1.
Raymond
Stephanie
Terry
Johnny Price
Five years ago, I lost my best friend Raymond. He was in the military for a while, and I never fully understood the things he saw or the horrors he tried to keep buried. He never went into detail about the things he witnessed, but he would drop little hints, his voice heavy with fear. He said he was afraid of working with certain people again. Those people—whoever they were—seemed to haunt him. But he didn’t have a choice, not really. It was his job, his duty, and he believed in it once. At least, he tried to.
And then, one day, he disappeared. Just like that. Vanished without a trace, and we were left with nothing but his empty apartment and unanswered questions.
Some people said it was self-destruction—Raymond couldn’t cope anymore with what he had seen—but I don’t buy that. Not for a second. Those sons of evil bitches killed him, made it look like he couldn’t handle life, and I’ve spent every day since then trying to piece together the truth. The truth they buried under lies, and the truth that cost him his life.
Today’s November 4th, 2003. It’s been five years, and the pain doesn’t get any easier. But there’s something new now, something that makes the anger burn even deeper. I’m still investigating what happened to Raymond, but I’m also investigating what happened to countless others—people who’ve had their loved ones ripped away from them, victims of this twisted military machine.
I’ve gone to lengths most people wouldn’t dare to. People who lost someone similar to Raymond have spoken out in public, their voices shaking with grief and rage. But nothing ever happens. Their words fade, lost in the noise, ignored by the people who could make a difference. But I don’t let it go. I’m in the shadows, digging for the truth, talking to people who need to remain nameless.
I run a private activist group dedicated to exposing the injustice that takes place within the military. I’m fighting for the innocent, for the families who can’t fight for themselves. But it’s dangerous. Too dangerous. People like me don’t get to stay hidden for long before the wrong people take notice. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, never quite feeling safe.
It’s not just Raymond I’m fighting for anymore. It’s all of them. Every victim of this system. And I won’t stop until I uncover every piece of the puzzle.
I spent hours hunched over my desk in the dim light of my cramped apartment, scanning through endless documents—official reports, testimonies, and photos—sorting through the evidence that the world had long since forgotten. The piles of paper seemed endless, each file filled with the silent cries of people who no longer had voices.
I paused when the doorbell rang.
It wasn’t unexpected. In fact, it was the signal that someone in my group had something for me. The members I had gathered over the past few years were dedicated, but they were also smart enough to know we had to keep our actions secret. No one could afford to know too much about each other. Too many whistleblowers had disappeared already, and I didn’t want to join them.
I quickly stood and opened the door to reveal Terry, one of my most trusted contacts. A tall, scruffy guy in his late thirties, he looked like he had seen more than his share of the ugliness in this world. His eyes were tired, but there was a fire behind them that I respected. He stepped inside without a word, handing me a manila envelope with a black marker’s scribbled “CONFIDENTIAL” across the front.
I didn’t need to ask. I knew what it was.
“Anything new?” I asked as I closed the door behind him, scanning the envelope.
Terry nodded grimly, taking a seat at the table. “Yeah. This one’s a mess, Steph. Could be what we’ve been waiting for.”
I tore open the envelope, my fingers trembling slightly as I pulled out a series of documents. The first page had a name at the top, bold and clear: Aaron Hallam.
I squinted at the details.
Age: 36.
Military Service: U.S. Army, Special Forces, 2001-2003.
Last Known Location: Oregon, 2003.
Status: Missing, presumed dead, 2003.
But as I flipped through the pages, a chill crept up my spine. No photos. No face identification. Just a few pieces of fragmented intel. According to the report, Aaron Hallam had gone missing after returning from Iraq. He was stationed in Oregon, with a discharge that was supposedly “honorable,” but something about it felt off. There were no traces of him in the system after his return, and the military was quick to label him a casualty of war. His family had never received any answers, and he wasn’t listed as killed in action.
This wasn’t an accident. This wasn’t a disappearance because of a mental breakdown. This was something they didn’t want anyone to know about.
I flipped to the next page. A few names of individuals who had interacted with Hallam after he returned from Iraq—people who had noticed odd behaviors, signs of trauma. One line caught my eye: Hallam had gone rogue after being exposed to classified military operations.
