Are we what we think we are?

Eddy sighed.

He scrunched his eyes, squinting to see something he never thought he'd see again. The wind was flapping against his hair. The sun was up again, bright and blaring hot.

His legs hurt. His back felt sore. He was hungry.

Guilt washed over him, just like the water against his shoe. The water managed to clean the droplets of blood he had there. Blood that belonged to Ray Chen. It was old, but the continuous cycle of the sea water hitting his toes cleaned it up.

The ship's horn bellowed, it's figure dominated the sea shore. The air smelt fresh but Eddy could only smell death. Seagulls cawed overhead. A few soldiers hooted at the back.

"Your name?" Someone came into Eddy's view.

"Eddy- Edward Chen. ID 52335." The man nodded. "Ex security advisor." Eddy hit his shoe against the sand. "Sir." He saluted.

The man passed him a passport, enclosed in which was a single ticket. "To New Zealand." He whispered.

"Gentlemen, congratulations on finishing your last tasks. As promised you've been given a passport, a flight ticket and a visa." The same man smiled. "You may get on up on this beautiful ship, and reach the other end of the shore. It's a closer ride to the airport plus it's got a scenic beauty. Double help!" He laughed. His transceiver cackled with static. The man's smile was scary, it was cunning. A sly smile of a fox hiding behind a bush, ready to pounce on its prey. But his voice was comforting, not like Brett, but still believable.

A lie.

The man made Eddy think, he could live with the lie. What a phenomenal joke. A living piece of exquisite comedy.

Eddy felt cold. The lie was finally hitting him. The war wasn't with the President, it was with his conscience. He knew the President was long dead. Probably lying in the water in front of him. His conscience was waking. The adrenaline from the rush was giving up. His knees were buckling. Heartbeat was so loud ... he could hear it, pouding against his ear.

Almost as if he was laying against Brett's chest, feeling his rushing heart, on the lovely nights. Almost as if he was yet again, on his knees, proposing with tear filled eyes. Almost as if he was once again, reunited, in the arms of the one and only, his lover. His other half.

He knew what he had done. The ring against his finger was weighing down on him now. The realisation was hitting.

He was escaping.

Without his husband.