Donald had seen and been witness to many atrocities but none had affected him as much as the ones the CIA were now having him analyze.

            He got out of bed and walked into the bathroom.  Rita, his girlfriend with whom he hadn’t seen in two weeks, still had a lot of her stuff scattered around the room (she said she’d come and get it earlier this week but hadn’t).  Donald missed Rita.  It was because she was gone that he thought he was having the nightmares.

            Thinking about Rita made him hard and he took a cold shower to put his mind at ease. 

            Unlike many other people in his office building, Donald didn’t own a car or motorcycle or any other vehicle.  He never thought that it was an issue since he could just catch the bus to his office building or walk to any shop or grocery store since everything was less than five blocks from his condo.

            Today he wished he had a car to drive into work.  He didn’t feel like taking the bus and walking was out of the question.  The vivid details of the nightmare clung to him like static and it didn’t sit well with him one bit.  In fact, he finally realized that following each time he had the nightmare he would go into a slight depression that would last the entire day.  He hoped this would not be the case today as he had an important meeting with his Director about his analysis of the “RED” tapes.

            He was only one of five people given access to the “RED” file for analysis.  Each member of the team were given the same tapes from which to analyze and debunk.  This was a “blind” analysis.  No one knew who was on the team nor if they were in this division or any other one of the other divisions across the country.  The whole point of this exercise (as he was told) is to critique and analyze the analyst, so, he never really took the tapes as 100 percent authentic.

            Donald took a cab to 1048 Fleet Street Building, which housed the local CIA Headquarters.  Nothing else was nearby.  It sat by itself on the block.  Even though the building did not advertise that it was a building of the CIA, it was common knowledge that it was.  This building was simply an office building where records were stored and documents were analyzed.  No field CIA agents operated from the building or so Donald thought.

            He made his way up to the eighth floor where his cubicle (among about fifty other analysts) were.  He dropped his bag at his desk and made his way over to the break room.  He needed coffee.  More so this morning then others since his head was killing him more than normal.  Coffee would kill it.

            Coffee always killed his headaches.

            No one was in the break room when Donald entered (probably because the coffee was all gone by the time he walked into the room).  He grabbed another packet of Folgers and began making a new pot.

            His meeting with Director Fischer was in three hours.  That would leave him with plenty of time go back over his report one final time before the meeting to iron out any fallacies that he may have missed during one of the other nine re-writes.  He hadn’t done this much proofreading since before he was accepted into the agency.

            As he watched the coffee percolate another agent stumbled into the room.  He wasn’t an agent from his floor although Donald had seen this man before in the building.  It was uncommon (but not unheard of) for an agent from one of the other divisions to visit the other floors but Donald noticed that this guy had already had one too many cups of coffee.  This agent appeared dazed and was mumbling something under his breath as he stared at the floor while wondering over to the refrigerator.

            Donald said nothing to this Dazed-Agent as he watched the agent pull out a carton of Skim Milk and begin drinking it straight out of the carton.  The Dazed-Agent spilt much of it onto the floor and across his face.  Donald thought the man was either sleepwalking or completely insane.

            Donald walked up to the Dazed-Agent and grabbed him by the shoulders.

            “Wake up, man,” he yelled at the Dazed-Agent.  When the Dazed-Agent did not respond, Donald slapped him across the face.  The Skim Milk skirted across the break room floor.  The Dazed-Agent still did not respond.

            Donald heard the coffee machine buzzer go off.  He turned around for only a moment and when he returned his attention back to the Dazed-Agent, he was gone.

            Donald ran to the door and was only able to see the Dazed-Agent disappear down the hallway from wince he came.  Not his problem anymore although the Dazed-Agent did leave one hell of a mess for him to clean up.

            It took Donald about ten minutes to clean up the mess left by the Dazed-Agent by which his own coffee had lost it’s freshness.  When he made his way back to his cubicle a note was sitting on his desk.  It said that his meeting with Director Fischer was being moved up to first thing this morning and because of the incident in the break room, he was already late.  Today really wasn’t his day.

Agent Donald Spenser entered Director Fischer’s office after being buzzed in.  Donald was unable to pick up the “RED” File before heading up to the twelfth floor where the Director’s office was located.  The Director of the CIA’s office had a great view of the city from all four sides.  It was a one of a kind.

            Donald didn’t need to pick up a copy of his report as the Director already had a copy of it.  This meeting was a way in which Donald would have a chance to show off his skills,

            As he walked into the Director’s office he happened to notice two security officers running pass him.  They seemed out of breathe to Donald as though this was the most exercise and exertion that they had ever seen.  Donald laughed at himself at this observation.

            The Director’s secretary closed the door after he entered.  Donald stood at the door and waited for his Director (who was sitting in his leather chair facing one of the windows that overlooked the city).

            “Agent Spenser,” the Director began.  “It’s so good to finally meet you.  I don’t always get a chance to meet everyone in my division.”  The Director swivels around in his chair to face Donald who is half scared out of his whit.

            Donald steps into the room closer to the Director’s desk.

            “Please, sit,” the Director instructs.

            Donald does what he is told without hesitation.  The chair was uncomfortable to him but he would make due.  He wasn’t going to complain to his boss.

            “I read your findings on the RED Report,” the Director says.  This made Donald feel better.  “You are aware that you are not the only agent analyzing this data and that the work you are doing is of highly sensitive nature?”

            Donald was already aware of all of this since before he was given the assignment.  It was just slightly getting on his nerves, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.  The director was reciting all of this verbatim as if it was a pre-written speech given a hundred times or more.

            The Director stood up and approached Donald never skipping a beat.   He put his hands upon Donald’s shoulders as if he was a proud father.

            “You’ve not had any side effects from viewing such questionable footage?” the Director asks.

            Donald thought this a strange question as he had been assigned many other cases similar to this one but had never been asked these types of questions.  He listened intently but looked out across the city throughout one of the many windows in the office.  The view had a calming effect.

            He wished this was his office.

            “Some of the other analyst who have viewed the footage claim to be suffering from, how should I put this…nightmares,” the Director said.  This last part sparked a slight response in Donald but he didn’t show all his cards, not even to his supervisor.  His Poker-Face remained

            His Director didn’t get a chance to ask him anything more as they both watched in horror as a body dropped pass the window from above.  Both men ran to the window just in time to see the body splatter.

            This was definitely not Donald’s day.

By the time Donald reached the front of the 1048 Fleet Street Building a gathering of some of his fellow agents and random citizens had surrounded the body and made a spectacle of everything.

Since he was with the Director, Donald found it easier to push his way through the crowd to where the body had fallen.  The body of the man who fell was sprawled out on the pavement.  Bones and body were broken & twisted.  The body’s front shirt hung open, which Donald thought strange.

Without giving much thought, Donald approached the body of the fallen man and opened up his shirt.  Carved into the man’s shirt was a single three-letter word.  It read “RED.”  Donald pulled the hair from the face of the fallen man and realized right away who it was.  It was the Dazed-Agent from earlier.

“What the hell is going on?” Donald asked to no particular person.  He took off his suit jacket and covered the man up so that no one could see.  Then he watched his Director push the onlookers back and direct the other agents to return to the building.  Donald just stood there dumbfounded.