NOTE: This is the 2nd half of the story, posted as a second post due to word limit.

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Around one fifteen a.m., Jack groggily awoke, his vision slowly unblurring while a dull thumping pain within his head simultaneously erupted; and he slowly looked around taking in his surroundings. He tried to move his arms, but they were excessively bound quite harshly to a support beam, in what he rapidly realised was the basement of his house. Almost immediately after this, it all came back to him: The two muffled pops, the shock, fear, and lastly the rabid intruder eating the direct slam of his wooden baseball bat to his face, without so much as a SINGLE flinch, and then being beaten into unconsciousness. This all culminated into the small seed planted within his deep inner conscious, ticking away. “Oh yer’ awakeh are ya? Good, good, good good GOOD!” Said the strange shadowy figure, with a manic voice like sandpaper. The figure was squatting halfway down the basement stairs, the hallway light casting light down into the basement and the man’s back, but the front of him, shielded from the light, bathed him in pure, inky darkness, clutching a broken and bloody wooden handle to something. Considering what he saw and experienced, it would be understandable for Jack to, despite his current predicament, break down and enter a blind rage; but to his captor’s surprise, as well as his own, Jack kept his cool and silently eyed up his deranged dementor, stone-faced as ever. As his dementor hopped down the stairs and pranced across the basement towards him like an unhinged clown, he observed the small handle of something black in the pockets of the man’s hoodie. With that in mind, he had a plan, indubitably quite a risky one, but the payoff begged to differ. The deranged man brandished the splintered and jagged grip of the lower half of the broken baseball bat from earlier, just like a knife, which reminded Jack of a broken straight sword almost, and started tracing it rather harshly around Jacks face and torso, asking in a shrill voice, “Where’s ya’ stash Ja-ck?! C’moooon Jack, teeeeell meee!” Naturally, Jack replied in the negative, stating as true as time he doesn’t do drugs, and never has, nor will ever touch them. The tweeker’s face went slack, frowning and staring into Jack’s eyes just mere inches from his face, for a solid half-a-minute; in conjunction, He saw the junkie’s grip quickly hardening around the broken bat: It was now or never. As the addict started to raise up the broken bat to strike, Jack scrunched up his face and screamed, “Fine fine I’ll tell you, just don’t hurt me!” “Naw thats mo-like it Jack! Hop to it, TELL ME!!!” The meth head giggled and growled. With a sly grin Jack said blandly, “ It’s with Joe.” Naturally, captain oily-scalp asked, “Who de hell is Joe?” With the tone and expression of an absolute shit-lord, Jack yelled, “Joe Mamma Bitch!” What happened next was a one of a kind experience. First, thirty seconds of blank staring, between captor and victim. Then the twitchy tweaker, with the strength and rage of a tiger, betraying his frail appearance, unleashed a roar of pure hatred, raising and slamming down towards Jack’s eyes. Moments before impact, Jack kicked at the junkie’s right shin while ducking simultaneously. The risk paid off, as the enraged addict’s right leg bent inwards, and combined with Jack’s superb kick and his own momentum, slammed to the ground, fracturing his leg; Furthermore, the jagged broken bat handle narrowly missed Jack’s face, but miraculously ravaged his constraints, freeing Jack. However, his genius gamble still came at a price, for Jack’s right forearm received a gnarly gash and a mean slash across some of his knuckles! Gritting his teeth, he made several unsuccessful attempts to stand up until he finally reached the basement stairs. As Jack propped himself up to his feet, stabilizing, the deafening silence blared a sort of sixth sense warning, and he lunged forwards up the stairs, and started to scramble with the much needed surge of adrenaline. This critical move saved his life two fold, as the unholy meth head had incredibly recovered quite quickly, crawling fast and limping with unfathomable willpower. He had removed and readied the Butterfly Knife from his hoodie pocket, and silently lunged for Jack; However the addict let out a yelp of surprise as Jack’s mad crawl up the stairs led to the demon of a junkie crashing headfirst into the stairs, and impaling himself with his own blade in the right side of his abdomen. Jack was home-free, as he observed his wicked captor twitch, and go limp! With a sigh of relief, he used the hallway walls to stumble to the bathroom, prioritizing his wounds and the urgent need for emergency medical supplies under the bathroom sink…

