“Get over here, now!” Stephen Beresford, more accurately known as the Prime Minister, whisper-yells into the telephone to his loyal assistant, Art Prest.

“Right away, sir,” Art jumps out of bed and looks for his shoes as he hangs up with Stephen. Art’s been faithful to the Prime Minister since the day he was hired, 5 years ago, which is why Stephen Beresford trusts him with his life.

What could be wrong now?

Art isn’t one to doubt importance, but this isn’t the first time Stephen has called at 12 am. Art enters his Aston Martin and heads full speed to 10 Downing Street, London’s own White House.

He parks in his usual spot and runs through the main doors. Stephen had called Art more than fifteen times since he left his house, which could only mean this couldn’t be good. Art walks into the living room where the Prime Minister’s chair is facing the fire place.

“What is so urgent, sir?” Art asks.

No answer.

Art walks towards Stephen’s chair and looks over.

The pictures. How were they found?