G.U.A.R.D D.O.G.

Introduction

**Disclaimer: This story will include the following violence, death, gore, swearing, drinking, drugs, mature content, etc. Basically it's a bit on the edgy side, not super crazy much but you've been warned.**

"Sometimes we have to let go of the life we planned, to have the life that's waiting for us.

Except what if the life that's waiting for us turns out to be the one others planned. Should we resist, or let them dictate our fate? Two decisions, each with their hurdles, one will lead to a life of misery the other a glorious existence, only problem is I have no idea how to tell the difference."

(Flashback to Washington, D.C. 1996~ Classified Witness Protection Organization headquarters and lab)

Three people sat inside an office, two sitting across from one. The room was medium size and rectangular like that of an office, dimly lit by a dull light seeping through cracks in the curtains giving a sinister feel. Three blank canvases hung precisely on the wall in a row; it was odd that they had nothing but a smooth white surface. A tall leafy plant sat in the corner of the room perfectly still. It seemed out of place, like someone hastily tossed it in the corner in an attempt to bring an inviting warmth to the room.

The only pieces of furniture was a large wooden desk, silver filing cabinet, and a few overstuffed black leather chairs. The desk looked spotless like someone spent the entire day waxing and polishing it's shiny surface, little trinkets meticulously placed on top looked almost too perfect to be real. It seemed everything was out of a movie and workers spent all day salvaging the perfect environment for this certain scene.

The man sitting alone was at the head of the desk, face casted over by shadows, was dressed in a grey slacks fastened by a brand new black belt, he wore a light blue almost white dress shirt crisply ironed decorated with a grey tie. On his wrist was a sparkling silver watch that ticked rhythmical, it looked extremely expensive. Obviously he had a taste for the finer things, his tidy salt and pepper hair looked like it costed a small fortune. His hands looked dry and slightly cracked, probably from repetitive washing. Even a youngster could tell this guy had a high status job that payed well, diagnosed with mild OCD, and from the callouses on his right hand suggested he is used to holding a gun. A slight tick in his hand suggested he was in need of a smoke, accompanied with the smell of cologne but still underlying scent of cigarettes, he was trying to break or at the very least mask his bad habit for appearance sake, but couldn't help feel the urge.

"Mr and Mrs Godfrey it seems after today's incident our usual approach to people in your situation isn't going to work." Director Matthews stated in a slight accent.

***
Director Matthews

Director Matthews was born and raised in Austin, Texas. A proper gentlemen with smooth hands and steady voice, but underneath the southern charm hid an icy persona not afraid to use those smooth hands to squeeze the life out of a person. He was willing to do anything for his country, even if it meant destroying everything it was found upon. Being near him was like being next to a sleeping serpent; dangerous and unpredictable, and impossible to tell when it would wake up. Depending on who you ask Matthews is considered a 'good guy', but 'good' is simply a form of perspective.
***

The couple across from him wore casual clothes that any middle-class civilians would wear. The man and women looked mid thirties and were slightly disheveled, their hair wasn't altogether, dirt and what looks like soot dusted their clothes and was caked underneath their fingernails. On one of each other's hand rings glimmered proudly showing off their brilliance underneath the ash. They're married and recently come in contact with a fire, the tears marks on their cheeks proved something didn't go well.