Merciless

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I blamed my unrealistic expectations of becoming an FBI special agent on The X-Files.

Granted, Mulder and Scully were fictional characters, but working in the FBI was nothing like portrayed on any TV shows. Disappointment made me want to crawl inside the TV and kick some ass.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

So far my new FBI job hadn’t entailed chasing down aliens-either illegal or the bug-eyed, misshapen-headed types.

I hadn’t been assigned a trippy private office that I could decorate with funky, yet prophetic posters.

I hadn’t met a weirdly wise, hip, confidential informant.

I hadn’t participated in a raid where I got to yell, “Federal agents! Everyone on the ground!”

The brass hadn’t issued me a shiny badge or one of those rocking black jackets with FBI emblazoned in big white letters on the back.

Heck, I hadn’t even been saddled with an official partner.

I was damn lucky I’d gotten a gun.

Not that I’d gotten to shoot it yet.

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