Each "representing" folded the flags.

  And these we reverently placed in a crate under the American flag.  

  A past-youth-because-of-terrorism man's mom had followed him into one of the Pentagon's rooms.  "That's a hell of a thing to be studying." The man was perspiring.  He'd changed out of bloodied clothes and tucked the still stained shirt tails into his tactical gear pants. 

  Lights went out down the hallway and people scrambled to control their breathing.  Some fell into heaps together in sparsely furnitured rooms.  

  "It was this," a woman took a bedraggled and also stained magazine page out of her shirt.  Took the shirt off.  Tank top.  Made way, gun drawn, barely a distinction of human form against the walls of the hallway.  

The ad simply read, INSPIRE.