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Around one-ten a.m., Deputy Hansford silently admired the beauty of nature as he leaned against his police cruiser, enjoying a cup of joe. His shift was fairly uneventful, as he took his small break off the side of the road, nestled between two clusters of trees. The quiet serenity he oh so treasured was foiled by the archaic blare of the Nokia ringtone and a vibration. Taking his time, he lazily pulled out his flip phone, until he saw the caller I.D., which displayed: My Little Brother. With a small pang of worry, he answered the phone quickly, asking his brother Don if everything’s all right. “No Uncle Han, my parents are dead, and Sarah’s been taken. I found my father’s cellphone in the bathroom, get here as soon as you can, and get the sheriff and all the police you can. I’ll meet you at the front door, and get an ambulance, Hurry!” Hearing the exasperated, croaking yell of his nephew Jack and the death of his younger brother filled Hansford with a cocktail of adrenaline, terror, fear, and a boiling rage he hadn’t felt in years. Within ten seconds of Jack’s call, Hansford relayed everything to the sheriff, and the Sheriff said, “Acknowledged Hansford, head down to your brothers house, but wait for backup to arrive, and DON’T do anything stupid or try playing hero, I know he’s your brother, and your nephews are in danger, but we need to approach and take scope of the hole situation developing. I know you want to redeem yourself, but there are lives at stake.” Hansford, sirens blaring, knuckles white, tore rubber to his brother’s home, going almost ninety miles an hour. He tried to respond to the Sheriff’s instructions, but primal rage and conviction surged through him, and not even his PTSD or the horrors of Vietnam could create such raw and primordial emotions. Hansford’s only reply over radio was a roar of uncontrollable anger…

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Around two-forty-five a.m., Jack walked to the front door as sirens and headlights blasted light through the living room window. As he grabbed the door handle, white hot pain erupted as a rusted pickaxe drove into his right shoulder, nearly severing his arm completely. He crashed forward into the door, pushing down the door handle with his left hand in surprise as the pickaxe was violently pulled out of him; As he tumbled down the front steps, he saw the addict, with the Butterfly Knife STILL embedded within him, unnaturally walking towards him! The Junkie’s fractured leg was twisted, snapped leg bone jutting out through his jeans, yet he moved with inhuman grace. Then Jack saw it: He saw a small red glint within the iris of that man’s glazed eyes, that unmistakable glint of one who is possessed. After that, everything that followed felt like slow motion to Jack: The demonic druggie leapt towards him, arms upraised with the blood-drenched pickaxe, and started to swing down towards Jack’s chest. Instead however, as Jack’s vision began to fade, a roar followed by a blur of tan skin and khaki collided into the Junkie, both of them cascading into the flower beds. The ferocity of this night had only just begun…

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Deputy Hansford wrestled the pickaxe away from the drug-fueled maniac, and quickly took him out with four precise and rapid jabs to the stomach, chest, and forearms, ending with two ferocious headbutts. The moment Jack was struck, proper procedure and safety left his mind; additionally Hansford instinctively kicked into autopilot, requesting backup and paramedics ASAP, then he proceeded to gather any nearby cloth and began rudimentary field dressing Jack’s grave wounds. Within the hour, Jack was stable and en route to the hospital, while the Sheriff as well as several plus squad cars created a blockade at the base of the driveway to the house; furthermore, additional police and the coroner set to work inside the house, the seeds of justice working slowly, but mightily. The Sheriff had tried to stop Hansford from going further up the dirt trails, deeper into the woods, but he knew deep down that having such an experienced man like Hansford as the scouting force would be invaluable. As SWAT and K9 arrived, the airborne cavalry arrived, the two helicopters’ searchlights cutting the darkness like vigilant sentinels. With Roadblocks setting up at all major and minor roads entering the forest, a tight ring of chokepoints turned this developing kidnapping into an arduous and slow game of Cat and Mouse…

