The King was dead. But he did not die
the way we were all led to believe. He died defending our great
nation from a small scale Martian attack. Small scale. As if there's
such a thing when it comes to Martians. No. It is referred to as
“small scale” due to the fact that only 83 lives were lost.
Shortly after his death a new king would emerge. A reluctant king.
Martin Luther King.
Jr.
“I'm not sure about this, my brother”
MLK said told me that faithful day. “If Elvis couldn't survive them
damned Martians, what chance do I have?” I understood his lack of
faith in this regard. Martians are a tricky lot. Sometimes they stood
as large as skyscrapers, wiping out entire city blocks with a sweep
of their hand. Other times they were the size of molecules disguising
themselves as viruses.
“Elvis wasn't the only one, Martin”
I told him. “There are others like you.” I pressed a small button
hidden in my cuff-link and in entered the rest of the team. A
legendary team whose efforts would be hidden from history until now.
Th3rd Strike.