I frowned. My heart pounded in my chest as I felt the pieces begin to fall into place. Hallam had been exposed to something darker than the rest of the world had seen, and it had destroyed him. Maybe that’s why he ran. Maybe that’s why they erased him.
Terry watched me closely, waiting for my response.
“Missing,” I murmured under my breath. “No face ID, no fingerprints, nothing. They’ve completely erased him. He’s not just disappeared, Terry. He’s been hidden. And that means they want to keep him that way.”
Terry’s face darkened. “That’s what I figured too. I dug as deep as I could, but I’m getting the same story from multiple sources. Hallam went off the grid, but I can’t get anyone to talk about it. The military has all but sealed his case. They don’t want any more questions.”
“Damn them,” I whispered, clenching my fists. The anger was building up again. Every injustice like this made me burn with frustration, and yet I knew that staying calm was the only way I would get to the truth. “We need to find out what happened to him, and we need to find him. If he’s alive... then they did something to him. And if he’s dead, they’re hiding it.”
I spread the documents out across the table, focusing on the names listed under “Last Known Interactions.” The paper trail was thin, but it was all I had.
“There’s someone who might know more,” Terry said after a beat, breaking the silence. “A friend of Hallam’s from his time in Iraq. They were in some covert mission together. His name’s Johnny Price. Word is, he went off the radar too after Hallam disappeared.”
I nodded, grabbing a pen and scribbling down the name. “We need to find him, too. If Hallam’s alive, Johnny will know where he is. And if he’s not...” I trailed off, feeling the weight of the situation sink in. “We need to know the truth, Terry. No more secrets.”
He stood up, the grimness in his eyes matching mine. “I’ll get on it. Just don’t get too close. You’re already walking a tightrope. If they find out what you’re digging into—”
“I know the risks,” I said, cutting him off. “But I’ll get this information to the families, no matter what. I won’t stop until they know what happened to their sons, their daughters. And especially Raymond.”
Terry didn’t say anything more. He just nodded and left, disappearing into the night like so many others who risked everything for this cause.
I sat back down, staring at the documents in front of me. My mind was racing. It wasn’t just about Hallam anymore. This was about uncovering the truth, no matter where it led. And if it led to a man who had vanished into the shadows... well, I’d find him. I had to.
And when I did, I’d make sure that the world knew exactly what had happened.
~~~~~
The forest felt alive beneath my boots—the damp earth soft from the morning rain, leaves heavy with dew, and the sharp scent of pine thick in the air. Fog curled low around the trees, weaving through the trunks like something half-alive, swallowing sound and space.
I crouched near a moss-covered log, fingers brushing the cool ground. Out here, away from the buzz of cities and static of screens, it was easier to feel it all—the rhythm of nature, the pulse beneath the soil, and the quiet pull of something bigger than me. I closed my eyes, grounding myself in it, in Him.
“Lord, I know You didn’t bring me all the way out here for nothing. If there’s something I’m meant to find, help me see it. Keep me steady.”
The breeze shifted, cool against my skin, carrying the faint scent of rain. For a moment, it was just me and the trees—until I heard it.
Rustle.
The hairs on my arms rose. I didn’t hesitate—my hand shot to the knife strapped at my belt as I rose, slow and silent, scanning the fog-thick woods. My pulse thudded in my ears, sharp but steady.
“Who’s there?” I called, my voice cutting through the mist.
Nothing.
The silence was heavy, the kind that presses against your chest. I adjusted my grip on the knife but didn’t raise it—yet.
“I don’t want trouble,” I said, softer now but still firm. “If you need help, say something.”
A beat of silence—then movement.
I caught it from the corner of my eye—a figure half-hidden behind a thick tree. My breath caught.
Slowly, he stepped out, the fog parting just enough for me to see the streaks of camouflage paint across his face, the dirt ground into his clothes. He was like part of the forest—like it had shaped him, swallowed him whole, then spit him back out.
His eyes locked on mine. Sharp. Suspicious. Wounded.
“I’m not lost,” he growled, voice low and rough like gravel.
I didn’t back down. My heart raced, but there was something there—something beneath the layers of dirt and distrust.
“Then what’s your name?” I asked, voice calm, steady.
