The Colonels

New York City, the metropolis that never slept, still radiated its vibrant energy even under the dark veil of the night sky.

In the opulent suite of a luxurious 5-star hotel, a middle-aged man sat on the edge of a disheveled bed, his bare upper body revealing a muscular physique that defied his age.

The room bore the marks of his anguish, with empty bottles of alcohol strewn across the table beside him. Ignoring the beautiful woman lying naked next to him, his gaze remained fixated on the television screen.

The news relentlessly reported on the government's meticulous preparations for the impending Apocalypse Game. It emphasized the escalating trend of survivors each year and the growing hope that accompanied the increasing number of seasoned veterans who managed to survive. But to the man on the bed, it was all a web of lies and deception.

"What a bunch of lies!" he bellowed, his voice filled with seething rage. In a fit of frustration, he hurled his glass against the wall.

The sharp shattering sound quickly scared the naked girl. Turning his head, the man said "I am sorry, just grab the money and leave me alone." Quickly nodding her head, the beautiful woman quickly got off the bed and put on her clothes before taking the money and leaving the room.

Left alone amidst the wreckage of his emotions, the man turned his attention to the mirror hanging on the wall. Gazing at his own reflection, his eyes filled with self-loathing. "How pathetic," he muttered, the words laced with bitter disappointment.

This man was Colonel Weeber, once a revered figure in the United States Army and the man entrusted with overseeing the East Coast Apocalypse Game Center. But now, he was a mere husk of his former self.

Ever since his son had participated in the third year of the Apocalypse Game and tragically lost his life, Weeber had been haunted by guilt and consumed by remorse.

Although he had the power to grant his son exemption from the military draft, he chose not to, ultimately sealing his son's fate.

The weight of this tragedy bore down on him, pushing him into a downward spiral of depression and ultimately leading to the dissolution of his marriage. Since then, Weeber aimlessly wandered from one hotel to another, seeking temporary solace in the arms of companions for the night, but finding no respite from his inner demons.

As he stared into the abyss of his own despair, Weeber opened a drawer, revealing a gleaming nine-millimeter pistol nestled within. For a fleeting moment, he contemplated the idea of ending his suffering once and for all. But a glimmer of hesitation held him back, and he closed the drawer, deciding instead to drown his sorrows with yet another glass of alcohol.

Just as he raised the bottle to his lips, a sharp knock on the door shattered the silence, interrupting his descent into darkness.

"Did you forget something?" he called out, assuming it was the woman returning for something left behind. Receiving no response, he sighed, resigned to face the disturbance, and made his way toward the door.

To his astonishment, the person standing on the other side was not the woman, but a mysterious figure clad in black, wearing a cloth mask that concealed their face.

With a gun pressed against Weeber's temple, the intruder spoke calmly, his voice measured and devoid of emotion.

"No sound, and move slowly backward," he commanded.

Weeber's mind raced, his years of military experience guiding his reactions. In reality, he had been in many similar situations before, therefore he was able to maintain his composure and immediately he noticed a few things.

First was the fact that he had 2 of his subordinates standing guard not far from his room. But from the looks of it, it seemed that this unknown man had disabled them and taken their gun.

The second was the fact that this man should obviously know him, or rather who he was. Yet, despite knowing he was a colonel of the army, this masked guy's eyes and voice were just too relaxed.

While Weeber's mind continued analyzing, the two of them had entered the room. The man sat on the chair, gesturing the colonel to sit on the bed.

The masked man leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, a disconcerting juxtaposition against the gravity of the situation. He broke the silence, his voice laced with an unsettling mix of friendliness and menace.

"You need not fear, Colonel. I have come to talk, to offer my assistance. I wish to be your friend."

Weeber's mind churned, attempting to make sense of the stranger's intentions. Who was this person? What did they truly seek? He decided to play along, to gather as much information as possible before making his move. Locking eyes with the intruder, he asks.

"If you genuinely wish to be my friend, what purpose does the mask and the gun serve?"

A chuckle escaped the masked man's lips, an eerie sound that echoed through the room. "These are uncertain times, Colonel. Caution is a must. Rest assured, there will come a time when I will reveal myself to you. But for now, as a gesture of goodwill…"

With deliberate movements, the intruder placed the gun on the table, a calculated display of trust. Weeber observed closely, his mind still racing, his intuition warning him against complacency. The man exuded danger, a fact that Weeber could not ignore.

Fixing his gaze upon the colonel, the masked figure reached into his pocket, retrieved a USB drive, and placed it on the table. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he spoke once more, his tone casual yet laden with hidden significance.

"Contained within this USB is vital information regarding the upcoming Apocalypse Game. I trust that you possess the wisdom to discern its value and make the right decisions."

Weeber snorted skeptically, skepticism etched across his face. "Is this some kind of twisted joke? No one possesses knowledge of the game's details. Furthermore, you have mistaken me for Colonel Hammond. He has assumed control of the operation for months now. If you seek information, he is the one you should approach."

The masked man's confidence remained unshaken, his eyes glinting with an inexplicable certainty. "No, Colonel. It is you who will be in charge of this year's game."

A surge of disbelief coursed through Weeber's veins, his mind struggling to comprehend the implications of the stranger's words.

'Who is this guy and what is that he really wants? Is he one of the anti-alien resistance, if he is then I should try to capture him.``

The next instant, the colonel picked up a bottle near him and threw it at the masked man. He then quickly aimed for the gun on the table, but he was shocked to see how the masked men able to dodge while took a second gun from his back and put it on the colonel's head.

Weeber suddenly felt stupid for making such an impulsive decision. He forgot to consider the second gun from his other subordinate. He blamed it on the alcohol for his bad reasoning.

While holding the gun, the masked man said, "Wrong move, Colonel. If you are not the man in charge, I would have pulled the trigger." He took the gun from the table and turned towards the door before speaking one last time. "The information in that USB will be useful, Colonel. I hope you make the right judgment."

Before he could voice his astonishment, the intruder swiftly retrieved the gun from the table and strode purposefully toward the door, leaving no trace of his presence behind.

Alone once more, Weeber's hand instinctively reached for his phone, intending to report the unnerving encounter to the appropriate authorities. However, before he could dial a number, his phone began to ring. The Secretary of Defense's name flashed across the screen, and Weeber's heart skipped a beat.

"Colonel Weeber, I regret to inform you that Colonel Hammond has taken his own life. In light of this tragedy, you are hereby reinstated as the leader of the operation. The country needs your expertise and guidance," the Secretary of Defense conveyed with a somber tone.

Weeber's eyes widened in disbelief, a chilling realization settling in. How could the masked man have known about Hammond's demise, or about his impending return to command?