River Creek, Astron City

The machine hummed, increasing, as the accelerator's pedal descended closest to the automotive floor. It conquered the highest revolution almost beyond its safe capacity. It swerved and cut traffic between a stream of city cars running at medium speed as the road lights blurred in Lance's vision.

Lance drove his Prius a little bit hazy and drunk with little concern about safety and life. Maybe he was looking for sudden death, to end this all. As the volume of city lights decreased, he was now beyond the grasp of the Capital.

He drove towards home or now a house that sits on a medium-end City subdivision. He drove past medium and large houses in River creek. It was past midnight and the neighborhood was quiet. Their subdivision's street was lit faintly with distant street lights and with a slight number of trees planted in between them. River Creek was dark and gloomy during this time and the crescent moon was high, illuminating the area like a large fog lamp hanging above them.

As he arrived home, he parked outside his house and disembarked from his Prius. Lance drank the remaining vodka in the bottle he got from the bar. Even though he was dizzy and drunk, there was this weird feeling he felt that he was being watched, being followed, or being hunted. He was not sure what but his instincts of a special ops military operative stood out.

He went inside the house with slow and heavy steps. His wife was still awake and he heard her large footsteps against the wooden floor. She wore long soft-clothed sleeping nighties. The softness of the textile rest perfectly on the curvy body of his wife. Her hair was long and she had thin features like a ramp model. She still looked stunning in her late 30's.

Angela crossed her arms with a frown face looking very disappointed with what she saw. She was used to this scenery and grew tired of what they become. It was almost their routine and if not, Lance would lazily just sit on the couch watching Television draining out the productive life he had before.

She endured and sacrificed as much as Lance did after his active service. Angela wanted to consult a couple's therapist but Lance was not willing. It seemed, that his love for Angela faded but he never smeared their marriage of having mistresses or adulterous indulgence. He was just blank all the time, his mind occupied, and could never be moved on to the horrors he had experienced. It was unfair for Angela, from anyone's perspective, but Lance seemed not to care.

She said to her husband with a faint of hopelessness in her voice, "Lance, when will these nights end?!? You are always drunk when you go home. Tonight, you smell like a stripper," and blah blah blah…

Angela went on with her sermon and Lance was just sitting there on their couch slouching, his head held back staring at the ceiling while ignoring the repeated complaints of his wife. She always brought up the issue of not having enough money to sustain their lifestyle and she was tired and bored of the results of their lives even after Lance had retired from the force.

His monthly pension had not sufficed their middle-class lifestyle. He blamed her for being materialistic sometimes. Buying things was unnecessary. On the other hand, she blamed him for procrastinating. Neglecting the talents that he could have used in the world beyond military service.

"Why not look for a carpentry job? I heard the other side of town was looking for an opening." She would say this statement before. She had repeated the same statement, or rather the same concept but from different work offerings until she grew tired. And all she threw at him were shameful blaming and nagging.

His replies would simply go like, "It is not the job for me." or something like, "Yeah, sure. Let me look at it." But he never did. 

After a few minutes, Angela went back upstairs without her husband uttering one word. It was not worth the fight for her as her husband was drunk and did not even respond to her verbal attacks. She thought that her husband was having an affair.

As lance was sitting on the couch, he imagined the beautiful lady at the bar hugging him. She smelled so good and stared so seductively. But her last words stunned him and continued playing in his mind. He was trained to overthink situations like these and as he went on analyzing her last words, he suddenly deduced that he was targeted.

He hauled himself from the couch and went over his pockets to look for his personal belongings, his wallet, his swiss knife, and his cell phone. He realized a folded paper in his left pocket and found that it was a Government sealed message. He was surprised as he opened it while he felt tingling in his spine.

He found the letterhead above the message was from a Government agency but he did not recognize the logo. The logo was an abstract, head of a black wolf with Latin wordings surrounding it, saying, "Primus Ego In Conspectu Dumos et Patria Protegat" (Protect country and family before self).

Then he went over to the message:

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(Highly Confidential)

Lt. Lance Davis,

You are called upon by your country. Our great nation needs your service.

Commander James Johnson needs you to be in his team, ASAP. We have your file and your records.

You are one of the bravest, greatest military operatives and top of your class. Your skillset is highly needed for a greater cause but life is hard as you know it. We have your financial problems and it disturbed the peace that you expectedly give to your loving wife. We are the solution should you choose to accept.

You will be compensated 10 times more than your current salary. I am confident that you will continue your patriotism by serving again your country.

Meet us tomorrow at 1900 H, Warehouse 12, port 3, Astron City.

P.S.

Choose your decisions wisely. Think for your wife and yourself. Your country needs you.

Kate

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Lance sat down back to his couch thinking, internalizing, and cautiously deciding. He recognized the postscript and assumed that the lady in the bar was an undercover operative. He assumed her name was Kate.

He went to his basement and retrieved a black bag full of weapons. He pulled a Desert Eagle handgun and 2 magazines. He filled the magazines with ammo and pulled his favorite hunting knife. He cleaned his dusty bulletproof vest preparing for the worst.

His military instincts were triggered like clockwork. His senses suddenly rose beyond the vodka's capacity in dulling his normal self. His eyes widen, his breathing was steady, his mind straighten but his heart was thumping hard against his chest. As if he could see his chest rising and falling alternately. 

He thought he must be cautious and armed in going to the warehouse tomorrow. He must prepare himself. He checked the locks of his house and surveyed through the windows as he might think that their lives were in danger and he was being monitored by the Government. Worst, by the rebel operatives. He thought, 'There is something out there watching. I sense it. I feel It. I am certain of it.'

He watched a few minutes through their windows, in the front, and the back. He realized that their backyard was dark and the outdoor lights were turned off. He surveyed still the area right and left to the boundaries of their backyard. For a second, he focused his eyes on their large tree, Acacia. A vague and dark figure silhouette of a girl stood behind the tree trunk. He cocked his Dessert Eagle and clamped it hard ready to pull the trigger. He did not understand his feeling, was it a jolt of excitement or maybe fear of his imminent death?

The silhouette was motionless and still. He locked his gaze at the silhouette through their window and slowly reached for the backyard light switch located at the side. He thought,

'Just be ready. This is what I am feeling. Whoever you are, defend yourself or you will be dead.'

The backyard lights flickered for a few moments and lit up as Lance pushed the switch. The light brightens their backyard and there was no one there standing behind the tree. He had careful strides, glancing at every corner for a possible ambush, with a strong grip of his firearm. Lance went out to closely inspect behind the tree while he carried his handgun. He found not a soul.

'I am just imagining things. Maybe it is the vodka.'

He thought. He went back inside and locked the door behind him. He went to his couch, slammed himself on the sofa cushions, and settled in for a good night's sleep. He placed his fully loaded Desert Eagle under his pillow, then he closed his eyes.