My sniper was loaded and ready when I burst into her apartment. She had eluded us for too long; now was the time of justice, or something along those lines. I don't want to hurt her, I just want to find her! My spies—my minions—had been positioned around the perimeter for two and a half hours, waiting for my discreet arrival, nothing that would give away that I was the Secretary of State that had come to capture an ex-girlfriend.

Long story. I paid no attention to the 'discreet arrival' this morning when I decided that my Color of the Day would be burnt orange, which happened to be one of my favorite colors.

My spies grimaced as they discreetly nodded to me when I skateboarded into the apartment complex. They were all around thirty years, getting on in their age, and I was fresh and young, the youngest member of the Dictatorial Committee, the Secretary of State of America. A young man with a grudge, in short.

The apartment was empty when I entered and I fired a few rounds into the table in anger. She had known I was coming and evacuated, destroying all evidence that she had been there. For heaven's sake, she hadn't even left a note!

I spoke into my wrist to my minions, the spies.

"No one's here, and no clue of any whereabouts left," I told them. They waited patiently for their instructions, because of course there were bound to be instructions. "Survey the surrounding area immediately. Wait, no…go to the boundaries, let no one out of Gingerwatch. Complete lockdown, you hear me? To those trying to leave, take their IDs and send them back…get everyone you have in the area on it immediately. We can't let her out again! Understand?"

"Affirmative," they all agreed. They all hung up; I could hear the annoying ding their comms made when they were turned offline. One man, though, was still on, hesitating.

"Sir – we're supposed to take away their identification? They can't do anything without their ID, and it would be plain unfair to not let those that want to leave, leave. It might be important for them to go away."

I sighed. This man must be one of the new ones, the ones with 'values'. "I don't give a damn what those other people care about in their little, annoying, uninteresting lives, and you shouldn't either. Now, go and do your job." I hung up, walking throughout her apartment to try to see what I could find, though I knew most probably nothing at all. It was the same problem in Bolivia, a year and a half ago; and in South Spain, two months before that – she was too damn good of an escapee that it was almost impossible to catch her.

Of course, people do make mistakes. She had a hurried exit, for sure. It was not thoroughly conducted, but everything was done properly. No one could piece together shredded paper, like the paper I saw in the bin, which was why not many people used shredders anymore. But she was an odd one, having always insisted on having a shredder or two in her home in the most inconvenient places – such as next to her washing machine, for instance. She told me once that the reason she put it there was because she could do the wash and shred the Daily Times – at the same time. It had always cracked me up when she said it. Oh god…what happened to us?

She had a thing for recycling, but when she was in a hurry all her normal habits flew out the window in times of great stress. She was a trained mad woman, though she wasn't leaving Gingerwatch, she wasn't going to escape. Not this time.

I turned my comm back on and spoke into my wrist again. "Extra orders – do not deactivate the lockdown under anyone else's orders, only my own. Is that clear?"

"Affirmative," chorused the men in perfect and utter unison. I hung up and dug down deep into the woman's drawer of junk in her bedroom. I pulled out a tattered stuffed bear at the very bottom, looking squished. I smiled with nostalgia at it, smelling old, familiar deodorant, and patted the toy down, hoping for something hidden that would be of great value. It was a child's hope, full of invisible faith, and when it didn't contain anything aside from stuffing, and I was overcome with rage. I fired a few rounds into it and chucked the remains into a bin.

Angry thing, me.

I got ahold of myself and decided to retire to my hotel room. I could come back to this place later; I saw that the sun was setting and it was only 11pm. I could leave my work to my spies and carry out an actual investigation tomorrow. I knew there was nothing else to find aside from shredded papers of importance, but an actual investigation regarding protocol would do a lot to calm my jumpy, angsty nerves.

But now, I needed strong, unsweetened coffee, and rest. Those were the only two things that would calm my nerves.

She and I never learned each other's real names, or nomens, no matter how close we were together. We had names, of course—names we used with everyday, common people; the ones that were not on our IDs. I was Reuben; she was Rael. We were on the same 'side' in this 'war' to begin with – both interns for the USA Government Committee, working desk jobs. That was many years ago.

