There Was Never Just One

Prologue

"Kitsome, Monroe. You're up."

June Monroe and Kenneth Kitsome are taken to their next activity for today, and it may be the most important one of their careers. Working for the army wasn't easy, especially when you're one of the best. As they stepped onto the field, the heat was excruciating and the weight of their suits wasn't helping. None of that mattered now; it was their turn to defuse this bomb. Kenneth kissed June on the cheek as neared their target. "You ready for this?"

"Always have been," June looked straight forward, plotting in her head. They took their stands and started to snip wires and push buttons and do what they did best. What Kenneth and June didn't know was that someone was watching. Someone, somewhere, knew about this all along. That person watched as they defused it, the one great creation that was all about to go to waste. About to.

With one click of a trigger the bomb exploded and sent both soldiers flying. Kitsome and Monroe couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't see; but they could think. As they laid there staring at nothingness, they thought and thought about the mission, about their lives, and about each other.

Hours later, headquarters started to get worried, so they went out to search for the fighting lovers. They found them both alive, but both unconscious. They weren't in the condition to stay anymore, so headquarters had an idea: They called the CIA.

"Hello, you've reached the CIA, how may I help you?" the receptionist answered the phone.

"It's Craig Danton speaking. Can you put Eric Byer on the phone?"

"Transferring you, Mr. Danton," he replied, while a few beeps were heard on the phone. Craig Danton looked at June Monroe, and then Kenneth Kitsome. His top soldiers were most likely in a coma.

"Mr. Danton, I hope you have some agents you'd like to promote."

"Not exactly, Byer," Craig rubbed his head and looked at the two unmoving bodies. "My top guns were blown out. They're not suited for this type of job anymore; I was hoping you could give them a chance." He sighed uneasily, "Their names are June Monroe and Kenneth Kitsome. They work well together and are currently in what looks like a coma."

"Alright, I'll take them. I'll bring them in tomorrow and see where I can put them."

"Thank you, sir."

"My pleasure; I'll see you tomorrow."

New Mexico

"You are in the Western CIA headquarters of New Mexico. And your name is June Monroe?" the interrogator asked. He looked at the girl sitting on the bed. She was beaten and bruised beyond comprehension.

"Y-yes," June's words came out muffled. She was hardly able to move without feeling a lingering pain all over her body. "Whe-Where's…" she struggled to make anything come out of her mouth. The interrogator leaned forward and raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to keep talking. "K- Kenneth…"

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," he replied as he wrote down a quick observation report. Any other agent watching the interrogation would've thought he was an incredible liar. Although in reality, he felt pain. He was truly sorry for her, that poor hopeless girl sitting on the bed; June Monroe. June would've fought to defend herself and Kenneth in any way she could, but she couldn't. She sat there and cried, softly and painfully, until the interrogator left and a new one came in.

North Dakota

"You are in the Northern CIA headquarters of North Dakota. And your name is Kenneth Kitsome?" Just a day ago, that same interrogator was interviewing the 25-year-old June Monroe; now he was asking questions to man she loved, 25-year-old Kenneth Kitsome. He was damaged, badly. He had scars and burns and scratches all over his body, and it was hard to see without feeling sorry.

"Y- Yes, sir…"his words came out tired, slow, and slurred. Not because he was drunk, because he was broken. The man that asked him wrote down a few things on a clip board, and asked one last simple question.

"Any other concerns? Questions?" the interrogator hoped he had forgotten about the girl, for his sake and Kitsome's. At the same time, he didn't want Kenneth to forget; good times, memories, things that could make Kenneth Kitsome happy after this.

"M-mon…" Kitsome stuttered.

"What?"

"Mon-roe…" Kenneth felt pain as he said her name. The interrogator almost lost it, he was about to break down and cry, but that wasn't his job. His job was sick, and wrong, and he absolutely hated it. But he was hired, because he was one of the few people that could handle it. Before the interrogator left, he made sure to spit out that one last, terrible lie he would always regret.

"I'm- I'm sorry… She didn't make it."