Leidenschaft

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>9LB HAMMER
>SEATTLE, WA
>TUE, 15SEP2019
>1830...///

Donnelley shifted into gear and listened to the roar of his Indian’s engine as he accelerated past the green light, the vintage bike having turned some heads on their way. Even as they rode, he could hear the cacophony of motorcycles being revved somewhere off in the distance, where their destination was. While Donnelley wanted to treat all of them to a nice night in Seattle, he didn’t want to take them to a chain place that was not dissimilar to any other location flung across the states. There were a few dive bars that Donnelley frequented around Western Washington, having had time to visit quite a few of them in the past.

This particular one was not a hipster hotspot, but neither was it some of the dens of debauchery he’d been to. At least not outright. They could have whatever fun they could think of here without worrying about pissing off some nasally twenty-somethings, or worrying about getting drugged. The 9lb Hammer lay in wait for them and he slowed his bike until he walked them into a suitable parking space some distance away from the bar itself. He was dressed in jeans, his leather riding boots, and a thick flannel under his denim vest with patches aplenty adorning it, his Special Forces tab and the beret flash of 5th Group sewn onto the denim and displayed proudly. He wasted no time in checking his phone and then lighting up a cigarette.

He looked Laine over with hungry eyes, “Damn, you look good.” He said, chuckling, “You got a man?”

Laine moved her hands from his waist and reached up to smooth her short dark hair down after the wind tousled it all over. She took a survey of the parking lot, then looked at him in his patched vest and dark sunglasses. She slid from the bike, brushing her hands over her jeans and tugging them subtly. They were snug black jeans with holes ripped open in them where the fishnets showed through.

Over the cropped halter top she wore Donnelley’s leather jacket, it hung loose on her frame but was very warm between her bare skin and the damp cold of the evening. The boots she wore were new, she planned on stashing them at his house since she forgot to bring her Docs everytime. Her outfit was not becoming of an FBI agent or a psychologist, but nights like these she was just that gothy chick with a nice figure.

“I do got a man,” she said, giving him a sassy little toss of her head, then snapped the lapels of his leather jacket. Laine curled a finger in the large ring hanging from the choker she wore and gave it a tug, giving him a sly wink.

Donnelley’s grin grew and he growled at her, biting his lip. He stood up and kissed her deeply, his hand on the small of her back before he sat back down on his bike. A pedestrian was looking over at them and their behavior as he passed and Donnelley gave him a kissy face. He took another drag off his cigarette and looked to Laine, “Think they can find their way here through the city, lover?”

Laine chuckled at his response, her green eyes twinkling after the illicit kiss as she scanned the parking lot. She loved riling Donnelley up, seeing and feeling him react to her. But now they were in public again, she reminded herself and soon would be with their teammates.

"Dave had a good sense of direction I'm sure he'll be fine," she said, "9lb Hammer, that's a distinct name. Any idea how that happened?"

“Ever heard of John Henry?” Donnelley asked, his brow quirked and he puffed on his cigarette, “Old railway man beat a steam powered hammer in a contest to see how many railroad ties they could beat in. Man versus machine, man versus nature, man versus whatever - the tenacity of man triumphs.”

Donnelley snorted at his musing, “As for why this place has a name like that?” He shrugged, “Never thought to ask.”

Laine raised an eyebrow at that, "Didn't he die right after? I half remember the song."

She huffed a soft laugh and lay a hand on his shoulder, giving him a brief squeeze at his sentimentality. She slipped her hand away quickly when a car turned up the driveway but it was just an old Toyota with a bunch of young punks stuffed into it.

“But, he did win.” Donnelley chuckled, his grin widening at Laine’s brief touch.

Dave was watching out the window as the taxi he and Ava had ordered pulled into the lot of the bar. He was dressed for the Seattle weather in a black T-shirt and lightweight Carhartt jacket, his pistol and Buck knife both concealed inside his waistband. He had his ‘Hat-hat’ jammed down over his shaggy hair and he grinned over at Ava as they pulled to a stop, giving her hand a quick squeeze.

“Go on,” he said to her as he dug out his wallet. “Lemme pay the man, an’ I’ll catch up with ya.”

Ava peaked around him at the bar and visibly grimaced. “I am not dressed for that place.” She said, pressing her forehead to Dave’s arm.

Laine had told her to dress ‘comfortably’ and ‘cute’ and it appeared that both of them had forgotten their drastically different tastes in style.

She had dressed herself in a nice, warm, robin's egg blue sweater dotted with white puffy clouds, a simple white skirt with soft pleats and her grey thermal leggings and hiking boots.

Her hair was pulled over her shoulder in a braid due to the humidity in the air. And to complete the look was a white beret, with a pair of triangular cat ears. She had picked it up in Idaho on a whim and wore it with Dave’s encouragement.

She looked up at Dave, her chin resting on his arm. “Do you think I’d stand out too much?”

Dave looked at the people around them as the man took his money. There were a few on the unusual side of things, but not many.

“I think you’ll be fine,” he said. He waved the change back at the man as a tip and then opened the car door, reaching down to help Ava from the taxi. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I think you stand out everywhere, just cuz you’re so damn pretty. But don’t stress, I’m here with ya.”

Ava flushed at the compliment but smiled. She gave his hand a squeeze before hooking their arms together. “Thanks Dave.” She said, taking in a breath and straightening herself. “Well, shall we go find our friends?”

“Sounds good to me,” Dave grinned. He put a hand on her shoulder and guided her towards the bar, scanning the parking lot for their friends.

Laine was watching the taxi pull up and the well built man in the Carhartt jacket looked familiar but she was certain when the fluff of pastel emerged after him. She grinned but stepped away from how close she was standing with Donnelley beside his Indian.

