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I couldn't believe I was doing this.
Not only had I quit my job but here I was, on the same day, taking a direct flight to New York with no clue what lay ahead of me.
This wasn't like me. I was organised and methodical. But something had changed recently.
I was done with the politics, all the bullshit of government work. I was a damn good agent but the red tape was suffocating. It'd been a long few years, joining fresh out of university, back when I'd been under the illusion I could help change the world, one bad person at a time.
How wrong I was.
After losing both my parents young and never getting justice, I'd joined MI6 as an intelligence analyst.
I started off behind screens, collecting and processing data to pass onto others, yet I grew restless watching others do the field work.
I longed to be out there, to be something stronger and bigger than what I thought I was. I'd quickly been noticed by others when I began volunteering for other opportunities, taking on more than I could handle, desperate to be given the chance to be a field agent.
I enjoyed field work at first, the adrenaline and purpose given to me by missions in foreign places with real levels of threat, not just behind a computer screen, but right in my face.
It was lonely, but I didn't mind much considering I'd never had a great amount of friends or family anyway; the perfect way to be as an agent. I learnt things about myself that I didn't know were inside me.
I tapped into a darkness that pooled in the depths of my mind in order to survive. I trained hard and fast, quickly becoming proficient in weaponry and hand-to-hand combat.
I was getting more than noticed by then. Teams were fighting for me and background bargaining was going on behind my back by senior management, desperately vying for me to do their bidding. I went wherever I was needed without much questioning.
One night, in a hotel in Budapest, thinking I was alone, I made the mistake of relaxing; something I rarely did out in the field. An enemy took advantage of this. After a gruelling fight, I was injured badly, and still have a scar adorning my lower stomach.
I remember sitting in the hospital and being told I was back on desk duty. I was angry and in denial of how much rest I needed. My senior officer told me that my analyst department had missed me and that I'd be welcomed back with open arms in the meantime.
Although I missed the action, I also missed using the critical side of my brain, not just doing the leg work. I had started slipping into a different part of me in the field, and I felt maybe it was a blessing in disguise going back to using my brain more than my body.
That's when I became aware of the double-crossed agent that had been sent to kill me in Budapest.
Despite my findings, no one would admit to me what had been happening. I grew even more paranoid than I'd already taught to be, and realised I could trust no-one. I was thrown through legal loopholes, blocked out of files and denied access to things and I'd had enough.
