In a stuffy archive chamber buried deep in an office in Washington, D.C., a reporter sits at a metal desk lit by a solitary lamp. The eerie, sepulchral chamber is silent except for the reporter’s calm breathing. The faint glow from the bulb hints at a mane of long hair. His shirt is polyester brown, a shade that doesn’t exist in the natural world. A steno pad and a tape recorder sit on the table in front of the reporter. He takes out a pack of cigarettes, shakes one loose and takes it in his mouth. He lights up with a flip butane lighter. He exhales and smoke fills the small room.
There is a faint knock at the door and the person on the other side doesn’t hesitate before entering. The silhouette of the figure is backlit from the hall lights. He is wearing an American Air Force uniform. The shoulder epaulets contain three gold stars. On the breast pocket is a myriad of medals. An insignia patch reads “military intelligence,” a pseudo-branch of the CIA. He is not as calm as the man waiting and scurries inside. The dark shadows obscuring his face, the soldier slams a folder down in front of the seated individual.
It is a common blue briefing file. The soldier nervously eyes the folder. “That’s it,” he says. “Don’t ask me for anything thing more. That’s all there is. Everything else was burned after the war.”
Leaning forward, the reporter opens the file. TOP SECRET is stamped on the front in big red letter along with the file name: PEPPERMINT. The reporter’s breathing quickens and his hands shake as he turns the pages.
“If anyone knew how close we came to losing and what we did to secure our future, this country’s credibility would go down the toilet. These were sealed for one hundred years by the CIA,” says the officer as he leaves.
“Then why show me?” asks the reporter.
The officer gives no answer. The reporter looks at the page as the door closes. The faint echo of footsteps carries from the hall. The reporter settles into his seat and begins to read.
MISSION REPORT: Dropping the Peppermint
SUBJECT BRIEFING: Eyes Only - (Unknown Occurrence)
The woods are deep and dark. A tiny cabin is secluded in the forest, a place where people go to hide. A single oil lamp burns in the window. The small shelter has no utilities connected.
Inside, a man sits in the darkness, hunched over a table. Notes litter the floor as he hammers away at a manual typewriter. A bottle of whiskey and a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes are his only companions. A full beard covers his face, the hair unkempt. His body is emaciated. He has deteriorated so that anyone who knows his identity will not recognize him. He trembles as he reads aloud what he is writing.
“They swore me to a hundred year secrecy oath, but that doesn’t mean I have to keep it locked away in my head. The deaths covered up to look like accidents, fabrications accepted as the truth.”
His mind is a jumble and he is teetering on the insanity’s edge.
“I have to get it down before I forget, everything is a tangle of lies and misdirections. Even I’m not sure of the facts anymore. The power of God was unleashed upon an unsuspecting population in April 1945 and I was thrust into the middle of it. I trust no one. Finding out the truth depends on whether you believe the credibility of the source. You must give them your faith. These are the unknown occurrences from the end of World War II.
Armed conflict has a way of shattering what little facts remain, making them harder to distinguish from lies or disinformation. Small bits must be pieced back together to form a clearer picture. What transpired in April 1945 is best described as a birth, the awakening of mankind from its infancy. Like any delivery, it was brought into being through pain and suffering, but this child was unlike any other. It possessed inhuman power, and if unleashed, would bring nothing but destruction. It was the dawn of a new age whose parents were scientists, but not its keepers. Other men with nefarious plans of their own wanted to adopt it.
This is my story, one of many, and these are just a handful of the details. These people have the patience to wait till the time is right, to gain enough influence to manipulate politicians and governments at will. If you are reading this, maybe you can make sense of it. The world is a dangerous place. Be careful how you judge us.”