She walked forward and waved at them, her appearance certainly not what they had seen but the black was a dead giveaway. Laine smiled, playing with the zippo in her hand covered by the cuff of the leather jacket. “Hey guys,” she called out as she walked towards them, “Cute sweater, Ava.”

Donnelley remained behind her, his arms hanging over the handlebars of his motorcycle. He took a drag and got up, swinging his leg back over his machine and walked over to where they were all gathering. In the short space between him and them, he considered how much space he should leave between him and Laine, and how much eye contact they should share. How big should he smile at her and how often should he look into her eyes?

He shook his head at that, knowing Dave knew, and apparently didn’t care. It was also unlikely anyone from the Program was watching their every move. When he got to the others he smiled and nodded, “Howdy, how’s y’all’s commute?”

Ava’s eyes widened as she looked over Laine’s outfit, surprised to see the normally put together and professional FBI agent in something more...Grungy. She blinked her eyes and smiled at the compliment, brushing her hands over the soft fabric. “Um, thanks, I got it back in Idaho and my sweater dress was...dirty.” She said, glancing up at Dave before looking away with a smile and a small blush. “So, I thought now was a good time to bust it out.” She chuckled, adjusting the beret on her head.

She turned to Donnelley as he approached, less surprised to see their Team Lead in something out of the ordinary. She smiled and waved.

Dave joined her, walking up and offering his hand to Donnelley with a grin. “Cab driver did all the work,” he said. “We just got to hang out. Kinda jealous of your ride, though.”

Laine tried not to smile at Donnelley, looking away and down, then at Ava’s beret. “Meow,” she said with a wry grin.

At the comment about the bike, Laine could not help but smile, it was a pretty cool bike and riding behind him had been thrilling if rough. It was intimate and closed the world to just them even as they whipped down a highway with the wind in their hair.

She tucked her hands in the pockets of her holey jeans, pushing down and exposing the top of the fishnet pantyhouse underneath. She considered lying, saying she too had taken a cab and got dropped off earlier but decided to just leave it.

Donnelley chuckled at Dave’s compliment, looking back at the bike in question, “Yeah, she’s a beauty. Older’n me.” Donnelley looked back at all of them and shrugged, “Used to be my dad’s, tried to keep it as original as possible. Not many nineteen-fifties Indians on the road no more, so y’know.”

He glanced at Laine still in the leather jacket that was almost painfully obvious didn’t belong to her, “She turns a few heads.” He chuckled to Ava and Dave, cracking a joke, “This place ain’t the seediest bar I could find, but it’ll have to do.”

Ava’s eyes widened at the mention of the year of the bike. “You have a nineteen-fiftie Indian!?” She asked with bright eyes. “Can I look at it?”

“Yeah, well, come on over.” Donnelley chuckled at Ava’s sudden excitement and led her over to the bike.

Laine stepped aside as Ava zeroed in on the bike, now standing near Dave. She glanced at him, his hair and beard grown long since their time in Idaho and Alaska. Mountain man indeed. “How’s it going?” she asked, feeling suddenly self conscious as she knew that he knew what Donnelley had told him. “Enjoying this time off?”

Dave nodded a greeting to Laine as she approached. He watched Ava fawning over the bike with a smile.

“Yeah, it’s been nice. Just...Havin’ time together,” he said. He sighed and looked back to Laine. “How ‘bout you? Enjoyin’ the downtime so far?”

"It's nice, you know," she agreed, rocking on her heels in the heavy boots. "Not having everyone around, I mean not you guys but just...I know I've got a lot waiting for me back home. Going back to work after all this and trying to focus on my day job. So, I'm just trying to enjoy this free time and not worry too much."

She glanced at Donnelley and Ava talking about the bike and looked at the ground, the pitted asphalt and tiny shards of broken glass. "Just blow off some steam before going back to the real world. I think I might get shit faced."

“No reason not to,” Dave laughed. “Ain’t like you’re drivin’. Hell, I might catch a good buzz myself, since we’re gonna be takin’ a cab back. Been a while.”

"I remember that moonshine, think they have anything close?" Laine asked, a grin forming on her face.

Dave laughed. “No chance.”

“Let’s find out,” she said, reaching out to give him a tug on the sleeve. She turned to the two by the bike, “Alright, enough fawning. Let’s get drinking.”

Ava looked away from admiring the engine on the motorcycle, after listening to Donnelley explain what parts were original and what ones had to be replaced with all the fascination of an excited school kid. “Uh, you guys will have to do my drinking for me.” Ava chuckled. “But it’s been awhile since I had a Shirley Temple.” She said, walking up to Dave’s side with a grin. “It’s a great bike.”

“It is a pretty great bike,” Dave said. He put his arm around her waist. “I think Laine’s thirsty. An’ I could go for a whiskey, myself.”

“Somebody say whiskey?” Donnelley quirked a brow and smirked, “Come on, let’s go get us a booth and then I can whoop Dave’s ass at Buck Hunt.”

The bar inside was low lit, an amber glow from the overhead shaded lights and the neon beer signs, a strand of red Christmas lights scorched crimson over the small bar tables against the wall. It was over half full, people ranging in ages from twenties to forties, most dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts, some dressed in full punk gear and others with heavy biker boots and unpatched vests.

The clanging of a pinball machine drew Laine’s attention as she stepped in, the body heat from the close quarters had her taking off the warm leather jacket and hanging over one arm. Off to the left there were arcade games as advertised and in the room beyond there were pub tables and a lone pool table currently being run by college age kids in funky meme t-shirts and one girl with a purple fauxhawk.

