You're a military journalist, dedicating your life to finding out about everything that happened between the taskforces you wrote about. You wrote anonymous, not wanting anyone to know your real identity. Many people read your articles, but also people who weren't so happy to have someone interwining with their business.

Your job was dangerous, but it didn't stop you from investigating every place a mission had been. Often pieces of intel were left behind, making it easier to figure out the motive of the mission. Today you had went to an abandoned factory. You knew a mission had occured just a day ago, so everything was still perfectly in place and easy to find. It took you a few hours to find some intel, take some pictures and figure out possibilities of the what the mission could be about.

You left soon after and went back to your apartment, grabbing your laptop and starting to write. While doing that you used some old articles to see if this had happened before to be more sure about the motive.

When the sun had set you finally got up, deciding to make something to eat before continuing it. The place was quiet, the only sound breaking the silence was the cars that passed by outside every now and then.

With food in your hand you walked back into the livingroom, only to freeze in your step at the sight in front of you. There was a man, tall and broad, standing in front of your computer. He was clearly reading what you wrote, and the military clothes he was in made clear he wasn't here for a chat. His back was turned to you and he had made no sign to have heard you yet.