Somewhere in Afghanistan:
I've been in this room for hours and each minute is making me lose even more hope than the last. The light is bright one moment and dim in the next, my chair is wobbling and on a clean steel table sits a glass of water that I haven't touched. All I can do is stare at the two-way mirror across the side of the room. Behind that glass are several men who are about to determine my fate.
I saw through their tricks, they adjusted the lighting to loosen my focus, they mess with my chair to keep me uncomfortable, and they hope I drink the water so I have to beg them to use the bathroom. Cops in Gotham and New York used the same tactics on my uncle, it didn't work on him and it won't work on me.
They were hoping my story would change but it didn't, I stood my ground and replied with the truth, I can only hope that saves me. I can tell that they don't believe me and I understand why. To be honest, I wouldn't believe myself if I wasn't there to see it happen. I can still picture their faces in my mind Wu, Hayden, Walt, Redding, Schaefer, and of course Sergeant Taylor. They were the closest thing I had to an actual family and now they were dead. These men have already decided my fate, the only question that remains is: Where do they send me now?
Suddenly someone new enters the room; he is tall African American male with a stern face. He appears to be about 45 years old with slight greying in his hair and his stubble. His most noticeable features wear the scars on his neck and hands. It looked like someone once tried to garrote him, judging by his physique I doubt that whoever tried is still able to talk about it. His eyes have an exhausted look and his disposition reads that he is in no mood to waste any time.
"Lance Corporal James Cavanaugh?" He asked.
"Yes Sir!" I replied.
"Due to the recent circumstances, The United States Government feels that your services would be better utilized in the Department of Extranormal Operations."
"Wait, that doesn't make any sense" I said, "I still have two months left on my tour, and I don't remember signing anything with the DEO!"
"Well that's why I brought these documents" he said, pointing at the folder being held in his right hand. "All you have to do is sign the papers to start your transfer." He explained.
"But I don't want to leave the Marine Corps!" I protested.
He sighed placing his fingers on the bridge of his nose "Look kid, the Marine Corps doesn't care if you want to leave, it wants you to leave. So please just sign these papers so we can both get on with our lives."
I finally understood what was happening to me. Staff Sergeant Winters didn't believe my story but he also knew he didn't have enough to dishonorably discharge me. All he did know was that I was a metahuman and I've had a flawless record until last night. Rather than trying to put me in a cell he threw me into an agency that was looking for expendable metahumans.
"So, what happens if I don't sign?" I asked.
"You go face a tribunal, you'll probably escape conviction but your reputation will be ruined and no marine will ever trust you again." He said sincerely.
I sighed, briefly weighing my options "Gotta pen?"
"Of course", he replied.
After I signed the forms I handed them back to this man.
"Welcome to the DEO. I will be your handler." He exclaimed joyfully.
Before we exited the hallway I asked "So what do I call you?"
"Charlie Brown, or Agent Brown if you prefer", he said.
"Seriously?" I sighed, struggling not to facepalm.
Looks like it's gonna be a long flight home.