“Nice place,” Laine said, the people looking over at them but she did not sense hostility, but it was early and no one was drunk yet.

One of the waitresses passed by, her long hair in a high ponytail and she wore hot pink plastic frame glasses, “Hey, guys. Seat yourselves, I’ll be by to take your order or you can get drinks at the bar.”

“Y’all wanna get us a table while me and Dave get drinks?” Donnelley asked.

Laine took Ava’s arm, guiding her out of the way of two big burly men that looked like bikers but they had none of the patches of an outlaw MC who followed them into the bar. They nodded and excused themselves, heading to the bar.

“We’ll grab a table by the wall over there.”

She gestured to the ones opposite the bar and close to the games.

Ava eyed the games with interest as she followed Laine’s guidance over to the table. She focused back on her friend and smiled, wrapping her arms around her and giving her a quick friendly hug. “You look like you’re doing better, I’m glad.”

Laine was surprised and grateful for the hug, embracing Ava with a tight squeeze. “I do feel better, what a couple of days off can do, right?”

She glanced away and gestured to the tall pub table with the tall stools. “Need a boost?” she teased as she pushed herself up into the seat. “How’s it been with Dave, how’s he doing?”

Laine looked over at the men at the bar with the other crowd waiting on the one server. It might be few before they returned with drinks.

“Better, I think,” Ava said, hopping up onto the stool as her face grew thoughtful. “We went on a hike on Mt. Rainier today, poor Prince was passed out in the hotel room when we left to come here.” She chuckled and smiled. It dimmed slightly. “It was a really good day, but...The night before.” She hesitated and glanced over to Dave at the bar.

“Nightmares?” Laine asked, looking at Ava, “It can be very hard on survivors, even if things turned out for the better, he had a few days to grieve a great loss.”

“There is that, but,” She looked back at Dave before turning back to Laine. “I...left the room, when he was still asleep, to take Prince to the bathroom and get us some food. He woke up while I was gone and thought...That I was still…gone. That I never actually came back. He said it was only for a minute, but...That had to have been an awful minute.”

Laine also looked over, following her line of sight and glanced away from Dave to Donnelley, his familiar stance and frame she could recognize anywhere. She tried not to look too long. Laine glanced up at the chalkboard menu that she could hardly read from this distance and finally said, “I can imagine. That panic of waking up and thinking he was back in Hell.”

She toyed with the chain around her neck and then dropped her hands, looking at Ava. “Do you want my professional opinion?”

“Of course.” Ava answered without hesitation, the concerned frown deepening on her features. “I want to help Dave, however I can.”

Laine clasped her hands in front of her and leaned forward, her deep green eyes meeting the bright blue of Ava’s, “He needs you. He needs to spend as much time with you as he can, physically, emotionally...I saw his face when he saw you were alive.”

She smiled a little, her eyes starting to glisten at the memory. “He blames himself, both of them do. And it’s not their fault, but they’re men and they feel they failed to protect their...well, he feels he failed to protect his woman. You know Dave. I think that you might not mind spending all that time with him.”

She reached over and opened her hand to her, “I know it’s hard for you, too. Seeing him hurt and panic over you. Don’t blame yourself for it, ok? Now, as pleasant as that all is, he’ll need to talk about it. Sometimes we can’t tell the ones we feel closest to everything in our hearts out of fear of hurting or worrying them.”

Laine found herself looking past Ava towards the bar but pulled herself back to the young woman in front of her.

Ava looked at Laine, then reached out to take her hand. “I can do that.” She said quietly, with a small smile. “I want to do that. Alaska was...pretty fucking bad for us too.” She said with the smile fading from her face as she started down at the table, squeezing Laine’s hand. “I want to spend time with him too.”

“I know it’s probably new for you,” Laine said, a teasing smile appearing on her face, “I’m sure you and him will help each other. Though I do want to offer my help for either of you, should you need it. Not just as a friend but as someone that’s had a couple college courses that need to get used.”

She shrugged a little and squeezed Ava’s hand, pulling back and she reached up to toy with the ring on her choker absently. Laine looked back over at the bar, more people had arrived since they sat down and it was getting crowded. “Hey, you ever play pinball?”

“A few times.” Ava smiled and let go of Laine’s hand. “And, thanks Laine.”

Laine ran a hand through her dark hair and ruffled it, “Anytime, of course. We’re a family now, aren’t we.”

“After a couple drinks, we’ll hit that pinball machine. So...I know you don’t drink so I’m apologizing ahead of time for dealing with me drunk,” Laine said, then snorted a soft laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, just consider me the designated sober person.” Ava chuckled. “I’ll make sure everyone gets a cab if they need it. Especially can’t have Donnelley riding home on that motorcycle.”

“Bless you,” Laine snickered, then said dryly, “And yeah...you know I have a feeling he might be stubborn about that. Just a hunch.”

“I can be very persuasive.” She said, then mimicked a sad puppy dog expression.

Laine rolled her eyes and laughed, “Yes, you win. I might have a couple tricks up my sleeve in getting him to cooperate.”

She gave Ava a sly look, she was wearing a sleeveless tank top she wore now exposed and her tattoos on display since the leather jacket hung off the backrest of the pub stool. “So how’s the dog? Do you still have him?”

“He’s good! He’s back in the hotel room, completely exhausted after the day of hiking.” Ava chuckled. “I left him a bowl of water and the tv on, but he should be fine while we’re here.” She reached into the pocket in her skirt and pulled out her phone. “I have pictures, do you want to see?”

“Of course, he’s a cute dog,” Laine said, leaning over her crossed arms to see the phone. “A hell of a find.”

“Yup.” Ava said with a clearing of her throat.

