“Cade?” Seph called down the hallway as soon as I had walked back down the stairwell.

  Upon stepping forth into the center of the hall, he dashed toward me. As soon as he was close he stopped. He was panting nervously, his breathing heavy. “I-um-” he stuttered. “What the hell happened?”

  I shook my head, contemplating what to tell him. “Well…” I trailed off. I realized how soaked my clothes must have been. “Let’s just say it’s a long, complicated story with sprinklers involved.”

  Seph laughed, and lunged at me, wrapping his arms around my chest. It was… an embrace. I stood for a moment, dumbfounded and unsure of what to do. I slowly leaned into it, returning the hug. When I first met Seph, I was stunned. He was brilliant and beautiful and a masterpiece. But with his smirks and cool demeanor, I thought things between us could never work out.

  But now, here he was, hugging me.

  And, his casual mood had faded in the time I’d been around him. Hell, it started when Valamir almost called me a…

  Oh, shit.

  Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I felt very, very strange.

  Seph backed up, as did I. It wasn’t much, but it was something. But, as we turned to return to our dorm, the realization I’d had was nagging me. It was a fire on my skin, a wind of pure air in my lungs, a force making my already quickly beating heart speed up.

  Everyone in that room had probably presumed what Valamir was going to say about me.

  It was a foul word, filled with mud, spite, and hate.

  But it was a pointed insult.

  An accusation.

  Which meant Seph knew… well, he knew…

  Fuck, he knows I’m gay.

  ??

  Two more days were spent in our dorm room. For everyone else, they were days of angst, of itching to do something. For me, I had done way too much in one day that two days of peace didn’t seem like enough to reflect on everything. I sat, playing games, watching TV, doing a bunch of random shit, nothing strange.

  But I still couldn’t look at Seph the same way.

  Every joke, smirk, glance, or remark would now be carefully examined in my mind. There was a blurred line between joking and flirting, even I knew that. But that still didn’t stop me from looking at every facial expression and vocal inflection.

  I tried to stop. I really tried.

  No matter what, my mind would wander directly back to Seph.

  On the third day since I went down into the tunnels, Whiteford’s voice blasted the speakers once more: “Sorry for the wait. I need all technology agents reporting to B-2 immediately. All technology agents to B-2.”

  The five of us in the main room looked at each other. Like always, Les was the first one on his feet, charging out of the room. The rest of us quickly followed. Mel dipped behind to knock on Naomi’s door. I didn’t wait, staying with the rest of the group.

  We walked briskly, our footsteps clanking against the metal floor. Two more pairs of the sounds appeared behind us, Mel and Naomi catching up. Les swung open the glass door, letting us push it forward again each time one of us walked through.

  As soon as we entered B-2, Sanchez was there. His blonde hair was wild, sticking out in every direction. His eyes were bloodshot, with dark bags hanging beneath them. “Come in, fast,” he rasped. It was obvious that the past few days had not been easy for him.

  He led us to an operation room unlike any of the others we’d been inside. It was a messy cross between the meeting room and informational gathering room - a circular room with rising seats. Each seat had a computer, as well as several other bits of equipment. Wire and hardware were tangled everywhere, creating a surreal environment. A blue diagram was set up in the front, with Whiteford standing in front of it.

  A second screen was beside this first one, complete with a line of other versions of the diagram, each slightly changed. A label lay at the top - “Pending Changes.” Janet was to the side of it, approving or rejecting everything. Julia was beside Whiteford, discussing with her unlike she had ever before; in a friendly manner.

  About ten people sat in the various desks, barely filling up half of the available seats. “You’ll join them soon,” Sanchez began. “We are trying to pin locations of Russian submarines and ships. We launched several Military units to their borders, threatening to march. In response, they deployed their own troops to sit at stations just south of the US - to apply equal pressure.”

  Les frowned. “Can’t you just get a drone shot of them?”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Sanchez shook his head. “Conditions are foggy over the Atlantic this week. We believe that is why Valamir chose to deploy boats at this time.”

  “Dammit,” Seph muttered. “He won’t make anything easy.”

  Sanchez chuckled slightly, before continuing. “We have missiles ready in our own ships, and three armed drones. We don’t know anything about Valamir’s forces yet - save for one possible location of a warship.”

  Whiteford approached, turning to Sanchez. “Are you done?” She said sharply. He nodded promptly. “Good,” she turned to us. “Now get the hell to work.”

  We quickly made our way to the computers. I booted mine up quickly, hammering the keys to input my username and password. Whiteford’s tone had instilled a sense of urgency into me. There was not a second to waste.

  As soon as the computer was on, a window opened. It said:

  “Welcome to the CIA TERMINAL, Cxde86!

  Receiving Instructions…

  ‘Obtain targets based on incoming scans of the area.

  Open the map editor and add a branch to create your own map.

  Submit a fork request to merge the two maps.’

  (Press Any Key To Continue.)”

  I quickly pressed ‘A’ and scanned the given programs. There was a map editor, as suggested, and a ‘Drone Connectivity’ app. I opened the latter. What met me was a grid of different maps. First, a normal picture. Nothing could be seen. There was then a heat map, with different shapes. There were a few other maps that I didn't quite understand, but could still basically read.

