The Former Marine

The car moved through the desert darkness, the city lights already distant in the rearview mirror. Donovan drove in silence, and Derek sat beside him, watching the road ahead. The mission had been executed with precision, without fail, and the target was dead. But the weight of a covert operation like this was always something Derek felt deep inside. There was something about working in the shadows, without reconnaissance, that was so different from conventional military operations.

After a long silence, Donovan finally broke the stillness.

"That was fast," he said, his eyes never leaving the road. "No fail?"

"No fail," Derek replied, his voice steady but distant. He was still processing what he had just done.

Donovan smiled slightly, pleased. "You have a talent for this kind of thing, Rogan. It's not just anyone who can handle the pressure of a mission like this and still get away with it."

Derek nodded, but didn't respond right away. He knew Donovan's comment was a compliment, but it wasn't exactly what he was looking for. There was a difference between being a warrior and being a ghost. At that moment, Derek didn't know which he preferred to be.

"The mission is complete, but that doesn't mean the job is over," Donovan continued, turning to Derek for a moment before looking back at the road. "When we get back, there will be another briefing. The CIA has other operations that might need someone like you. What do you think about staying on for a while?"

Derek was silent, considering the proposal. He knew his liaison with the CIA was temporary, but the idea of ​​continuing in the shadows unsettled him a little. There was something deeper at play—a price he was beginning to understand.

"I don't know if continuing on these operations is what I want in the long run," Derek finally said, breaking the silence that followed Donovan's comment. "It's not the same as working with my team."

Donovan smiled knowingly, but there was a hardness in his eyes. "I see. But sometimes, working alone is where you find true purpose. Don't you think?"

Derek didn't answer right away. Instead, he stared out the window, watching the desert blur past. What was he really after? The glory of serving his country as part of an elite team, or the calculated coolness of covert operations that no one would ever know about? He was beginning to realize that by entering this clandestine world, he was giving up part of himself.

When they reached the makeshift CIA base on the outskirts of town, Derek got out of the car and breathed in the dry night air. Donovan turned off the engine and got out immediately, heading straight for the temporary headquarters. Derek followed, knowing that a new briefing would be needed.

Inside the base, fluorescent lights illuminated the tired faces of the intelligence operatives, analysts, and agents. Everyone here seemed accustomed to long nights and little daylight. Donovan led Derek into a small briefing room where two other agents were waiting. One of them was the operations chief, a burly middle-aged man with scars on his face that spoke of a long career in the shadows.

"Rogan, good job," the chief said without any formality. "The takedown was clean and quiet. That's exactly what we need on missions like this."

Derek nodded, silently thanking him. He wasn't there for praise, but to get the job done. The chief continued, showing a digital map on the screen in front of him. "We're tracking other targets, both in Afghanistan and Iraq. Your insertion went perfectly, and contacts on the ground have already given us new information on the next target."

As the chief spoke, Derek felt a certain unease growing inside him. He had completed his mission, but the emptiness that followed these operations was palpable. There was no public recognition, no comrades to celebrate with. Just the next target, the next operation.

"The next step is to continue this cycle?" Derek asked, interrupting the flow of information his boss was relaying. "Are we just going to keep taking out targets, not knowing what comes next?"

The boss stopped, taken aback by the question. "Rogan, this is the job. There will always be a next target, there will always be a next mission. What did you expect?"

Derek looked directly at the man. "I expected the job to have a greater purpose somehow. Something that would lead us to an end point, rather than a constant repetition."

Donovan, who had been standing nearby, had been watching silently, but now he intervened. "You're looking at this the wrong way, Rogan. Every mission has its impact, even if you don't see the results right away. The shadows are there to protect the light, to make sure the world outside keeps functioning."

Derek listened, but Donovan's words didn't completely convince him.

He knew the job was necessary, but the loneliness and emptiness that came with it were starting to take its toll.

"I need some time to think," Derek said finally.

The chief exchanged a look with Donovan and sighed, "Understood. Take some time. But remember, we can't wait too long. Operations don't stop."

Derek nodded and left the room, walking outside the base, where the night sky was bright with stars. He looked up, trying to find some kind of answer in the vast unknown above him.

For the next few days, Derek sat isolated on the base, reflecting on his position. He knew the work he had done was important, but at the same time, he missed his team, being out in the field with other operators who shared the same risk and the same goal. The CIA offered resources and precision, but it lacked the human connection he valued so much at MARSOC.

One morning, as he was making his coffee in a secluded corner of the base, Donovan approached. "Thinking about going back to your team?"

Derek shrugged. "That makes the most sense to me. It's just... cold out here."

Donovan smiled, shaking his head. "That's the price of working in the shadows, Rogan. Not everyone can handle it. You've done a great job, but I understand if you want to go back to something more tangible."

Derek appreciated Donovan's candor. "I didn't come here to hide," he said, looking the agent straight in the eye. "I came here to make a difference. And maybe for me, that means standing alongside my brothers in combat."

Donovan nodded, understanding. "You'll always have a place with us, should you decide to come back."

Derek was silent, considering. CIA missions offered a different kind of challenge, but he knew his true calling lay with his team, facing the enemy head-on, in the field. He had learned a lot from his experience in the shadows, but he also knew there were limits to what he was willing to sacrifice.

"I appreciate it," Derek replied, "but I think it's time for me to get back to where I belong."

Donovan smiled, extending his hand. "Good luck, Rogan. And if you need us, you know where to find us."

Derek shook Donovan's hand firmly, feeling that he had made the right decision. The CIA had been a necessary diversion, but now he was ready to return to his true mission—to serve alongside his team, facing the enemy with honor and courage.

He walked away from the base, ready to find his true path again, knowing that the shadows would always be there, but that he would choose when and how he would face them.