Where did my story begin? Maybe the question should ‘where did my story end’? No matter, the beginning of the end was a single quote. A meaningless, back-handed comment. A comment that has rung out and bounced around my head for fifteen years, a whole decade and a half. It goes a little something like this:
“Look at you, sacrificing yourself for others! when did you get a heard? I thought you’d lost your moral code long, long ago."
Looking back, there’s plenty I could relish in regret for, for three eternities over. But that’s not what my job you see. I am a field agent for Sanctus Sacro - we all call it SS because it sounds badass. Every agent here is dead, more or less. Our families have mourned us while we attended our funerals, where some John Does were laid to rest under our names. Our wives, children, parents; they think we’re goners, that we left this world without a choice. But really, we had every choice in the world to leave them. And choose we did. We chose each other.
I even attended my own funeral, from a distance of course. I watched as my fiance held our five-year-old son, Charlie, close to her. I watched my son drop a single white lily across the top of my casket, while my fiance dropped a white rose beside Charlie’s. I watched as my fiance broke into tears and dropped to her knees beside the grave, yelling to the heavens to bring me back.
I’m here with my twin, Raven Skye Reyes. They call her Rogue, as you’ll come to know. My name is Spencer, Spencer Neil Reyes. The guys call me Neo, like the guy from The Matrix. Seriously, my nickname is a character from a movie and Rave gets fucking Rogue, it’s unfair. Anyway, we make up two of about ten in our little section of the Bureau, the FBI that is.