>THE D-BOAHS...///

Donnelley watched the single bartender at work as she buzzed around the patrons at the other end of the bar, making them all the fanciest drinks Donnelley had ever seen. He figured she’d appreciate that Donnelley, and most likely Dave, would have simple drinks in mind. The two of them stood side by side watching the bartender work. As Donnelley looked around at the other patrons, he felt a bit like a sore thumb, like the only wolf among a pack of sheep. The only bars he’d gone to besides today were the ones he and Queen would hit up, where you were equally as likely to find someone to fuck as fight.

But tonight was supposed to be happy. No thinking about Alaska, or West Virginia, just about whatever they were going to get into tonight. He forced on a smile even though he knew all these people brushing past his back would get old real quick if he didn’t get his drink soon. Loud bars and crowds had never felt the same after all those years in dangerous places. The only things keeping him in check was standing right next to him and sitting at a table on the other side of the room. He looked back at the table in question and his eyes fell on Laine, the sight of her almost sapping his anxiety away.

“You doin’ better now we got some time off?” Donnelley asked, glancing back to Dave to start some conversation seeing as they’d have to wait some time before the bartender was freed up, “I know I am... kind of.”

Dave rested on his elbows, back to the bar, watching the crowd mingle around them. He found his gaze returning again and again to Ava, and he smiled when Donnelley spoke.

"Definitely doin' better, man," he said. "For the most part. Shit's still weird, but… It's gettin' better."

The bar was a far cry from the country dives he frequented in Arkansas; he wasn't sure he'd seen so many facial piercings in one place before. Still, the other patrons seemed easy-going enough, and the pistol in his waistband and knife snugged to the small of his back were reassuring. He idly wondered whether any normal Joe would ever intimidate him again.

He shot a sly look at Donnelley. "How are things with you two?"

Donnelley chuckled, sucked at his teeth. A shrug and a cheeky smirk were his only answers for a bit, “Ain’t had a better couple days in a while, tell you what.”

“What y’all been busyin’ yourselves with?” Donnelley asked, he chuckled, “Since I steered you from wastin’ your money anywhere within a couple miles of the airport, I guess.”

"Went for a hike," Dave said, visibly brightening. "Hard hike up the mountain, picnic, then a nap in the sun and a slow walk down. Wore the pup out so he shouldn't wreck the hotel room while we're gone. Otherwise just takin' things easy. Sleep late, watch movies in bed. That sorta thing."

“Yeah, that sounds real good, man.” Donnelley smiled at Dave, sincerity in his eyes for the man’s happiness. After the time they’d all had in Alaska, they were due for some. “I’m real glad. Me and Laine, we cruised down Ruston and watched the water. Played some of my old records at my place and just kicked back.”

He had a guilt in his smile then, remembering everything he and Laine had done behind closed doors, but also what he’d told Laine, “I told Laine what we talked about.” He said, “‘Least some of it. Told her I told you about me and her.”

Dave tensed at his words, relaxing only when he realized that Donnelley was talking about their relationship. Not what he'd done in that barn.

"What'd she say to that?" Dave asked. He turned, focusing more of his attention on Donnelley now, though he still kept an eye on their surroundings. "She seem alright with it?"

“Well,” Donnelley chuckled at that, seeing Dave’s face expectantly waiting for the answer, “Yeah, she ain’t mad. Ain’t ecstatic neither.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but it caught in his craw for a second, “It just ain’t, uh, professional. I told her that, bein’ honest, I look at you and Ava and… a Company man like myself gets jealous.” Donnelley shook his head and shrugged, scratching at his beard. “I think it’s the normalcy. I don’t know.”

"Sorry, man," Dave said. He winced a little. "That's shitty. I guess it's easier for us, I ain't exactly professional as it is. I'm probably a bad influence."

Donnelley shook his head and waved Dave’s concerns off, “Don’t give me that, man. Just don’t be, you know, tongue wrasslin’ front of Foster or anybody.” He laughed, “Me and Laine are fine. Ain’t hurtin’ us none, you two ain’t who we’re worried about seein’ us.”

Donnelley shrugged, “Anyhow,” he said, “What you got planned for four whole months? I don’t know if I’ve ever had this much time to myself. Gotta be careful else I’ll end up in a damn most wanted list.”

"Gotta see my boy," Dave said firmly. "Otherwise… Gotta get some trainin' in. For both me and the lady." He looked back over at Ava and seemed to shudder. "The way things went down… I gotta get better. Harden myself up, man."

“Yeah.” Donnelley said, turning to look in the same direction at Laine. As cold as it was to put it this way, his second chance. His first love he corrupted and got sent to live with family out East in Kentucky or somewhere, the second had enough of his apologies and took his daughter with her. It had been some time, time enough for Donnelley not to make the same mistakes he always did, for him to be better, and to treat someone right.

And how many times had he stared into the blackest parts of humanity, how much had he hardened himself against anything and everything to the point where pulling a trigger was easier than falling asleep between then and now, “Just make sure you still recognize who’s in the mirror by the end of it.”

“Hello!” Donnelley flinched at the barkeep’s voice, turning to her to see her eyeing the both of them flirtatiously, most likely giving it her all for big tips, “What can I get you boys?”

Donnelley chuckled and smoothed his hair back as he looked the attractive waitress over, a modest bust, but hips and thighs that could kill. If he were a younger and singler man he might’ve tried his luck and had as much fun failing as he could, “Well, I’ll be havin’ me a whiskey sour. My friend here…”

>...///

When the men finally returned from the bar, Laine gave a fake clap and looked at Donnelley and said dryly, "I thought I was going to have to go remind you we had a table."

She took the cherry vodka sour from him with a hint of a smile. He had remembered from the first time they had drinks together.