  My eyes flicked over a possible target, three dots coming in and out of view. They were shown in two different maps. I quickly opened up the map editor, and submitted my changes.

  For about fifteen minutes, this went on in quiet concentration. I submitted five, maybe six edits. It was hard to focus on the exact numbers. All I knew was that fifteen minutes later, Whiteford had begun to talk again.

  “All technology units, pause.”

  It was like being broken from a spell. I was instantly aware of how tired my fingers were, how my head ached, and how my back felt numb.

  “There has been a clear target identified,” she continued. “We have been given the clear to shoot.”

  ??

  The sailor looked onward into the mist. The shaking boat, the mist, the soft sound of the sea enveloped her. She had forever dreamed of sailing; and her dream was finally being fulfilled. If only it was under better circumstances, she thought. Sailing off to war was not her dream, but it helped it. If she was not brutally killed on the battlefield.

  She shuddered at the thought.

  She turned around to the man next to her, and opened her mouth. “So, how are y-”

  BOOM!

  Everything was red.

  Everything was heat.

  Everything was pain.

  Burning, itching, crying. Just make it stop, why won’t it fucking stop?

  Suddenly there was cold, cool. Where was her body? Where was her eyesight?

  There was no air. There was only choking, painful, suffering cold.

  Why her? Why now?

  She begged it to stop, everything to stop. She had no arms, they were missing. All of her senses were gone, all wrong.

  Wrong, wrong.

  Stop, stop, please stop.

  It stopped.

  There was one small bit of warmth, then darkness.

  ??

  Whiteford held a radio next to her ear while we all waited for the news. Eagerly, we expected a bit of goodness - a success in all of the failures. I held my breath, not ready to do anything without a clear sense of success.

  Whiteford smiled. “One down.”

  I let out the breath I was holding, and smiled as well. Bright cheering erupted through the room for about three seconds. After that time was up, Whiteford held up her hands to silence us. “Continue,” she said simply.

  Checking in with the map application, there was now a plume of smoke updating rapidly on the normal map.

  A few minutes of careful examination later, the radio erupted again.

  But this time, it erupted with screams.

  ??

  “Valamir, sir… they got one.” An attendant said.

  They didn’t specify anything, but it was clear to Valamir Uldrich that one of his ships had been hit. He scoffed. “It’s no matter. We made sure to send all poor folk to fight, correct?”

  The servant only nodded. Valamri continued. “So, no model citizens were lost. Meanwhile America has sent plenty of good soldiers out there.”

  “We still don’t know where the American ships are, sir,” the attendant reminded him.

  Valamir rolled his eyes. “Then shoot wherever our ships aren’t,” he commanded. “It won’t put a single dent into our firepower.”

  The attendant bowed. “Yes, sir.” They then quickly left the room.

  After a few moments, a beeping began. Someone’s voice crackled over the announcement. “Firing in three…”

  Valamir paid no attention. He whispered into his private radio. “Intercept the American transmissions.”

  “Why?” A man on the other end asked.

  Valamir smiled wickedly. “I want to hear those bitches scream.”

  ??

  My heart fell.

  Whiteford’s face paled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck,” she muttered, beginning to pace. The radio of the screaming quickly cut off.

  The same gaping feeling opened in my chest as every other time Valamir had taken something. He stole my family. Now my pride. This time, he took soldiers that I may have trained alongside. I imagined our paintball captain’s last moments; fire, pain, and death - either from the sea or the explosion.

  I tried to convince myself that it would be fine.

  After all, I probably didn’t know these people.

  But for the pain I felt - I was very well the same one to shoot them down. Plus, I had just celebrated murdering a ship full of Russians. I was not better than anyone, not Valamir.

  Nope, I shook myself out of the trance. That bastard is nothing like me. I am better than him in every way.

  Then a thought struck me.

  A terrible, awful, cruel thought.

  “Bomb the whole thing,” I said.

  Whiteford looked up at me. “What?”

  I cleared my throat, and spoke again, louder this time. “We don’t have anyone left. Bomb the whole area. Make sure no one lives.”

  Les spoke up. “Wouldn’t that make us just as awful as Valamir?”

  There was a cold that ran through me. I was right, I was-

  Seph’s hand appeared on my shoulder. I looked up at him, my gaze softenting. My eyes devoured his face in every detail - and I fought the temptation to trace deeper, further.

  “Do it,” Seph said. “No one can make it out of that shithole.”

  Whiteford’s lips tilted upward. “Now we are talking. You may still be useful, agents.”

  She tapped her radio, and gave the command: “Eliminate all targets. Leave none alive.”

  The room was silent. No more needed to be said. We all knew that hundreds of miles away, citizens were burning and drowning. They were in a sea of death, of tragedy.

  Serves them right.

  The savage thought surprised even me, but I forced myself to keep a straight face. Is this what I would have to be to succeed: an emotionless monster who could kill without remorse?

  If that’s what was needed, then I would do it.

  I would have to.