I mulled the story over in my head while in my hotel room, after a good shower and with my drink in hand, browsing the web. It was my third cup of coffee after four mugs of tea.

It was definitely not love at first sight. It was more love at second sight, considering I didn't really meet her until we were partnered for a huge project involving all the thousands of interns for the Committee. That's when I, of course, learned her name. I always wondered later why we never progressed past those names, the ones we had made up when we were children. After all, nomens were for intimate friends and family.

But no, I'd only ever known her name for this time, and she'd only known mine.

Reuben.

Rael.

I shook my head in nostalgia and immersed in memory. She called me weird; I called her exotic. We loved each other through thick and thin – seven years of others, exes, hardships and divisions. We finally knew what had happened – what had really happened – four years ago.

She wanted to remember. I wanted to forget. That was the only difference between both of us, aside from decoration preferences, which meant nothing in the real world of taxes and mortgages anyway.

She wanted the truth to come out. I wanted the truth to stay hidden, where it belonged. It wasn't truth about me nor her, nor any of our relatives or former relationships. It was much, much bigger.

It was about America.

Sweet, beautiful America. Land of the free, land of the brave, land of the delusional masses. I had been promoted again and again in my job because I am very smart and practical but still amiable when social, and now I was the Secretary of State. I had been revered and known, but still managed to be blank, unknown and mysterious to all but her. She had been demoted and demoted because someone had been framing her for petty thefts around the area, and had finally quit her job and teamed on with a company called Album Amicorum. I had thought it was a normal post office type job until I did some thorough, government-level searching with my government clearance. Album Amicorum was, as the short report said, a CIA-like non-profit organization that sent out people to help with their worldwide goal of world understanding and pacification. I deducted from the search that they were spies trying to undermine all the world's security, and questioned Rael as soon as I could being the secretary of state on the matter.

Thus began the Great Breaking.

The setting was simple: she wanted to know the building blocks, the plot, the plan, the setting, the details about America. She wanted to know what drove me to defy this seemingly small non-profit pacifist organization whose only goal was to understand what made the world's unions mortal. She wanted to know the layout, and I couldn't give her the layout until I knew what I wanted to know.

I wanted to know Album Amicorum, inside and out. I wanted to know her past, her present, her plans for the future. We had talked about our future about three years before the breaking point – it was 'our' future back then – and it was to become the President and the First Lady. That was our plan.

Oh, how it crashed.

Oh, Rael, how I wish we were like we were back then – young, hopeful, in a world of hopefuls.

I leaned against my chair and mindlessly deleted a few emails from the American Ambassador, sipping my coffee.

I don't remember the details. Then again, I never do. That's what spies and monitors are for, after all.

I do, however, remember the effect. Coming back to the house – the modestly small apartment that we rented because of a low budget – and seeing glass vases smashed, photo frames stomped on and books of no value to her ripped to pieces, things thrown all around the house, kitchen knives embedded in the living room walls. The only intact thing in the house was a piece of paper with a note attached to it. I still had that note. I had it framed a while ago to remember a tantalizing piece of the past.

The piece of paper was an official order from someone high in the government to destroy Album Amicorum on grounds of proved links with the Mafia, as well as Columbian drug lords and terrorists in America. She had highlighted a phrase with a bold red highlighter, which my eyes immediately attatched on.

…this document has gone through the Secretary of State of America and been approved.

I had stared at it for what seemed like years. This document, stating the destruction of Album Amicorum, had gone through my hands? Impossible. I would have never approved something like that – it was my girlfriend working in it, after all!

However, it happened, and that the facts didn't fit into reality was no matter. I read the note clipped onto it with puzzled tears in my eyes.

A very good friend emailed this to me after the events had happened. How could you do this? I've gone now, away – far away. So far away you won't find me and take me to jail or, even worse, kill me. I've gone off with the last surviving members of the Album, and you will not find us. We were bombed three hours ago by your men, Reuben. I'm sorry about everything, and I know that we can never go back. We must move forward. If you find me, the world will be ever so close to ending without a remaining link to the Album intact, so don't find me.

Goodbye, Reub. I hope you understand what you have done.

The Great Breaking had begun, and the world would never heal from our struggles.