"I'll get the second round," she said as Dave and his whiskey settled in and a Shirley Temple in a tall narrow glass was placed in front of Ava.

Laine took a sip the sweet cherry of the grenadine mingling with the sharp alcohol, the two drinks were nearly alike but hers had vodka, house brand by the burn.

“I remembered,” Donnelley feigned anger mirroring Laine, a small hint of a smile on his lips as he sat down next to her. He tapped his temple, “Got a mind like a steel trap, I don’t forget nothin’.”

He took a long sip of his whiskey sour and smacked his lips. He’d made it a double, “Anybody wanna make their drinks a little stronger, I picked up some shots on the way.” He opened his vest to show the inside pockets filled with more than a few of the little bottles they handed out on plane trips, “Pick your poison.”

“That steel trap better not get rusty,” Laine said then reached over to pick two, a Malibu rum and a Grey Goose vodka shot.

“I’m good.” Ava said, smiling over at Dave as she took a nice long sip of her Shirley Temple. “I really am going to be the designated sober person tonight aren’t I?” She grinned over at Donnelley. “I’ll make sure to take care of your bike.”

Donnelley tipped some more of the whiskey sour down his throat and wiped his mouth off on his flannel sleeve. He laughed at Ava, “In your dreams, missy.” He chuckled good-naturedly at Ava, “Where’d you get your love of motorcycles from?”

“My grandfather was a mechanic and he liked working on cars and bikes even after he retired.” She answered with a shrug and a small smile. “I ended up liking it too so it was something we bonded over. My grandmother got me into baking so I spent equal amounts of time covered in engine grease or flour.”

“I respect that.” Donnelley frowned appreciatively, nodding, “That’s some honest work right there. Computers, engines, ovens. What can’t you do?”

Dave grinned and reached over to put a hand on Ava’s shoulder. He had a glass of Number 7 sitting on the table, neat like Grampa took it to this day.

“I need to train her up on plant identification, ‘fore she tries to walk through anymore poison oak,” he said. He squeezed her shoulder to take any sting out of the words. “She ‘bout let Prince drag her straight through a patch of it. It’s alright though, I stopped her before either of ‘em got hit and we’re plannin’ on some outdoorsy trainin’ when we get back.”

Ava flushed in embarrassment. “I can identify flowers pretty okay.” She mumbled before taking a long sip of her drink. “A tree just looks like a tree to me.”

“We’ll get ya learned up,” Dave said brightly. “It’ll be fun. I won’t even make ya crawl through it.”

A flashback to SERE School played through Donnelley’s head as he snorted, sipping at his drink, “Sounds grand.”

“Ah, the great outdoors,” Laine said, knocking back the mini Malibu and grimacing at the sweet coconut taste. That had been a mistake. “I love nature, when I can watch it from my bed on TV.”

She shoved the empty bottle in her pocket, then added the extra vodka to her drink, “Ava’s pretty well rounded, I want her on my team during the apocalypse.”

“I really think Dave is probably the better choice for an apocalypse scenario.” Ava snorted.

“Long as the apocalypse happens outside a city,” Dave shrugged. “Probably all better off stickin’ together. We can take on the rest of the world.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Laine said, giving their mountain man a warm smile and then knocked back the double vodka.

“I work better alone.” Donnelley said in his deepest, cheesy action hero voice before knocking back the last of his whiskey sour. “But I’ll make an exception for y’all.”

Laine rolled her eyes and laughed, feeling the pleasant fuzzy warmth from the first drink. She ate the cherry, plucking it off the stem and popping it in her mouth. “I don’t have any of those survival skills, I can cook but...” she frowned and looked brightened. “I could make some really cool DIY post-apocalyptic outfits.”

She laughed, then slid off her chair and said, “I’m getting a second round and some quarters.”

Laine sauntered up to the bar, leaning on it and noted the bartender’s appearance then shot a look over her shoulder at the table. No wonder it had taken so long. She smiled anyway, her lips feeling a little numb.

“Can I get a Long Island Iced Tea, two shots of whatever whiskey rednecks like the best and another Shirley Temple?”

“Sure thing, doll,” the bartender said and set to mixing the drink.

“Oh can I get ten bucks in quarters?” Laine slid the bill over the counter.

A man around Laine’s age perched himself on a stool next to Laine at the bar. He was wearing a leather jacket not dissimilar to Donnelley’s, though considerably less rugged. His medium length hair was slicked back and a pair of aviator shades were pushed up his forehead. He smiled at Laine, trying subtly to give her a once-over, but it was obvious enough to the woman. His friend behind him was dressed much the same, though a couple inches taller with a shaved head and short beard.

When the bartender left to fetch Laine’s quarters, the longer-haired man chuckled, “I take it you’re not a regular? Haven’t seen you around before.” He said, “I’m Seth. You know, you wanna hang around with me tonight, I can show you a couple places.”

Laine turned when he spoke but she had already spotted the swoop in from the corner of her eye. She looked him over then smiled politely, “Two strange men and me? Sorry. I’m here with someone...with friends.”

She gestured back to the table where Donnelley and Dave sat, Ave perched between them. “I appreciate the offer,” Laine said, the vodka still making her feel in a buoyant mood. “Nice sunglasses.”

Laine giggled then took the Long Island Iced Tea, sipping from it. The bartender returned and Laine began stuffing the quarters into her pockets of her tight jeans, trying not to drop any.

A couple bounced onto the floor and Seth got up from his stool, giving Laine another smile as he bent down and retrieved them, “We can be friends too.”

Seth offered the quarters to Laine, but another man’s hand roughly snatched them out of Seth’s palm. Donnelley, standing there and somehow making a friendly smile look menacing. The scar on his cheek helped, “Thanks, hoss.”

