I'm in the wind. I'm sure I'll be dead by tomorrow, but I need to let people know this thing is loose.

I'm an agent with the United States government and my station is Black Site 7.

I won't tell you my name.

It would probably be useless to you.

But this was not how I saw my life going.

I spent six years in Iraq, signed up right after high school, and it was nothing like the

recruiter told me it would be. I spent eight years in the blistering heat, hauled my

fair share of comrades out of firefights, and saw a lot of hell

over there that would make normal people go crazier than I might be.

I've had camel spiders calling me while I sleep, watch friends I've known since Basic

get decapitated through binoculars, burnt houses full of insurgents and civilians to rubble.

And when I was done, they gave me my papers, thanked me for my service service and sent me home.

I know I have no ride to complain.

Many guys didn't make it back, but home was worse.

I'd spent the last eight years in an active combat zone and now I was just supposed to

come home and go back to civilian life. I spent three months home, two of those months

spent in a crappy apartment because my parents

couldn't handle the night terrors and the jumping marine that had come back before I

knew it wasn't going to work. Every car horn, every barking dog, every firework rattling in the street had been reaching for my gun and breaking into a sweat when I couldn't find it.

Before a T.J found me, I was considering suicide.

Then one day, he's just on my door with a big cheesy grin he'd always warn. You look like hell, house, let's get some pancakes.

I've got something I want to discuss with you."

...