See what you think.
Spawn of Kongomato
Slumped alone in a darkened room, the man nursed a very large whisky. Even though it was an excellent single malt he tasted nothing, except, perhaps - ashes. He’d just killed two people. That he’d done it under orders, made him feel no better.
After a decade of witnessing, and sometimes causing, destruction on a scale that few people had ever seen, for the first time a gnawing pain had begun to work itself deep into his system. He’d killed before. Not in sufficient number to forget, for time to blur the images, but enough. He killed because it had been his job. To be a soldier meant killing people. He’d always known that and been able to live with his conscience. It had been him or them. Simple – no confusion.
Even after being invited to join The Department his orders and priorities had remained steadfast. People wanted to destroy what he held dear: his government, his country, his way of life. But never before had he killed; no make that murdered, at the whim of a faceless voice on the end of a telephone. He gulped down the dregs of his drink, barely feeling the fiery spirit gouging through the skin. He simply could not let it end like this.
He stood, swaying slightly. The thirty six hours since his last meal had allowed the whisky to do its work. For a moment he grabbed the edge of his desk as the images of what he’d done swirled about his head. He allowed the images to assail him until, as expected, the gruesome horror of what he’d seen and done, had the required effect. Within seconds he was once more sober. Tugging open the drawer under the whisky-stained desk he withdrew the enormous pistol and slid it into his shoulder holster.
He knew what had to be done.
No hint of monsters yet. I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or not. Hopefully the ambiguity and the cover will make people read on.