Donnelley turned to Laine and put a hand on the small of her back, nodding to their table, “Go ‘head, me and Dave are ‘boutta shoot us some bucks.” The Texan in his voice was busting through the levee now that alcohol was in his veins. “You need me to get you another drink while I’m here?”

Laine felt the heat of the iced tea after taking one drink and looked at Seth who did not get the message. She bit her lower lip, feeling the numb fuzzy sensation and was about to turn him down again when Donnelley appeared.

“I got you guys whiskey,” she said, trying to gather the drinks, her long ago experience waiting tables kicking in. “But yes, I’ll have another.”

She smiled at Donnelley, the warm affectionate grin she had only used in private with him. She was not drunk yet to forget and caught herself, turning to go back to their table with a more neutral expression.

Laine made it back to the table, sliding the shot of whiskey in front of Dave and another Shirley Temple to Ava before sliding into her chair. She sized up the drink in front of her, then looked over for Donnelley, leaving his shot beside the empty glass.

Back at the bar, Donnelley leaned against the bar top, resting on his elbow. He smiled at Seth, and Seth smiled back. Donnelley slapped down a hundred dollar bill on the table, a bit more forcefully than needed, “Buy you and your friend here some drinks on me.” Donnelley nodded, “And I’d really appreciate it if you and Stone Cold Steve Austin back there left me and everyone at my table the fuck alone. Please.”

Donnelley walked backwards, giving the both of them his kissy face before he turned and went back for the table, a smile plastered on his face before he picked up the shot Laine had gotten him, “Where were we?” Donnelley asked, “I remember Dave was about to tell us a story or somethin’.”

“Well, I have quarters,” Laine said and stood to empty her pockets to leave them mounded on the table. “Everyone can grab what they want. I have my eye on that pinball game. Then maybe some pool if the table clears.”

She took a long sip of her iced tea, then turned to Donnelley, “I had that handled, you know.”

Laine reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, then murmured, “But good looking out.”

Ava’s eyes went over to the claw machine over by the pinball game, before looking to Dave with bright eyes and a grin.

Dave followed her face and then laughed.

"I take it you're gonna be spendin' a few quarters at the claw?" He said. He picked up his shot, waiting for the toast.

“Only 5 dollars worth.” Ava said, picking up her own glass. “That’s my rule with claw machines, I don’t play past 5 dollars if I haven’t won anything.” She grinned. “But I usually win, I’ve done research.”

"Girl, that's half my quarters," Laine teased, "You better use that big brain to figure out the trick to snatching plushies."

She chuckled and raised her tall "tea" glass, looking at Dave expectedly.

Dave clanked his shot glass against the Long Island, downed it, and then thumped it down on the table. "That's the good stuff," he sighed. He gave Ava a nudge. "C'mon, let's go check out that claw machine before I go shoot some bucks with Donnelley."

Ava reached over and scooped up about 2 dollars worth of quarters. “This should be enough.” She beamed, hoping off down the chair and taking a long drink of her Shirley Temple. Then she grabbed Dave’s hand and walked with him toward the claw machine.

Donnelley watched the both of them traverse the bar towards the claw machine, hand in hand. Donnelley watched Ava, how happy she seemed now. He remembered blaming himself for everything, but watching the two together, especially after the talk he and Dave had by the fire… he felt his heart warm a bit at that. He looked over to Laine with a tender smile, a feeling of calm enveloping him in her eyes. Just for tonight, and the past few days, there was no war. There was no fight to throw himself into. Just her.

“I love you, Laine.” Donnelley said, “A lot.”

Laine smiled around her straw, finishing the sip of her drink. She leaned in, looking into his eyes and said in a low voice, “I love you, too.”

She grinned and lightly bumped his boot with hers under the pub table, “But I’ll still kick your ass at pool.”

Donnelley laughed and slapped the table, a big grin on his face, “Oh, okay. It’s fuckin’ on, lil’ missy.”

Laine sucked the last of the long island iced tea out of the glass and set it down, “You just wait.”

The college kids had cleared out and Laine rushed to smack a stack of quarters down. She waved at Dave while Ava was focused on the claw seeking some plushie that caught her eye.

“Alright, cowboy,” Laine said, selecting a cue that did not seem too warped, then chalked the tip. “Your break.”

“Get ready to be humbled.” Donnelley winked at Laine, licking his teeth and then lining up his shot.

>...///

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Donnelley watched Laine float around the pool table sinking the pool balls in ones, and at one point a couple twos. And it was the third time he’d tried to beat her. He threw his hand out and mouthed a swear at Laine, “Jesus Christ, when the fuck were you gonna tell me you were a prodigy, woman?”

Laine bent to line up the last shot, the eight ball banking and rolling smoothly into the far corner pocket as she had predicted. She smiled at his exasperation and took a sip from her second iced tea, now feeling loose and buzzed.

“I told you right now, I was going to kick your ass. I hope you do better in Big Buck Hunt,” she said, leaning on the pool stick with her hip canted. Laine walked past him and said in a low voice, “Saddle up tonight, I won.”

She winked back at him, teasing him for his cockiness earlier, and sipped her tea as she waited for him to gather the balls and put them in the triangle, the loser’s duty.

“We should make a scam outta this. I can be your fall guy.” Donnelley smirked, glancing at her as he retrieved pool balls from out of the pockets, “Won’t even have to try that fuckin’ hard to make it convincin’...”

“I’ll just wear a low cut shirt, that seems to distract you,” she chuckled, sipping her drink. Laine gazed at him, her green eyes glassy now as she grew more tipsy. “Well, it’s good to know we’ll have a side hustle if this whole thing doesn’t pan out.”

