THE RIGHT HUSTLE, THE WRONG FIELD

Prologue: Distinguishment of Excellence

"Is it really that time again? It seems as if you only just arrived..." - Gman, Half-Life 2

I'm almost done emptying the last folder into the fireplace, making sure the chars break into ashes, as my secretary watches out the bark-frame window, contemplating the decision to lay off the whole platoon.

"Wouldn't keeping some of them help us run away?" He asks with his deep voice, still peeking through the curtains, eyeing the empty battle positions scattered around the compound.

"We aren't going to run away.", I reply with an accepting smile as I lay another paper onto the fire: "Platoon Order of Battle, Dragon", how I'll miss those guys.

"Are we going to break out of prison instead? In Europe!?", he steps away from the window, clenching the wrists of his button-up shirt, his steps muffled by the red mat.

I turn towards him and gesture him to calm down, "We aren't planning to escape, everything will be alright, Mike."

A knocking sound vibrates the air through the lobby and into the office. Mike stops in his stroll.

"That must be them.", I stand up and fix my crimson suit as I open the office door, Mike follows suit.

The light from the corridor lets the white mix with the wood-brown and red of the office, and clops replace creaks as we walk towards the lobby; passing boarded windows and sandbags, coffee tables and framed pictures. I reach for the door handle only for a voice from the other side to scare us.

"Ms. Ruiz, open up! We will break the door if you don't!", it yells with a London accent.

Mike jumps as the door is knocked on again, I can imagine the frame vibrating with the force.

"Please, I'm here." I yell softly and open the door to greet our visitors.

Afternoon sun fills the room and forms the silhouettes of the two men in camouflage standing at the door, I can see three more behind them, they have their rifles unslung and are watching the courtyard. I read "Sergeant Oliver" and "Corporal Maxwell" on the chest patches of the two blocking the doorway. Mike is already shaking and is not paying attention at all; I don't think he could recognise the SEALS logo if he was anyways, the locals already have enough flags and clans to memorize on just this island.

I connect my hands in front and ask, "How can we help you?", as kindly as I can. I can hear Mike shuffling to hide his silhouette behind me.

Sergeant Oliver sighs, his expression unreadable. He steps forward and pulls a pair of handcuffs from his belt, the metal glinting in the dim light: "We're here to take you back home, Ms. Ruiz."