Greg stood next to his bed and stared down through tear soaked eyes at his dead wife bleeding out in front of him. The last few hours of the day ran through his mind like an unstoppable train of horror and sorrow. Greg's entire life began to fall apart the moment a strange man arrived at his door during dinner to inform Greg that he was no longer a sleeper agent living a quiet life in the suburbs, but had at that moment been activated to complete an assignment. To Greg's horror, being activated meant that he had to destroy all evidence of the life he had built as a sleeper agent, including killing his wife and son. Greg had struggled with his task for hours afterwards, drinking scotch and rereading the assignment notes until he had at last built up the courage to begin his assignment. Even as his heart was breaking, Greg somehow found the nerve to shoot his wife as she lay asleep in their bed. The act of murdering the woman he loved nearly tore Greg's soul apart, but he managed to hold himself together in order to complete his assignment. Greg wondered at that moment how other sleeper agents dealt with such pain, but then thought that perhaps they did not allow themselves to become attached to anyone the way Greg had. Greg's mind began to wander down the path of what it actually meant to be a sleeper agent when he suddenly snapped himself back to reality. There was still one more task for Greg to complete in order to separate himself from his past life, and Greg was left with no other choice. Killing his wife had pushed Greg past the point where he back out of his situation. The only option left to Greg would be to murder his own son.
With tears still streaming down his face, Greg turned and slowly walked out his bedroom, into the hallway, and continued to his son's room. Greg placed his hand on the door of his son's room, thankful that it had been closed and had hopefully kept his son from waking up, then paused long enough to compose himself. Greg took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then slowly opened the door to his son's room. Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the room, lit only by the wash from the hallway light, Greg took a quick scan and saw that his son remained in his bed, undisturbed and sleeping peacefully. Greg fought back the urge to cry again as he quietly walked over to his son's bed.
Greg stared down at his sleeping son as a surge of memories flooded his mind, causing such sorrow that he began to feel actual physical pain in his heart. The birth of his son had been the single greatest joy in Greg's life, and that joy now lay shattered at the bottom of his heart as he prepared to murder his own son. Greg could feel his hands shaking, almost losing his grip on the gun he had just used to kill his wife. Greg sucked in a quick gasp of air, tightened his grip on the gun, and forced his nerves to calm down. Greg closed his tear soaked eyes and raised his gun towards his son.
With tears stinging his eyes, Greg took several more deep breaths to calm himself, opened his eyes, and lowered his gun.
"I can't do this," Greg whispered to himself. "I can't kill my own son. I can't."
As Greg stood there, staring at the gun in his hand, he began to hear the sound of music playing. Greg quickly realized that the music was coming from his son's cellphone lying on the nightstand beside his son's bed. In a panic, Greg grabbed the phone, tried unsuccessfully to shut the phone off, then threw it out into the hallway. Greg's first instinct was to run out of the room and keep running, but the sound of his son's voice caused Greg's mind to suddenly go blank.
"Dad," Greg's son croaked in a sleepy voice. "What's going on? What are you doing in my room?"
"I-" Greg began to answer his son, but quickly found that no words came to his mind.
"Dad, are you okay?"
"I'm so sorry," Greg finally whispered.
"What did you say," Greg's son asked, sitting up to face his father.
Gregory could not answer his son, but instead dropped to his knees, allowing the gun to slip from his hands and slide down to the floor. As Greg dropped, some unknown object struck the wall behind him exactly where his head had been a moment before. Greg realized instantly from the sound of the impact the object that had hit the wall was a bullet. At that moment, Greg let his survival instincts take control, grabbing his son and pulling him out of his bed onto the floor. Greg pulled his son close to him as he crouched down near the bed and tried to quickly plan his next move. Greg looked over to the door of his son's room, made a quick distance judgment, then focused his attention on his panicked son.
"Listen to me now," Greg shouted, trying to hold his son's attention.
"What is going on dad," Greg's son cried out.
"Listen to me," Greg barked again. "Just focus on me. Don't worry about anything else. Just focus on me."
"I'm confused dad."
"Don't worry, I will explain everything after. Right now I just need to get you out of here. To do that, we need to make a quick run out the door of your bedroom. But you need to stay low and get out as quickly as you can. Do you understand?"
"What is this? What-"
"Don't worry about that now," Greg replied, grabbing his son by the shoulders and forcing him to focus. "You need to do what I tell you. Do you understand me son?"
"Okay," Greg's son replied, staring at his father's face. "I understand Dad."
"Good. Now, when I tell you to, you need to run out to the hallway as quickly as you can. But, you also need to stay as low to the floor as you can. Understand?"
"Yes Dad," Greg's son replied. "I got it. Run to the hallway. Stay low."
"Good. Now get ready."
Greg and his son moved to the edge of the bed and prepared themselves for the quick run out the bedroom door. Greg paused for a moment, signaled his son to be quiet, then listened closely to the surrounding area. Greg's eyes widened as he heard the sound of whispered voices coming from somewhere outside his house. At that moment, Greg realized that his handlers had been watching him since the moment he had been activated. Having failed to kill his own son, Greg knew that his superiors would send in a team of specialists to clean up the mess he had caused. At that moment, Greg decided he would do all he could to save the life of his son.
"Are you ready." Greg asked.
"Yes Dad," his son replied as he crouched down like a cat about to pounce on its prey.
Greg took one more deep breath and stared at the doorway that now represented his son's salvation.
"Go! Now," Greg shouted as he instantly ran towards the door. Though they tried to stay as low as they could, Greg and his son were forced to expose themselves as they left the safety of the bed and ran to the doorway. Several more gunshots ruptured the wall near them, and Greg realized that there must be a shooter in the house of their neighbor across the street. Greg wondered briefly if that meant that his neighbors had been killed as well, but quickly pushed that though out of his mind. Though it seemed like an eternity, Greg and his son reached the doorway in seconds, stopping only once they had made it safely into the hallway. Greg grabbed his son once again and quickly scanned him for any injuries. Greg let out a sigh of relief when he saw that his son had made it out of the bedroom unscathed.
"Are you okay," Greg asked his son. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine Dad. I'm just confused."
Greg embraced his son and let his tears flow freely. The only thing on Greg's mind at that moment was the love he felt for his son. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter as Greg and his son stood in the upstairs hallway hugging each other. The moment was soon ruined by the sound of loud pounding on the front door of the house. Greg let go of his son, moved to the top of the stairs to look down. Suddenly, the front door burst open and several men burst through, pointing guns in front of them as then entered. The men spotted Greg instantly and ran up the stairs towards him. Greg tried to grab his son and flee to one of the bedrooms, but the men were upon him before he could run. Greg held his son close to him as three men surrounded him and pointed their guns at him.