She wanted to go up to him and kiss him, biting her lower lip slightly instead. Laine took a deep breath and handed him her drink, “Excuse me.”

Laine felt that looseness when she walked, glad she wore boots and not high heels as she was buzzing and feeling good, a sure sign she needed to slow down. As she went past the other couple at the claw machine, Laine tapped Ava on the shoulder, giving her a little smile, “Bathroom buddy, want to make a run to the ladies room?”

“Sure, just give me 5 more seconds…” Ava said, her eyes on the literal prize as the claw dropped down and closed over a plushie of a very chubby fox. There was a pause before the claw gripped the fox and started to lift it out of the prize pit. “Ha! I got it!” She laughed, pumping her fists up in the air as the claw dropped her prize into the chute.

She bent down and retrieved the chubby fox, holding it to her chest with a grin. “I shall name him Chunk.”

Laine clapped as the fat fox dropped, her mood unusually bubbly, “He’s adorable, look at his tiny legs. Let Dave watch him, I need to go and I don’t wanna go alone.”

She glanced over her shoulder, Seth and his big bald friend were still at the bar, drinking on Donnelley’s dime. Laine shrugged it off and held her hand out to pull Ava along.

“Oh, sure,” She passed the fox over to Dave. “Be right back.”

It wasn’t long after Donnelley finished fixing the pool table that he joined Dave next to the claw machine. He wasn’t exactly drunk, but Donnelley wasn’t sober, and after the loss against Laine he was fixing to win something. Donnelley eyed the fox in Dave’s hand and smirked, “Nice.” He chuckled, “This your plus-one? She’s kinda foxy.”

Dave was a few deep himself, though he’d been sticking mostly to beer after the initial whiskey. He kept eyeballing the people who passed, judging the quality of the various tattoos and trying to figure out if any looked like the shitty ink he’d seen on the Russians they’d killed. Still, the grin on his face was genuine and he held up Chunk when Donnelley spoke, turning the toy.

“You know me, man, I got a weakness for redheads,” he laughed. “Laine done kickin’ your ass at the table?”

“I’ll slip you a fifty if you never talk about that fiasco again.” Donnelley smirked, folding his arms and putting his back to the row of arcade games similarly to Dave, “Between you and me, I was not lettin’ her win. Woman’s got a future in pool if this whole thing don’t work out.”

“Shit, I’ve knocked around some balls before,” Dave said. “Might hafta give it a go, see if she can beat a mountain man.” He glanced at the beer he held. “After another drink or two. I ain’t at pool-shootin’ levels yet.”

>..//

Laine swayed out of the stall once she finished and went to wash her hands, she was still grinning as she sung Happy Birthday under her breath. Once she was done, she looked at Ava and grabbed a paper towel. “Alright, look.”

She ducked her head and looked under the stalls then back at her, “I got something I need to say, to tell someone or I’m gonna bust.”

Laine grabbed her shoulders, leaning in closer with the faint scent of booze on her breath, “It’s just between us...our group. Can we keep it that way?”

Ava looked at her with a mixture of amusement, curiosity and a healthy amount of confusion. “Sure Laine, I won’t say a thing.” She said with a small grin. “What’s your big secret?”

Laine took a deep breath, her green eyes shone like wet glass from alcohol and emotion, “I love Donnelley.”

It came out in a rushed whisper then she said again, “I love him and he loves me, oh shit. It’s not supposed to happen but it did. And I’m happy an we're like, together.”

She sobbed and laughed at the same time, biting her lip. “I’m sorry, I’m drunk I know.”

Ava blinked and stared at Laine with her head cocked to the side, the gears visibly turning in her head as she processed the information. “You...And...Donnelley?” She repeated slowly, as though putting together the components for a complex math equation.

“When did...I’ve never...What?” She asked, her expression completely befuddled by the confession.

Laine stared at her, expecting not that answer and then she laughed, “Oh my god, of course...”

She hugged Ava, squeezing her arms around her smaller frame, then let her go. “Never change. But yeah...we’ve been sorta seeing each other, on the downlow. It’s not exactly professional for a supervisor to date a subordinate. At the Bureau it might get someone transferred or formally disciplined...”

Laine ran hand over her own shoulder, brushing down the black inked scene of the beach at night, picking up the chain that acted as a strap for the tank top. “And we’re in love. So, there it is. He told Dave before we left...it’s fair you know, and I wanted to tell someone. Because I’m really fucking happy.”

She wiped her eyes and laughed again, “Jesus, those long island ice teas.”

Ava returned the hug without much thought, still processing the information but she focused back on Laine. She saw the smile on her face, the way her eyes lit up and the tears of happiness glistening in them. Of course, a lot of the energy and giddiness was on the alcohol, but that still originated from genuine emotions.

She smiled and hugged Laine. “That’s great Laine, that’s really great! I’m so happy for you two! Screw what regulations and professionalism says. We need whatever happiness we can get in this line of work and I’m so, so happy you two found that in each other.”

Laine sniffled and took a deep breath, “It feels really good to say out loud. We been feeling some kind of way for awhile but...you know, things.”

She wrung her hands and shook her head, glancing in the mirror saw the smeared eyeliner giving her racoon eyes. “Oh brother. Well, I’d love to say screw it. But truth is, I don’t want to endanger the team so...well, once we’re back in the field we’ll keep it cool.”

Laine rubbed at the black smudges making them a little worse then gave up, “But fuck it, not now. I’m happy. He’s happy. You and Dave seem very happy!”