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Three a.m. rolled about, but the entire time, Jerry and Sarah both continued to notice slight movements from the massive oak tree that towered over them as they dug their graves. As they finished, the two of them once again saw the roots of the tree shift, even if only for half a second, but with a barely audible low groan matched with a much jerkier twitch than previous times. Apparently their captors didn’t notice, but Jerry did. He noticed for the first time and recognizing Zeke, a former classmate of his from grade school some years back; however, the remorseful and guilty expression of Zeke started to change into a thousand yard stare, just like the Buck from before. This birthed a true surging panic, stronger than ever before, brewing inside Jerry, for Ian began to approach him, with the rest of his crew in tow. Ian, his grip on his revolver tightening, began smiling, creating a visage that of the most wicked glee and malice imaginable in a mortal. Sarah and Jerry expected him to just shoot them and end it, but akin to every generic villain, Ian heartily began a monologue. The two easily tuned him out, as Zeke, who stood the farthest behind Ian and the other bandits was visibly nervous, but the strange look in his eyes concerned them the most. Zeke was quite upset with himself, as his moral fiber continued contributing to the ravaging growth of guilt within him. “If I wasn’t so desperate, I would’ve never been involved”, Zeke thought to himself. His silent pity party as well as Ian’s “victory” speech temporarily stopped as the wind picked up, creating that whispery noise that high winds make. Although everybody reacted to the surging of wind, nobody seemed to be bothered by it, exceeeept for Zeke. Zeke heard and continued to hear an incredibly low pitched, multi-layered droning noise, which rapidly blotted out Zeke’s sense as well as perception of the world around him; Not only did he hear that, but it was subsequently followed by a strong yet gravelly ethereal voice, with great weight, conviction, and authority in it’s tone as it said, “You know what is to come, two innocents will perish under the wrath of humanity's' darker side; not only that, you have contributed to their’ impending and wrongful deaths. You have committed mortal sin, but you still have time for redemption; Unless you wish to perish alongside the three bandits that desecrate my eternal home with their blighted existence, that is…” Now most people normally would have lost their cool and absolutely freaked out in genuine panic alongside fear, but Zeke barely managed to keep himself together surprisingly; Even though he just heard an otherworldly voice both within his head and around him, he knew it was right: It was morally corrupt to standby idly while two people were about to die, but he was too afraid to do anything. Again, the voice only Zeke seemed to hear, came back with even more strength, telling him, “ You can still redeem yourself Zeke if you are willing to make the same ultimate sacrifice your Father made, to selflessly set your life down to save another. The grace of your father’s actions along with your Mother’s Faith with Endless Love and Mercy for you, despite her sickness, has proven to us you deserve redemption, even a second chance perhaps. If you seek salvation before my impending wrath unfolds, you must try and save those two innocent souls, no matter what happens to you. Do so and you will achieve redemption, and a second chance at everything. I leave you with our truth, your fate rests on you and you alone…”

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As Ian finished his monologue, he cheekily exclaimed, “Cheeky pricks you two, you weren’t even listening! Welp, I’m sure I lost a few pounds after all that talking, time die!” He opened the cylinder of the revolver, humming, and unloaded two bullets; Furthermore he reached into his left pocket and retrieved two similar bullets, except they had strange grooves and slightly pointed tips. Ian said aloud to himself, “I’ve been saving these two beauties juuuust for you two, can’t wait to see you both burst into flames!” With impressive speed, he closed the cylinder into place, and leveled the revolver to Sarah’s face. A single shot rang out, but Sarah, eyes clenched, felt no pain, no death. Instead, she heard an altercation break out, and opened her eyes. To her surprise, Ian, Frank, and Marcus were annihilating Zeke, who was curled into a ball, not making a single protest as he was pummeled savagely. Jerry was the one who saw it: He had watched Zeke sprint up behind Ian with a golf-swing kick, sending Ian’s precious murder tool rocketing straight into the branches of the single, massive Oak Tree. Suddenly, the three angered bandits stopped their assault, and Ian, with eyes as dead and cold as the darkest abyss silently walked to the van, leaving Frank puzzled, and Marcus confused. Zeke could hardly move, as most of his limbs were fractured and broken, just like the slow, gradual breaking of color in his vision. Ian came back, dragging the stolen pickaxe from earlier behind him. Marcus began to inquire what he intended to do with that, and in response Ian just effortlessly shoved him to the ground with one hand, and loomed over Zeke. He looked up one last time, as Ian swung the pickaxe down, and Zeke’s head partially exploded into gore and viscera from the terrifying display of strength in conjunction with savagery from Ian. Everyone wordlessly stared at Ian, mouths wide open, even the cold-blooded cannibal Marcus couldn’t hold back a look of shock and surprise…

