Mike's POV
Minutes after the meeting ended, just as agents were beginning to scatter and murmur about the changes, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Ms. Marsha:
“Agent Mike, report to my office. Immediately.”
I didn’t reply—just pocketed my phone and headed to the upper levels of the headquarters. The walk was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. With everything going on, I couldn’t help but brace for whatever came next.
When I entered the room, I immediately noticed I wasn’t alone.
Agent Alfred stood by the window, arms crossed, eyes distant like he already had a read on why we were called. Sitting near him was Agent Liam—once part of the Gamma team—calm but alert, his presence as sharp as ever. Beside him, Bea, the former Gamma team leader, kept her arms loosely folded, face unreadable. And finally, Fredd from the Beta team—silent, composed, but his eyes darted around the room, scanning each of us like we were part of some unsolvable equation.
None of us spoke, but it didn’t take a genius to sense the same silent conclusion: we were here for something big. A mission, maybe. One none of us were briefed on… yet.
Then the door opened.
Ms. Marsha entered, her heels echoing softly on the floor. She carried a stack of folders in one hand and a calm, commanding expression on her face. Without a word, she moved to each of us, placing a folder in front of us before finally sitting at the head of the table.
"The reason you’re all here," she began, "is because this mission requires a very specific set of skills. Skills you each uniquely possess."
I opened the folder. Classified documents, maps, coded intel, photos of the President’s security detail. My eyes narrowed.
"This mission," she continued, "is to protect the President of the United States."
That got everyone’s attention.
"Recent intel confirms the threats against President Ford have intensified. Several of our enemies are closing in—criminal organizations, rogue operatives… even internal leaks. That’s why this unit is being formed."
She gestured toward Alfred. "Agent Alfred will lead this team. He’s handled high-value protection assignments in the past and knows the terrain."
I looked around. No one argued. We didn’t need to. We knew the stakes were too high for pride to get in the way.
Ms. Marsha didn’t waste time.
After briefing us on the mission’s foundation, she stood from her seat, the creak of the leather chair echoing through the tense silence in the room. Her gaze swept across all of us—Alfred, Liam, Bea, Fredd, and me.
"You won’t just be guarding the President," she said, her voice calm but heavy with meaning, "you’ll be living with him. Under the same roof. Your job is to keep him alive, and that means around-the-clock protection—no shifts, no rotations. You breathe when he breathes."
That made us exchange a look. Living with the President? This wasn’t just some field assignment—it was personal. Claustrophobic, even. And judging by the grim expressions around me, everyone understood what that meant: no privacy, no rest, no slip-ups.
Ms. Marsha moved to the door but paused, hand on the knob. “You have one hour to pack what you need. The President himself will deliver the final briefing when you arrive. From this moment on, your lives are tied to his.”
Then she opened the door and stepped out without waiting for questions.
I looked at Alfred, who simply nodded and adjusted the strap of his watch like he was already counting down.
Bea gave a low whistle.
“Well, this is going to be fun.”
Liam stood up silently. Fredd muttered something under his breath and followed him out.
Agent Alfred and I walked side by side down the hallway, the silence between us filled with the weight of what had just been laid on our shoulders.
He finally broke the silence, his voice low. “This is going to be a hell of a mission.”
I didn’t respond right away, just nodded slightly, my eyes staring ahead. Alfred glanced sideways at me, his tone a bit more curious now.
“What are you thinking, Mike?”
I stopped walking.
Alfred halted as well, turning fully to face me. There was a seriousness in his eyes, like he already knew I had something heavier on my mind than just logistics or strategy.
I looked at him—and said quietly,
“I’m hoping we’re on the right side.”
There was a pause, like even the hallway around us held its breath.
Then I turned and walked away, toward the Alpha quarters.
I didn’t need to hear Alfred’s response. Maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe he was asking himself the same question now.
Because sometimes, the hardest missions weren’t the ones you fought with a gun—but the ones where you didn’t even know who you were really fighting for.