For a split second, I saw it—the hesitation. Like he wanted to answer but couldn’t. His jaw clenched, the weight of whatever he was carrying pulling heavy on him.
“I’m not here for you,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.
And then he was gone.
He bolted into the fog with a speed that sent the branches trembling in his wake.
“Wait—!” I shouted, lunging forward, but he’d already vanished, swallowed by the trees like he was never there.
I stood there, knife still in my hand, the forest silent again. The fog coiled around me, thicker now, heavier.
I took a shaky breath.
“God... who was that?”
Because I could feel it in my gut—he wasn’t just running from me. He was running from something much worse. And now, I needed to know what.
~~~~~
The low hum of the old TV in the corner filled the dusty office space as I sifted through a stack of classified reports. Pages full of redacted lines, cold government seals, and hollow words about “service” and “sacrifice” cluttered my desk. The air smelled like burnt coffee from the pot that’d been sitting there since sunrise, but I was too focused to care.
The clock ticked past noon.
I flipped another page when the newscaster’s voice sharpened through the static, something in his tone making my hand freeze mid-turn.
“—two men, both experienced hunters, were found brutally killed early this morning in the dense forests of Oregon. Authorities initially suspected a wild animal attack due to the ferocity of the wounds, but inconsistencies at the scene have left officials baffled.”
My head snapped up. The screen showed grainy footage of flashing police lights and yellow tape strung between trees.
“The bodies were discovered just miles from a well-known hunting trail. No suspects have been identified. Locals are being advised to avoid the area.”
My stomach twisted. That’s the same damn place I was two weeks ago.
A shiver rippled through me as I pressed my palms together, closing my eyes.
“Lord... thank You for keeping me safe that day. I could’ve been one of them. But please... bring peace to those men’s families. Wrap them in Your love. Amen.”
I exhaled slowly, heart still racing when the door creaked open behind me.
“Tough morning?”
I didn’t even have to turn—I recognized Terry’s voice, low and casual, but always holding a weight of something heavier.
“Depends,” I muttered, my eyes flicking back to the frozen image on the screen. “You see this?”
Terry strode in, dropping a thick manila folder on my desk. “That’s why I’m here.”
I raised a brow. “You’re saying this wasn’t some random animal attack?”
Terry let out a humorless chuckle. “Nope. It’s Aaron Hallam.”
The name hit like a punch to the chest.
I sat up straighter. “The same Aaron Hallam we’ve been tracking for weeks?”
“Yup.”
The air felt tighter, heavier. I remembered the woods—the fog, the knife in my hand, the shadowed figure with camouflage paint staring back at me.
Terry flipped open the folder, revealing grainy black-and-white photos. “Johnny Price, Hallam’s old buddy from Iraq, called it. Said Hallam has this... signature. He leaves his kills looking almost ritualistic. Did it to a high-ranking officer during the war. Left the man hacked up and brutalized—exact same M.O. as those two hunters.”
I felt my throat go dry.
Terry kept going, oblivious to the storm in my chest. “Johnny also said Hallam and his unit trained by throwing knives at thin trees, using ’em like target dummies. Hallam was one of the best—could nail a moving target from yards out.”
My mind flashed back—two weeks ago, walking deeper into the woods, past rows of thin trees pocked with deep, jagged holes. I remember running my fingers over the rough edges, thinking it was some hunter’s stray shots.
But it wasn’t.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, gripping the edge of my desk. That was Aaron Hallam.
Terry furrowed his brow. “What?”
I blinked, realizing I’d spoken aloud. I sat up straighter, forcing calm into my voice.
“You said that out loud,” he added, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
I swallowed hard. “I—I think I saw him.”
Terry’s jaw tightened. “Stephanie—”
“I didn’t know it was him! I thought—” I hesitated. “I thought it was just some drifter. He didn’t attack me. He ran.”
Terry paced, running a hand through his hair. “You could’ve been number three.”
“But I wasn’t.” I clenched my fists. “And now we know he’s out there.”
He sighed, but I could see the wheels turning in his head. “If you remember anything else—”
“I will,” I promised, though part of me already knew I wasn’t going to tell him everything.
Because when I’d seen Aaron that day, there’d been something in his eyes. Not pure violence. Not yet.
Something was broken inside him.