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As Ian began to come back down to reality, gale force winds erupted through the forest, collectively knocking everyone flat on their’ asses. Roots and leaves erupted from the Earth around Zeke’s corpse, ferociously covering him in a protective barrier, additionally blocking any sight of him. “Judgement casts upon those who will not change or repent their evil existence. I, Erodian Falkas, shall deliver thee to Hell,” Boomed the unfaltering voice of an omnipotent and ancient spirit, whose oath and willpower carries far beyond death itself! The Great Oak of Farcaster Grove creaked and groaned to animate life, uprooting itself with primordial purpose, then twisting and stretching through the air towards the triangular stone Jerry had previously observed. An invisible yet divine force engraved brilliant azure runes with holy symbols into the stone, arcane energy crackling into existence. The Great Oak’s leaves exploded and incinerated into mystical sparks that dutifully cascaded into the ground simultaneously with the tree’s branches speedily weaving into a single, sharp tendril. The tendril pierced through the great stone axehead, rending it from the ground. As the oaken tentacle of branches emerged through the top of the greataxe head, it unraveled, spread, and embedded into the stone; furthermore the lower portion of the tree warped downwards, fleshing out into the mold of a colossal two-handed axe shaft and grip, creating a massive Greataxe fit for a titan-sized Druid. Turns out Jerry’s observation earlier was spot on, as everyone collectively had already panicked and finished stumbling to their’ feet, with Ian, Marcus and Frank piling into the van; additionally, all intentions of evil and malice were long since replaced by terror of the unknown in tandem with the instinct to absolutely nope the fuck out of the situation. Jerry, alongside Sarah, were pulled out of their synchronised shock by the blare of a squad car horn, as Deputy Hansford did a full three hundred and sixty degree turn, revving his engine and unlocking the car doors. The duo made a mad dash for the safety of Hansford’s cruiser, but fell to the ground, about fifteen feet short of the car as the forest floor of the entire grove and its immediate vicinity erupted upwards, massive chunks of earth splitting and unheaving! Astoundingly amidst the chaos, Hansford took mental note of the three perpetrators in black that had tumbled out of their van in a panic, recognizing Marcus, Ian, and Frank especially, thanks to individual run-ins with each of them in the past. While he studied the three goons and memorized the van’s license plate, he was snapped out of this by two things concurring simultaneously: The cruiser doors slammed, as Sarah and Jerry frantically yelled at him to drive, both overtaken by fear in addition to terror. The second event to occur at the same time was hundreds of mud and root-slathered stones, from huge to small, erupting from the freshly ravaged dirt towards the center of the grove. To everyones’ collective horror, even the hardened veteran Hansford, all of the stones became engraved with dazzling azure runes, just like the Greataxe; but additionally the rocks molded and changed, millions of perfect, intricate lines across impossibly complex designs. Then they began to intricately attach to each other with dirt, leaves, and roots. Though its body was incomplete, A single but giant, stone hand gripped the massive Greataxe as if it were a feather. If seeing this wasn’t enough motivation for them to further quicken their fleeing, the rumbling clouds and a bellowing promise did, “By the blood of one and evil of three, you will wish I had Sympathy!”

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Harrison’s squad car was barreling down the trail back to the blockade, easily doing one hundred and twenty, despite the rain and thunderclaps contributing to the muddy path. The three stooges equivalent of a crew of kidnappers, their’ “tails” tucked between their’ legs, were not far behind Harrison. Harrison, seeing the top of the house, remembered the steep, declining path downhill rapidly approaching, and slowed down just enough for the car to safely hop the crest of the hill without too much of a risk of wiping out and crashing. Unlike Harrison, who knew these trails fairly well, the white van shot clean past him, skyrocketing over the hillcrest, and in an arc plunged back-wheels-first about 15 feet. With a Ca-RUNCH, the van careened into the dirt, losing its back-left tire. Despite the grievous damage sustained, the now lop-sided van fishtailed a bit, but miraculously pushed forward. Harrison, after carefully driving down the hill, sped up and past the van, grabbing his radio and rapidly relayed his approach as well as the unfolding situation to the blockade in addition to holding off on opening fire on the Scumbag Van Express…

