Voluntold ... getting used to it

The piano plays a a soft, imperfect, solo as I sit in the corner booth. The smoke from my Marlboro floats above my table as the third whisky shot burns its way down my throat. It's been a rough couple of days. My team is all but gone now. Those of us left are burnt, spent and drained of what soul we had before this all started.

Let's roll back the clock for a minute; more like about five days. The Corporation required our team to assist in a "project". Project my ass ... more like a suicide mission. We were dancing on semantics because everyone on the team knew we were being ordered to pull off the mission. Asking, was just the politics talking, as we are always "voluntold". We were used to this by now, so there was no surprise, just the typical rolling of eyes and phone calls to loved ones saying how much we loved them and where the secret bank accounts were in case "something went wrong". And it did. It always did.

More to come ... my inner monologue has been interrupted by violence in the sandbox