My name is Cole, and I work for the CIA, collecting information during war time.
I had been used to interviewing people all around the world, and in many different dangerous situations, guns to my head, a bomb about to land on the building, a tank at the front door and so on and so forth, but I had never been in a situation so bleak as the one that started in March, 2015.
This is my story of the War. There will be stories of others later. The day had started pretty normal, just traveling to some place in the Middle East to go ask a few civilians if they had seen any Al-Qaeda activity or something of the sort.
When I landed at Fort Westershire, though, something seemed off. Everybody was more on edge than usual, as if they'd seen something like a ghost. They had. Well, it wasn't exactly a ghost, but it was pale, fast, and it would fuck your day up. It was a Nob.
Now, before every Brit goes, "They saw a scrotum?", no it wasn't a dick, but you certainly didn't want it in you. These things would latch on, and suck the life out of your soul, and the pigment from your skin.
I walked over to the nearest soldier and asked him what had happened. "I don't know what happened exactly, but whatever it is, it's got the commander freaked the fuck out", he said. I thanked him and walked toward the command tent.
I show the guards my ID and walked into the tent. " Cole Johnson from the CIA, sir", I say. "Ah, you've arrived, I'm Andrew Hamilton, commander of Fort Westershire.", says the commander. "I know, I read your file on the flight over. You have been in three wars, on nine different tours of duty, have one hundred and twenty six confirmed kills, and coordinated several strikes on terrorist sects located in the mountains" I say, trying not to sound too arrogant.
" That's well and good, but did you know that we're all fucked?"
Author's note: I just want to thank Chris and Elizabeth for introducing me to Wattpad. Well, not really Chris.