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Harrison expertly navigated around and behind the blockade, reaching safety. The van slowed to a halt, and the three irredeemable sinners exited their vehicle with hands in the air, then began to surrender to the over-armed blockade in blue. Then the strangest warning occurred: Ian’s revolver came out of seemingly nowhere from the sky, piercing into the ground halfway between Ian and the blockade, sticking straight up. Immediately after, the growing storm intensified, rain increasing its assault tenfold, the wind howling with rancor. Then, a single tri-colored bolt of sanguine, gold, and heavenly white lightning struck down, miles away in Farcaster Grove, unleashing a sonic boom, along with a percussive wave of air sweeping all throughout the county. “What the actual hell just happened?” Shouted Sheriff Bigby. His question was soon overshadowed yet subsequently answered by the distant but rapidly closing thumps, shaking the Earth beneath them all the closer it got. Soon everyone saw it: Emerging from the treeline atop the high hillcrest was a glowing white helm of magisterial stone, adorned with intricate craftsmanship, divine azure runes dotting it’s visage. It stood still as stone atop the hillcrest, all forty feet of the ancient stone golem, as if out of a movie. It looked like as well as resembled a towering knight of old, intricately shaped and carved pieces of stone comprising its body. All of the stone was maybe once gray and eroded, but now it looked like the finest polished white marble one could imagine, almost heavenly or dare I say angelic! Whatever small amount of this golem that wasn’t comprised of impossibly intricate stonework was filled in by Oaken roots, once brownish, but now more so resembling a brilliantly radiant hue of sanguine oak! Clutched in the golem’s right hand, one could clearly see a monolithic stone Greataxe being wielded with a harrowing degree of ease and finesse, wrapped in overwhelming confidence. Everyone and everything was still, nobody could have imagined the magical and supernatural to exist, at least not this much! Even so, the golem stood at least one hundred meters away atop the hill, like an executioner awaiting in cataclysmic anticipation…

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The standoff broke, the golem had spoke: With omnipotence, clarity, and a bellowing, gravelly voice, “I am Erodian Falkas, the Fourth Arbiter and Adjudicator of the Unredeemable. Thanks to your actions, I have been awoken; Consequently albeit unknowingly, my awakening demands a purge of those who will not change their evil path. But before I begin, you three souls: Ian Detlin, Marcus Elonzo, and Frank Hordigan Jr. carry tainted, dark souls, well past redemption. Fate has been cast, Judgement rendered, your’ souls, as well as all who have passed the point of no return in this, as you mortals call it, town, are now forfeit to the Void. The Fifth Great Eradication of Ansmith Begins.” The Sheriff ultimately fired the first shot, followed by the entire blockade opening fire on the Great Golem Falkas, and bemusingly, the bullets were absorbed into the glorious glowing stone of his body, about as effective as confetti. This surprised Farkas, enough that he just stood there, atop the hill, then began laughing far too heartily. With the police reasonably distracted by the laughing mystical monster Ian retrieved his revolver, and then his two cronies, who all discreetly hijacked a police car. By the time any law enforcement remembered and/or noticed, they were speeding away, but Harrison sped after the runaway hooligans…

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Shortly after the kidnappers made their hasty exit, Farkas, incredibly bored, asked the terrified police, “Are you all finished?” A young and inexperienced officer ironically replied, “Uhh, yea-.” Instead of finishing his statement, he turned, began to scream, and started running away, overwhelmed. “Well that was pathetic… Why don’t you humans leave divine retribution and justice to professionals,” Chortled Farkas. With his bullshit awesomeness, the golem crouched, then sprang forth 240 meters in a colossal leap, casting into the road well past the blockade. He started in a jog, then broke into a dead sprint; However, Farkas pivoted, axe reared back, ready to throw, and spun 360 degrees, then heaving the Greataxe forwards. The Greataxe slowly spun forward, before emitting a Sonic Boom as it rushed down the road, taking curves and hills like a race car driver! The towering giant clasped his beefy stone hands together, speaking in a dead dialect long-since erased by the sands of time, and began to fade away in a gentle poof of glistening dove feathers. Sarah heard it first, the distant sound of asphalt annihilating under the audible tear of an unstoppable force, closing in fast. As best she could, Sarah tried to describe this to Jerry, her words like trembling leaves. He could barely make it out, but when he did Jerry frantically spat this all out to Hansford; Unfortunately, Hansford did not heed his words, for he was far-consumed with avenging his brother. Hansford’s car was in the right lane, while the hijacked cruiser sped along in the left lane, risking a collision with any incoming traffic. Thankfully, there was no traffic anywhere in Applegate, due to it being too early, combined with the intense police activity occurring; Additionally the inclement weather could be blamed as another contributor... Or you know, the forty foot golem on the loose...

