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Rated: · Other · Other · #1518918
History has a way of repeating itself
Sometimes a single decision can impact on a mans life in ways that he cant possibly imagine. Sometimes these choices are obvious, decided whether or not to marry a woman, or to take a certain job. For one young man, the decision that changed his life was what to do during his lunch break.

As a result of this single decision, the young man was beaten, tortured. shot at the head of the Armed Forces and narrowly avoided being shot himself. However, that event was almost six months ago and he hoped that it was over. Now he was just waiting for the nightmares to stop.

It wasn't over.

The people he had angered did not forget.

The people he had angered did not forgive.

The people he had angered were looking for a way to get even.

CHAPTER ONE

To the outside observer, the morning routine of Jonathon Peter Davies appeared to have changed little over the last six months. The I-pod still functioned as an alarm clock, he still changed songs until he found one he liked, his morning eye opener was still tea, even the amount of time he spent in the shower was roughly the same. He even worked at the same location and rode the same bike.

However, to Davies himself his morning routine was vastly different. Where once his I-pod had forced him to arise from his warm comfy bed, he now found that it was his only release from the constant nightmares of what he had done and had done to him. More and more he questioned his decision to stay at the Museum, but it was the only job that he had ever really wanted and he was not going to let S.O.H. take it away from him.

With the terrors of the night put firmly behind him, Davies grabbed his beloved bike and, with his I-pod turned up and an open country road ahead of him started to cycle to work.

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Other people were also heading to work on that fine sunny morning. One of them was sitting in a cafe in London. This was not somewhere that he wanted to be. He hated England with every fiber of his being, pathetic cowardly people who hid behind their white cliffs and history and running to the Americans whenever they got into trouble. However, someone had offered to spend a vast amount of money on his group if he agreed to the meeting in this place. And so, he had swallowed his loathing and agreed. He just hoped it was worth his time.

At exactly ten minutes past eleven, his contact arrived. A serious looking young man in a suit, a copy of the Times was under his arm and there was a serious look on his face. However, that brightened into a welcoming smile when the two made eye contact.

"Peter? Is that you? I havent seen you in ages! How have you been?"

"Far too long." (In fact he had never laid eyes on this person before but the general public didn't know that.)

"Are you still married to Maria?"

"No,
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