It was a crisp, Monday morning. The sky’s light and dark colors fused together unevenly. The harsh atmosphere was filled with the discomfort of having to wake up. Luckily, there are only two days until graduation, so anticipation plagued the air on the campus of UCLA. Jaime, an articulate young college student, whose brilliant mind queerly matched his defined body, made a substantial breakfast that consisted of hickory smoked sausages, scrambled eggs with a green onion garnish, and chilled glass of pre-made Starbucks coffee. Subsequently, Jaime proceeded to get dressed, soon donning a cleansed plain white-T, denim jacket, stonewashed jeans, and black-and-white converses. Jaime grabbed his backpack, which was superficial in weight. His repobate roomate, Brook, slept in late, figuring he would not have to attend. Jaime unlatched his bike, and rode off into the congested Los Angeles streets. Unbeknowest to many, the City of Angels would be involved in one of the biggest hostage situations in U.S. history.