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Hansford was losing ground on the fleeing criminals, but in his rear view mirror he saw a big ol’ giant flying greataxe, tearing up the road like a hot knife through butter as it came spurning around the distant bend. For everyone in both vehicles, what happened next felt like slow motion: A set of incandescently interlocking triangles of white magic appeared above both vehicles, just as the Greataxe ripped and tore between as well as past both vehicles. Fifty meters ahead, a gentle poof of glistening dove feathers brought forth Erodian Falkas. The Greataxe gracefully embroiled into his grip with ease; However, the reuniting of tool to owner created an implosion of unrelenting force, flipping both vehicles backwards with unmatchable velocity some one-hundred meters or so. Fortunately or unfortunately, Falkas had a clear-cut goal, as the heavenly sigils atop each vehicles’ roof simultaneously activated, the arcane incantations stopping and suspending both vehicles a mere three feet from the ground, nullifying the imminent death of both vehicles’ inhabitants within that occurrence. Shortly after, while Erodian Falkas casually lumbered towards them, the spells dissipated, both vehicles plopping to the ground like turds from a cliff. Falkas alarmingly was upon them, mechanically bending down towards the stolen police car. Utilizing his supernatural precision, the golem peeled of the cruiser’s roof, as Ian, Marcus, and Frank spilled out of the car like skittles from a packet. Frank, his psyche finally shattering, screamed at the behemoth before him, “STOP TOYING WITH US AND END IT! END IT! END IT END IT END IIIIIII-” *CRACK\* A resonating boom erupted as Erodian Falkas swiftly flicked Frank like a bug, the impact and force causing his body to explode, limb from limb, pieces to giblets, and viscera to bloody mist as all of him catapulted then collided into a tree, STILL with so much kinetic energy that the tree was uprooted clean into the woods, taking out even more trees!! Hansford had already invertedly thrust his squad car into reverse, completing a violent 180 degree turn, and subsequently speeding away from Falkas, back towards the blockade. Unbeknownst to the fleeing trio, Erodian Falkas cared not for destroying those deemed innocent or redeemable, only the damned or unredeemable mattered to his greater purpose. During Frank’s demise, Marcus had begun fleeing into the woods, while Ian had stood frozen in fear, almost catatonic. Falkas called out to Marcus, “You can run, but it WILL not save you.” Marcus continued running, ignoring his warning, and as he blinked some tears away his opening eyes revealed him to be standing, back next to the roofless squad car. Flabbergasted and still stupendously terrified, Ian stammered as he began backing away. A scream of genuine fear, followed by him turning to flee was ultimately ended by a mighty swing of the celestial greataxe. One would hear the outburst of latin hymns and song as the holy weapon eradicated Marcus from existence, blinding purity spewing from the slamming axe as it bore relentlessly into the ground. Amusingly the squad car missing a roof was partially erased along with Marcus. Only Ian remained, and snapping out of his shocked state he let out a cry of fear, firing all six rounds, the first two being incendiary, into Falkas. To Ian’s dismaying horror, the judging construct burst into flames, gradually laughing louder with every, ticking, SECOND. Somewhere deep within his subconscious, Ian knew that his fate was unavoidable; Yet despite this he lost it, just like Marcus, attempting to flee. “Awww you look like you need a HUG! C’mere!” Said Falkas with malevolently pure sarcasm. Before he could react, the flaming monolith crouched down, embracing Ian in and lifting him into a hug of cleansing flames. Erodian Falkas’s attention to the gentle touch required to carefully hug such a small being without instantly crushing it was impressive if not sadistic. Whether naturally or supernaturally influenced, Ian squealed and burned for an entire half-hour before passing into presumably the void. Judgement for those three came from naught’ but a tree…

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The “Reported” Aftermath

The Seven Day Attack in the Town of Applegate occurred over a timespan of seven days, with eyewitness accounts reporting what supposedly was an animate forty feet tall golem attacking citizens randomly. Some survivors claim that this alleged “supernatural” creature slaughtered only corrupt and evil people. While it may be true that all confirmed deaths during the attack were of previously convicted felons and juveniles only, collateral damage ranges in the hundred millions, despite the surprisingly low death toll. Authorities have yet to give a definitive and non-vague answer to the event; Additionally the United States Military has declared martial law, restricting access in or out of Applegate until further notice…