Hamlet sighed. He was a rich boy, from a wealthy presidential family in a small Carribean island-nation. He was out of his element. He had been sent to America to avoid what looked like like an upcoming military coup. So here he was, in Miami, looking around the airport like a lost sheep for his next terminal. He could not arrange for his own entourage to whisk him here or there, for fear of being noticed.

What amazed him is that he was schooled with the sons of the same people plotting against his father. Of course, some say that among them was his very uncle. But that was beside the point. What was of most concern right now was getting back home to witness his fathers funeral. Accidental death. Out for a morning jog and was hit by a delivery truck. The president and four body-guards were killed, as well as the driver. It was later discovered that his brake lines had been cut.

So once back in the nation, the surprise (although, to some, not much of one) appointment of his uncle to the president’s position, by-passing the chosen hand-picked successor. So much for democracy.

The only true surprise (“Perhaps it makes sense now,” thought Hamlet”) was the marriage of his uncle to his mother. The freak. For this, Hamlet was incensed. It was a true embarrasment to his family. The confusing thing was that the people were behind his uncle. For some reason, they could see nothing wrong.

For the next several months, Hamlet paced at night, walking the length of the presidential grounds, sometimes taking rides out to hidden places on the island. Clearly, he was taking the changes hard. He was not adjusting. Many times he confronted his family with his plans to return Stateside. They urgently pleaded with him to stay. Something about dealing with your problems, not running from them. So generally, after these conversations, he was persuaded to stay.

Back in the states, he had made several friends at the college which he was attending. One of which, who was aptly named Harry, had taken to quite well. Harry was into new age stuff. Hamlet had also made several enemies. When it was discovered that a group of Computer Science students belonging to a local hacking group Rose Guild had found out the identity of Hamlet (which he had gone to great pains to hide), they were roughed up a bit. But instead of retaliating, they jstalked him electronically. Outwardly, they acted as friends to Hamlet, but all the while gathering information on nearly every aspect of his life.

Harry had come back shortly after Hamlet had taken to moping the island. Harry convinced Hamlet that the answer to his unsettlement would be found in the ouija board. Now this is mere speculation, but the story goes that Hamlet was visited by the spirit of his father that night and informed that his death just was not an accident. He went on to inform Hamlet that it was none other than his uncle who performed this treacherous deed. Needless to say, this did not provide the closure Hamlet was looking for.

Things just could not go right for the boy. First, his country was still on the brink of civil war, despite the will of the people. Then there was his father’s death. Then there was his mother’s quick remarriage. Then this. A visit from the spirit of his father urging him to avenge his death (from a ouija board, no less!).

It is difficult to tell when exactly Hamlet decided that the female gender was the source of all evil. Shortly thereafter his encounter with his ‘father’, he, when seen in public, spurned his girlfriend (her name Fiona, a daughter of the president’s Chief-of-Staff). He seemed resentful to his mother, as well. But without question, we was bitter. At first it started out as inane exchanges between the two, or from him alone, really. Then he began acting overly strange around her, coming short a couple times of calling her a harlot.

Hamlet could not very well act out his first instincts and off the president. First son, or not, he would be tried and executed. Furthermore, it would only strengthen the rule of his hated step-father. Sure, he was the debonaire favorite of his people, but that will only take you so far. So, for quite a while, Hamlet kept on doing what he had been doing to begin with. Not a whole lot.

Now that is not altogether true. He did not much in the way of bringing his step-father down the way the spirit of his own father seemed to want him to. But he did, for quite a while, keep close tabs on the investigation into his father’s death, even long after the local military police had long shut the case.

The president and first-lady were doing a little investigation of their own, as well. They too, employed the power of the Rose Guild hacking group to keep tabs on Hamlet, in efforts to see what the cause of his depression and lack of general involvement with the official functions. This is not to say that the folks were a conniving and sneaky people. Their actions could be explained off as something any parent (with that kind of means, of course) would have done for their troubled son. Whatever their motives, what they found was a prepared and perturbed Hamlet. While he may have been physically uninvolved in many activities, his mind seemed to be sharp and prepared, and while Hamlet let the group believe he was their friend, he still kept a wary eye out on them, never letting on his desire to find the truth behind his father’s murder. He even further confounded Chief-of-Staff Perez upon his attempts to question him. Hamlet was excellent at hiding his feelings. His psyche had been remolded into something not resembling what was actually going on.

