend of CHP Commissioner

Shaun Dury, and I'm going to lean on him to brand 

Officer Cox not terminate him, but hand him

the full letter of the law for that traffic stop."

"I'm gratified, Joseph,"


Rushia thanked his long-time friend and Iran War veteran.

"My comrade you're one of the top soldiers

the United States Army ever produced. You're

one of our distinguished and noble. What our

nation owes you is an incalculable debt."

"It sounds like a cliche ... freedom come

at a high price, Joseph. But that is

exactly what America requires."

"It certainly does, Rushia. Good night."

"Good night, Joseph."

Rushia Gerard revealed a slight smile, folded

his arms and eased back in his recliner.

"Three out of four ain't bad," he exhaled.


Another Shadow

Descends On the Street


Rushia Gerard knew tonight's mission cracking down on a major movement

was going to be special. It was going to coincide with a smuggling operation in California, Arizona and Mexico, integrating a network involving Gov. Gabe Oldsom, doubling the California National Guard’s Counter Drug Taskforce operations

statewide, including 400 service members at ports of entry along the

borders of Arizona and Mexico. 


Embedded in cross-government initiatives to combat transnational criminal organizations and the trafficking of illegal narcotics—like fentanyl—these

Taskforce have been hired, trained, and placed at key locations statewide.​

Specifically, the Taskforce focuses on gathering information to interdict

illegal narcotics trafficking, utilizing air and ground assets to build criminal investigations, and supporting personnel at border ports of entry to stop

illegal narcotics trafficking.

Earlier this year, Gov. Oldsom announced CalGuard operations supported

the seizure of 5.8 million pills containing fentanyl this year alone. Last year, the governor increased the number of CalGuard service members deployed to interdict drugs at US ports of entry along the border by approximately 50 percent.


The operations CalGuard supported resulted in the record seizure of 62,224

pounds of fentanyl in 2023—a 1066 percent increase since 2021. CalGuard’s coordinated drug interdiction efforts in the state are funded in part by California’s

$30 million investment to expand CalGuard’s work to prevent drug trafficking

by transnational criminal organizations.

While the taskforce will attempt to interdict the Zorro Colombiana Cartel,

Rushia and his alter-ego will launch a surgical strike on the cartel and a new mysterious individual, who intelligence has identified as someone of considerable finances wo operates with the realm of voodoo and black magic. Intel wants

to disrupt the rapidly-developing ties between the entities before they

forge an iron grip on the Southland and all of California.


Rushia was mired in deep thought, looking ahead to tonight.


"The one thing I know ... a majority of fentanyl is smuggled into the US

at ports of entry by US citizens, not by migrants seeking asylum, according

to the Department of Homeland Security. They've got a bad rap!

They're not all drug dealers and bad people," he mused.

"And thank God, Gov. Oldsom's staff and the California Department of health

are aware that synthetic opioids like fentanyl cause 70 percent of overdose

deaths. Californians can get help for prevention and treatment, and on

how California is working to hold Big Pharma and drug-traffickers

accountable in this crisis," Rushia said.

Rushia cued up his mini recorder to document the state of affairs ... 

"The state is now set to purchase life-saving naloxone for approximately half

of the current market price—saving more lives with this drug and maximizing

taxpayer dollars ... the governor’s Master Plan for Tackling the Fentanyl and

Opioid Crisis addresses the opioid and fentanyl crisis, including through

aggressive steps to support overdose prevention efforts, hold the opioid

pharmaceutical industry accountable, crack down on drug trafficking,

and raise awareness about the dangers of opioids, including fentanyl."


"That's a rap! The FBI, DEA, ATF, and Sheriff Department have all

been notified," Rushia said. "NOW HURRY SUNDOWN!"

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