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r3n0 · #3 (**permalink**) 07-10-2009

It always starts with some dickhead getting a promotion. Warren Riley stood suit-clad and stoic in the CIA Crime and Narcotics Division office of his newly-appointed superior, Gary Worth. Agent Worth was an incomprehensible douche, in Riley's opinion. However, 'superior' meant just that. Riley kept his mouth shut as Agent Worth pissed away his career.

"Agent Riley, I'm going to be Frank. We're removing you from the Juarez assignment. In light of the intel ceased during that raid in El Paso, we feel that it would be better for the division if you were reassigned to an Alpha Unit operating out of our friends in jolly ol' England. You're going to Turkey, where you will connect with a Captain Ryan Vaughn. He is your daddy now, and you do as he says, understood?" Worth's face turned slightly sideways, his eyebrows pushing upward condescendingly in gesture signifying that no matter how quickly Riley would answer, it would still take too long.

"Sir, with all do respect to you and the Agency, this is complete fucking bullshit..." Worth shifted back in his chair, his lips motioning to speak, but Riley cut him off with his continued ranting.
"I have been picking apart these Juarez fucks like fleas off of a monkey dick, and right when my agents and I are a shot away from shutting Juarez down for good, this assignment gets fucking pulled out from under me? Correct me if I'm wrong, Gary, but that sounds a lot like a certain Director is stealing the fucking credit for the blood and sweat that I've poured into this investigation..." Again, Worth would attempt to interject, but would soon be silenced by the gradually increasing voice of Riley's frustration.
"How many narco-fucks have YOU put down, Gary? How many nights have you had to lie awake in your fucking bed because you know you're responsible for taking a father away from his children? How many dead bodies do YOU see when you close your eyes? I see fourteen. Fourteen drug-trafficking Mexicans that I've single handedly murdered, and in some cases, tortured for the sake of national-fucking-security. You give me a good fucking answer to these questions, and MAYBE I'll hop on a plane to Turkey."

Worth's answer came in the form of an ultimatum, and Riley found himself on a plane to Turkey.

Introductions were brief, and in a flash, Riley was geared up and put on a chopper. He didn't feel fear or anxiety, quite the contrary, he knew what was coming and what to expect. So he slept on the chopper, as best he could with the rotor roaring and the sound of chopping wind still punishing his ears through his sound-dampening ear muffs.

He dreamed of killing, as an inevitable precursor to having to wake up and kill again.