He and Harry would go on and on at each other at what to do. Harry, partly because of his being of liberal bent, and partly because he would not want to be responsible for his suggestion of a night of conjuring the dead leading to the premature demise of a minor world leader, would have no part of Hamlet going out and doing anything of revenge, and part of Hamlet could see the sense in that. But then part of Hamlet wanted desperately to do some creative work with a delivery truck of his own.

Due to the combined efforts of Hamlet’s accumulated hacking abilities, the Rose Guild’s efforts were, for the most part, in vain. But occasionally, Hamlet would feed them information to give back to his spying parents. One such occasion stands out.

Hamlet had taken to drawing himself in to his quarters for extended periods of time, being an internet junkie. He was researching ancient texts, among other things, and looking into old European plays and such. In one such hidden archive, he found a Spanish tragedy named Hieronimo Is Mad Again, circa 1585, in which a king is killed by his brother for the queen. Perhaps you have heard of it. At any rate, he became engrossed so much in like texts from similar time periods, that this information, both of what was taking so much of Hamlet’s time, and what the subject matter of the texts were, mysteriously made its way back to mom and uncle. So disturbing were these morbid thoughts to them, that the president himself ordered Hamlet to cease all investigations into his fathers death and into these obscure texts.

Now I cannot guess at the motives of the pr

esident. I can only lay at you the facts of the case. Some say that the president was only looking out for the well being of Hamlet, a misguided youth, a boy not quite understanding what was going on. Others say Hamlet knew exactly what was going on, yet only not brave enough to act on that knowlege. And they would be at least partly right, for sure. Whatever facts Hamlet had in his hands, he had for quite a while, and still no action was taken.

It was public domain at this point that something was going on with the country’s favorite son. “Something’s just not quite right about that boy. His dad’s death musta’ snapped a wire in his ‘ead! His dad was a good fella, he was…”

Hamlet had made up quite a convincing case for himself. To him, it seemed like perfectly justifiable homicide. His step-dad had freaked when the texts of a 16th century equivilent of his crime was displayed in black and white. The night with the ouija board. The father’s spirit. The recurring dreams. This was either one messed up kid, or big fat finger pointing at his uncle.

Not even mentioning the private investigations into his father’s death. Which brings us to the point when the proverbial excrement hits the fan. There were mysterious things happening to the people who helped him investigate. Like the started dying. Finally, after three deaths of independant investigaters, disaster struck. In the wake of a military policeman’s untimely demise, Hamlet was placed in house arrest under charges of conspiracy to overthrow the president, and murder. His name had been ruined. That did it. After a year and a half of waiting, the confrontation had begun.

So, you might say, he finally goes in and does the requisite deed, offs the president, and is done with it. Well, not exactly. He tells his mother exactly what is troubling him, in no uncertain terms.

“I’m as open-minded as the next guy, mom, but this guy, my uncle, is living in sin, and he killed my father. There. I’ve said it. What do you think of that?”

Naturally, she acted astonished, all the while frantically pressing that button that summons security to get the raving lunatic which is her son out of her room. Of course Hamlet leaves before they get there, but his point has been made. And the house is in turmoil.

Do not forget that impending military coup! The turmoil in the government never goes unwatched, and certainly not in this case. What their involvment is, well its hazy, and its a havan for conspiracy theorists. The facts.

Within 15 minutes of meeting with his mother, Hamlet was seen going back to his room with Harry. What they talked about is uncertain.

2:20pm. (30 minutes later) The president and first lady are in their personal quarters together. Hamlet walks in. Hamlet has a gun. Hamlet shoots at something, and it is uncertain as to which gun was fired first, but at the end of all the flying bullets, left standing was one Harry T. Jefferson, and three (of 5) military bodyguards of the president.

There are two major streams of thought on this.

1) President, First Lady, and Hamlet are all pawns in a military coup. Like I said, this is a field day for conspiracy theorists. Hamlet’s father was murdered, not by his uncle, but by the military operatives wishing to gain control. When Hamlet investigates, his investigators start mysteriously dissappearing, and eventually lands him in heap big trouble. Military officials plant operatives in president’s security entourage, and mows down entire group in final showdown.

2) Hamlet’s Uncle is an evil, evil man. This, right now, is the less popular of the two theories. Primarily because Hamlet’s country is under a military dictatorship run by a drug-trafficking official, and people like to think that life was better before entire villages got blown up in turf wars. But the theory is such: Hamlet was right. His dad was murdered by his uncle for his mother’s affections, and all those bad things happening to the investigators,well, that was the president doing that. As far as the showdown goes, Hamlet fired the first shot, Hamlet was fired upon, and pretty much everyone was mowed down, and presumably, God sorted them out.