This story does not begin with a 'long time ago'. It has already begun.
Green men always predicted a nuclear holocaust, an impending doom, dark clouds of sub-nuclear radioactive vapor blinding the sun and scores of other immaterial whims of dark fantasy that never happened. The time, though far into the future, was still nowhere near it. Greenery was all around and the sky was as clear as a crystal glass with the grinning sun still shining down.
Two men ran out of a complex with dogs barking behind them. They were what most enterprising young men had now become in this era. Enlisted by the corps for what nations are fond of doing now- stealing state secrets- these men had just done so. And they were running now towards the line a few miles away. Winged machines were buzzing around them, wailing out a long howl of alarm to their enemies. They had five minutes to reach the line, to get famous, and to be looked after for the rest of their mundane lives by the famous fat pension that was promised to them by the Council. The Council, though dealt in stealth, always kept its words in this matter. How then could they enlist people for missions worth their lives?
He was however not there for money. He was only there because he did not have anything better to do with himself. It was his umpteenth mission and he liked taking care of the younger lads. Smoke however was a different issue. He claimed to himself it was the only pleasure he indulged in without any guilt - blowing smoke into the world's face.
He was not able to keep up with his partner. I should have smoked less, he told himself smiling. His partners had always quizzed him about that smile - the derisive one, with his upper lip reaching out to show his glaring ugly teeth, as if it were that of a man hanging on a noose, and happy at that. They all thought it was a shame. What do you know, he told them.
Since he was at the back, he had to cover up their trail. Handy decoys, booby traps, automated shooters, he put them all. They could see the line now. He opened his signal box, and programmed the line to shut down, to let his partner through. He then put it into the auto-mode to help himself through. There was a group of people passing through at the same time, from the other end, fifty meters to his side. It seemed to be an official opening, not uncommon for diplomats or exchange students at either end. He had a look at them, his eyes lingering there for a while. It lingered on. He was looking at the logo on their bags. A smile lit up his face. It was different. His friends would have been proud of that smile.
A searing pain rose up from his thigh, and he looked back - something he never did until a while back. He had lost his chance. Men towered
over him. Their leader put his foot down on him and asked,
"Who are you?"
"I was an aspirant", he said, pointing to the onlooking group at the side.
"Whats your name?"
"Greenspan."
The leader knew it was going nowhere. Moreover he had seen the other guy cross the line. "Any last wish?", he asked.
"Can I have a cigarette?"
He was handed a Lucky Strike. He chuckled to himself and lit it, still looking at the group.
"Why are you smiling like that?" asked one of the younger men.
"What do you know?", he replied and smiled on.
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A few meters away, the professor urged his students to move on. "You unfitting rascals, did you try so hard to get into the IIMs to witness this show, of a fool getting killed? Remember what I taught you in class. Economic superiority is the key. Stealing secrets is of the bygone information era."
The students strode away in a line, not looking into the eyes of the professor. The professor lingered on a while longer still looking at the fallen man. He thought to himself, "I be damned, if he didn't look like Greenspan. But it was just one PG meet. Maybe my memory fails me. But that smile."
Somebody called out for him up in front. He hurried on.
P.S. The characters in this story cannot be called entirely fictional. Only time will tell. But if you happen to read this in the news say 10 years from now, do not look back. Move on. 
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