EPILOGUE-APPROXIMATELY THREE MONTHS AGO

Jim Moriarty threw down the book he had been reading. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. He pulled a match out of his chest pocket, lit it, and threw it onto the book. He licked his lips as he watched the pages curl into ashes. Oh the irony. A spark flew, catching another pile of books which instantly began burning as well. He reached for his walkie-talkie, never taking his eyes off of the flames.

"Moran, there's been an accident in the library. It's on fire."

He was just about to leap off the couch and leave when a title of a burning book caught his eye. He hadn't read that one yet...how had it escaped him? He reached in and grabbed it just before the flames burnt the cover to a crisp.

1984 by George Orwell.

This could be interesting. He flipped through it, scanning the pages for something to grab his attention.

His hand hesitated near the end. Room 101, he read.

His eyes followed the trail of dark of ink.

Finally he looked up, satisfied, his eyes gleaming with the malicious shine that always accompanied a perfectly lovely inhumane idea.

"Doctor John Watson," he declared dramatically to the burning paper around him, "I will make you love Big Brother."