As a CIA operative the training is brutal, vigorous, outright torture. You come face to face with the true version of yourself. Not just the version you think you mask from others but the true, deep, dark, primal and animalistic version that you may not know even exists.

My training was completed months ago and the most action I have seen so far is a whole lot of nothing. During training to become a CIA operative I was trained on insertion, espionage, snatch and grabs, various military tactics and evidentially I was subjected to weeks of gruelling torture.

The things that I had to endure I’m not sure many would have been able to pass through and remain sane, not just physical torture either; but psychological.

As I sit reflecting at my desk I am called into a briefing room and told to ready up as there was a high valued target that is being brought in for interrogation with suspicion that he knows plans for a terrorist attack rumoured to occur less then 6 hours from now directly on the White House.

While the FBI and secret service as well as other government agencies mobilize to protect the suspected targets I had one goal and that was to make this person spill any information that can help us prevent the attack.

Normally you wouldn’t get a chance like this; a way to prevent a tragedy from happening.

I was going to make sure no innocent lives got hurt under any circumstances.

I entered the dimly lit room to two handlers strapping an older man to a steel chair with a black bag shielding his features. The room smelt of chemicals as they were already open and prepared for me on a trolly cart beside the chair.

The man was screaming, not just for help but pure terror as to what might become of him once the interrogation was finished, useless shouts and cries even before the interrogation began.

I knew this was going to be mentally taxing on me but just how much I could never predict.

I approach the man and usher for the two fellow operatives by the man’s side to leave the room. Picking up the file with his information, I read that his name was Jeff Johnson a retired US marine that was dishonourably discharged after deserting during operation desert storm and joining a terrorist cell based in Iraq.

“Jeff if you cooperate with me I can make this a lot less painful then it has to be, I just need to know where the bomb is. Tell me the information I seek and you can get out of this alive.” I say with no emotion as to not give anything I truly feel away.” I say removing the bag from his head

“Y-you don’t understand, if I tell you they’ll know it’s me and my entire family will be killed. I have 3 kids.”

“-And you should have thought of those children before you decided to desert your post and country to join up with a known terror cell.”

“They didn’t give me a choice please… they allowed me to provide for my family but said if I tried to escape or showed any disloyalty that they’d be killed.”

My anger begins to boil, the clock was ticking and we had around five and a half hours remaining before that bomb would detonate. Supposedly the bomb, according to the file was nucular in origin so if it went off, nothing but a complete evacuation of Washington, DC would keep people safe.

I lunge forward and strike Jeff across the face, my knuckles aching as I do so but from plenty of practice they choose to endure.

Raising my voice I yell. “GOD DAMMIT IF YOU DO NOT TELL ME WHERE THE BOMB IS I WILL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO KILL YOU AND YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY MYSELF.” My anger suddenly subsides hoping that my exaggeration wouldn’t be called as it is, a bluff.

Jeff spits out blood onto his shirt, the crimson red staining the white tank top he was wearing blended chaotically perfect into the other stains that encompassed the clothing.

“I was just looking after my family, nothing more, nothing less. I did not abandon anyone, my squad was completely eviserated before my eyes and I would’ve been the same if I didn’t join them. I had no choice, I hate every moment of my life but I fight on for my family.”

“If what your saying is true Jeff then tell me where the bomb is and I will guarantee the safety of your family.”

A simple no was all that was returned and any further questioning was met with silence. After the third question in a row without answer I turn to the trolly to see an arrangement of various weapons, tools and even acids aboard the cart.

Picking up the brass knuckles, I lean back and strike, this time with my left hand. On contact you could hear his nose shatter as well as two of my very own knuckles. Biting my tongue I put them back on the table to look over my bloody hand.

Suddenly my work phone rings, they know what I’m doing and where I am right now so there should be no need for interruptions.

Sighing I answer the phone. “Go ahead”

“Sir you’re being called out immediately, finish the interrogation and get prepared, we’re shipping you out to California, there’s a possible threat of another bomb and we need you out there as soon as possible orders are from the director.”

I’m not sure how but Jeff must’ve heard the conversation taking place on the phone even with our now 10 foot distance apart. As if a light switch was flipped he begins to frantically shake against his restraints and screaming

“NO NO NO THEY THINK I TALKED NO WHAT HAVE YOU DONE IF YOU LEFT ME ALONE THE BOMB NEVER WOULD HAVE DETONATED IT WAS A DECOY. MY FAMILY SAVE MY FAMILY.”

A piercing thought of realization grips the inner workings of my brain. The snatch and grab crew were being monitored, they should’ve known better but it seems someone from the terror cell had caught on that we grabbed their guy and now his family was destined to die. His innocent wife and three children.

All this time I thought he was the villain.. but in doing what I did, in what my organization did. We sealed the fates of lives that weren’t meant to be taken. It was all a matter of perspective…