The latter half of the 21st century, and ills mankind has grown used to for the past 75 years have proven a medical disaster. Cheap, throw-away cellular devices have contributed to the development of a species known as "C-Pheads," for the cell phone emissions that have impacted their heads in a way detrimental to cognitive reasoning. A full diet of genetically engineered food for a lifetime has reduced millions to uncaring, unfeeling, unnatural individuals. These are known as "G-Engines." Together, undergirded by mass use of a designer drug, the planet is replete with evil, vicious people. The only chance for the afflicted lies in the hands of the wise, almost spiritual developments of a boy born minutes after his esteemed great-grandfather's death. Babatunde Genelle is blessed with the impacting spirit of the wise old man, and builds a multi billion-dollar corporation whose main products reverse the impact of the global maladies.

The boys grew up in a most tumultuous era, the late 1960s into the even more turbulent 1970s, in a Washington, D.C. where remnants of segregation still predominated. They lived in a group of ramshackle public housing projects, and with external prodding, believed they could leave poverty and the projects through selling "joogie," or heroin, to finance their escape. In truth, all they managed to do was enslave many of their peers on the deadly substance, and additionally ensure an early, violent death for themselves.

From a very young age, these boys saw no way out of their Washington, D.C. public housing projects unless they sold drugs. But the young hustlers, by the time they reach adulthood, have wreaked havoc on their own neighborhood, generated thousands of dollars for others, and when checking their own "bank" for those who survive to adulthood, find they have nothing.

Internet dating in the D.C. Metropolitan area. SoccerMom1972 of Wheaton; SE Sheila of Anacostia; Stacked&Bound of the Palisades; The CandyLicker of 14th Street; Seasoned Suzanne of Arlington; WhiteChocolateandLavender of Oxon Hill; NattyDreads of Palmer Park; PiecesofDreams of Congress Park; LilNYSweety of Adams Morgan. Diversity of race, sexual desires, age and background. All frequenting on line dating sites with D.C. area connections. All in search of...something What WILL they find? Will their find be willing? Thrilling? Or perhaps chilling?

Why didn't they just pay their damn taxes? That question is asked of many in the film and recording industry who make millions in profits yet fail to keep abreast of their tax liabilities. Such was the case with Krystal Jackson, multi-platinum selling songstress from Washington, D.C. who excels, but barely avoids jail on tax evasion charges. Fortunately she quickly comes to realizes that a cousin with an accounting degree earned on line is not the person to be handling her millions in income, and she finally comes to terms with local and federal governments concerning her arrear taxes. Unfortunately, too many of her colleagues fail to realize that taxes are as certain as death, and some, worth millions on paper, find that their vast fortunes can buy little in the commissary of a federal penitentiary.

Why would a multi-platinum, multimillion-dollar earning recording artist devolve into what any critical analysis would describe as being an unrepentant cokehead? Certainly there are challenges unseen by an admiring public which most successful artists have to deal with constantly, almost 24-hours a day. Yet there are hundreds, thousands of artists who shun the use of illegal substances, and even those who avoid even consumption of alcohol. Sirena Lavesque, known around the world simply as Siren, was not one of them. After a near fatal overdose and months of rehab, Siren would recover and go on to build her own billion-dollar recording and performance empire. But her own near fatal experience would steel her towards any who so much as smoked a cigarette, including in time her own daughter.

Ricky Jackson had done it all, primarily along with his crew. He started drinking beer at the tender age of 14, moved on to marijuana and on occasion shot "joogie," or heroin, with his friends. But his friends kept on shooting joogie, and Ricky didn't particularly like the feel of being "comatose." But he found other highs on the streets of D.C.: Angel Dust; "Luv Boat" or Pcp; Dilaudids or "Ds;" Preludin/Bam. By the time he decided to try crack cocaine, all of his heroin-addicted friends were long dead. And he would be dead too, if he kept up the use of crack. _x000D__x000D_On a final, near fatal "voyage" on Pcp, called "Dippers" by this time, Ricky tripped back over all of the highs he had experienced in life, and in an almost mystical sojourn, he wrenched himself free from a lifetime of varietal drug use. His near fatalistic voyage had at last ended.

In the heart of Washington, D.C. there is an ongoing conflict. It is simmering just below the surface most days, and periodically boils to the surface late at night with unexpected, often violent outcomes. The conflicting personalities are as diverse in social background as they are in physical appearance: the historic blacks of the Shaw and Adams Morgan communities, and the "new gentry," most young, most white, many gay. The community's conversions are nearing completion, with the last generation of the historic residents unable to keep up with soaring property values, disappearing rental properties, and the continuation of gun- and drug-fueled violence which for so long has plagued these communities. But many are determined to hold on, and the younger ones, fueled by need, some by greed, and many by hatred, do what they feel is necessary to "get paid."

Willette Jenkins was blacker than poet James Weldon Johnson's hundred midnights. Her family moved to Washington, D.C. in the early 1950s during a time when a lot of blacks in America were as "color-struck" as many of the nation's white citizens. Willette was a considerable beauty, with a darkness that virtually shined and features which would fit well in ancient Egyptian artwork. She was a most sought after young lady by men who were seeking first-hand proof of the old maxim, "the blacker the berry, the sweeter the cherry." And if Willette was viewed as fruit by young suitors, she was set on ensuring that her sweetness was of the kind hanging low in the tree, and easily accessible. Janet Jenkins was of a much lighter hue, a tone many blacks derisively called "high-yellow." They were sisters, and very close. But Willette would go on to give birth to seven children, by six different men, while Janet would go on to college. Janet was a sports fanatic and a "tom boy," at a time when women who preferred the close company of other women was not a subject discussed or even acknowledged among a black population where many social activities centered around the church. Willette and Janet were as different as night and day. But while Willette would become a shame to her aging mother for "chasing men," Janet would find it hard to appease a strict Baptist family for what seemed to be her desire to chase women. And as safe and assured as Janet's path seemed to be, it was the chasing of a more deadly substance by Willette which would eventually find Janet as overseer of her sister's seven children. Tragically, they'd eventually all be set adrift on the cold streets of "Glenfield Terrace."

He was a wealthy American businessman, took a break from the hustle and bustle, went to Jamaica and found a most alluring exotic dance club. In time, he became enamored of one particular dancer. But with all his wealth, could he get the young lady off the pole and turn this "honey" into a housewife?

The international financial development communities and the diplomatic communities in Washington, D.C. and New York City are rocked to their very foundations when members of the terrorist organization al Qaeda Norte unleash devastating attacks on a number of major cities throughout the American mainland. Foreign nationals come under intense scrutiny, and xenophobia runs rampant. The hated terrorist leader Raheem Karza has secreted dozens of sleeper cell members in clandestine safe houses around major metropolitan areas, many occupying comfortable flats in and around New York City, Washington, D.C. and Los Angeles. To ensure that extensive physical trauma and a destructive economic impact is achieved, Karza hits the American mainland with a series of assaults, subway blasts and toxic chemicals. But his most destructive assault is the dispensing of the mind control drug Demi3Alpha through cola machines at a number of the nation's fast food establishments. The resulting trauma impacts not only the nation, but major metropolitan areas around the globe. Karza and his minions are sought with vigor internationally, but they prove quite elusive. Until the mysterious Smith N. Reston, a former operative of a secretive U.S. intelligence agency, comes out of retirement to seriously address the ongoing assaults. And when Mr. Reston goes after Karza and his associates, most everyone involved in the assaults experiences torturously brief moments to seriously regret having ever taken up arms against the United States of America.