Terrorists. The word was a lightning rod, a tool used by the powerful to trick idiots into doing their bidding. Don't like someone? Just call them a terrorist! Before long, they'll find an angry mob on their doorstep.

Eva sighed, silencing the president with the press of a button. As the light of the TV dispersed, leaving her in wonderful darkness, she glanced around the room. Old fashioned furniture was laid out along the walls, and photos of an old couple with some kids - presumably their grandchildren - stood atop the mantlepiece. The old lady who had once lived here had died about a week ago now. Natural causes, of course. Eva was not foolish enough to kill people just for somewhere to stay. But why not take advantage of the cozy home left behind by a poor old widow?

As she idly scanned her surroundings - she could never be too careful of intruders - Eva's thoughts turned to the massacre that had occurred so recently, and to the message that had followed in its wake. Anyone who had attended the rally was an utter moron. It couldn't have been more obvious how such a gathering would end. Whoever had set it up... that person was either an enemy of the Gifted cause or criminally stupid. 

Eva shook her head, as if to dispel the thought. Such speculation was pointless. 

Eva crawled to the opposite end of the couched and pulled the spare blanket she had found over herself. She would be sleeping on the couch, of course; the old lady was still occupying her bed. Before too long, someone was bound to come along and check on her. If that happened too soon, there would be only one way to end the matter. It wouldn't be the first time Eva had killed. 

But for the night, she should be safe. It was far too late for anyone to pay a visit, and the knife waiting on the coffee table next to the couch was a great comfort. Perhaps it would continue to be. Perhaps such methods could achieve more than childish pleas for fair treatment.

Terrorists. If that was what President Callahan wanted... why not?