She hugged Ava again, leaving her arm around her shoulders, “Alright, I’m done with my weird happy breakdown. Also...he doesn’t know I told you but he’ll be glad to know he doesn’t have to act like we’re just friends around you two.”

“You guys really fooled me, that’s for sure.” Ava said, running her hand over her braid. “But I guess I’ve always been a poor judge on that kind of stuff. The first time I met Queen, I didn’t realize he was flirting with me until he practically told me to my face. Same with Dave! I didn’t know he liked me until he asked me out.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “Is that an asexual thing or am I just bad at picking up certain social cues?”

Laine dropped her arm and shook her head, “I don’t know, but it’s probably more that you’re not looking for it. The asexual thing but we did try hard to not show it. I don’t know if we were as successful with everyone else as we were fooling you.”

She grinned and pulled the door open, holding it with her hip so Ava could walk through, “So, consider this a double date I guess.”

Laine followed her out, using her thumbs to slip up the straps of her tank top that threatened to start creeping down her shoulders again. “Damn things, I think I stretched it out beating Donnelly’s ass at pool.”

They passed the bar, Laine regaling Ava about the victory and she paid no mind to the men still drinking there.

Unbeknownst to Laine and Ava, they were respectively being eyed up and dressed down by Seth and his bald friend. Donnelley could see it from across the bar, having been watching the doorway into the ladies’ room and waiting for Laine and Ava to exit. His eyes were drawn to Seth, the obvious leader. As often happens, Seth noticed Donnelley too, and gave his own kissy faces back at Donnelley. Donnelley’s eyes narrowed, and if he hadn’t had to piss something mighty, he’d have left it alone.

He stared at Seth’s smirking face all the way up to the men’s room door, where he stopped and hooked a thumb in his belt loop, “The fuck did I tell you, boy?”

“Maybe you could slide me another hundred.” Seth chuckled, a big shit-eating grin from which his infuriating voice slurred out of like shit from an ass.

“Yeah, you can get it after I shove my cock down your throat in one of the stalls.” Donnelley smirked and gave his own kissy faces at Seth’s scowl as he slipped into the bathroom laughing to himself.

Dave was loitering with Chunk and his beer, watching the crowd and enjoying his time not being shot at. He brightened as the girls left the bathroom, waiting for them to arrive before giving Ava Chunk and a kiss on the forehead. He watched Donnelley leave and followed his exchange with the two men from a distance.

“Laine, you didn’t pay with a card, did ya? Used cash?” He asked, his eyes on Donnelley.

Laine smiled at the affection between the two but it faltered when Dave asked about the way she paid.

"Cash, of course," she replied, glancing up at him. "Don't worry."

“Alright, cool,” Dave said. He gave Ava’s shoulder a squeeze and shot her a reassuring smile, noting the two men at the bar getting up and heading towards the bathroom after Donnelley. “Well...You guys get packed up just in case, cuz I think ol’ Donnelley might’ve got himself into some trouble.”

He slammed back the rest of his beer, dropped the bottle on the table, and headed for the men’s room, rolling his neck and shaking out his hands as he went. A couple of weekend tough-guys were about to bite off far more than they could chew.

Laine sighed when she spotted the recognizable bald head of the taller of the pair vanish into the restroom. “Damnit,” she muttered, watching Dave take off after them and headed towards the pool table, “I’ll get my quarters.”

“Wha,” Ava straightened slightly with alarm, looking at Laine and the retreating Dave with equal parts confusion and worry. She looked down at Chunk. “I don’t suppose you know what’s going on?” She made the plushie shake it’s head. “Yeah, me neither.”

>...///

Donnelley was pissing in relative peace, and had been for the past twenty seconds. It always amazed him how much liquid the human body could hold. From behind him, he could hear two individuals step into the bathroom, and from the sound of their clothing and boots, he could tell it was those two assholes at the bar. Deadset on causing trouble, they probably were planning to beat him up and leave him in a stall. Donnelley knew this, because had he had Queen with him instead of Dave, and neither of the girls, well… they would’ve done it to Seth and his bald fucking Igor.

“You know that offer wasn’t serious, man. I’m not gonna do that kinda stuff inside a place like this.” Donnelley said as he slipped himself back inside his jeans and zipped up. He turned around with a shit-eating grin on his face, “But, if you meet me somewhere outside- oof!”

Donnelley’s head snapped back, but lucky for him, Ghost’s helmet headbutts and sparring with Poker always involved harder impacts. His nose trickled a bit of blood though, and Donnelley touched the tip of his finger to his nostril to confirm, seeing it come back red. “Alright.” Donnelley nodded, the good humor gone.

The door flew open, driven by the weight of a very unhappy mountain man. Dave took in the scene at a glance, noting the blood on his friend's face and the aggressive posture of the barroom thugs. The bald one had time to register annoyance at Dave's sudden appearance before he yelped in pain, courtesy of Dave's heavy hiking boot crashing into his shin. Then Dave was on him, his fists swinging and fury in his eyes.

Seth only had enough time to hear the door come crashing open and the opening act of his and his friend’s ass-whoopings before a heavy kick to his knee made a sickly, audible pop echo in the tiled bathroom. Donnelley had a wild grin as he watched Seth squawk and flail back onto his ass, almost tripping Dave up in his own fight. Donnelley bent over and grabbed up a fistful of Seth’s collar, cocking his arm back and then sending a fist crashing into his chin.

Baldy was leaning against the wall, held there as much by the sheer aggression of Dave's assault as by his own will. He'd managed a half-ass swing that had knocked Dave's hat askew and another wild elbow that would probably leave the mountain man with a shiner.

In exchange Dave was rocking him with every dirty strike he knew, keeping a shoulder in baldy's chest so he could hammer short, hard punches into his solar plexus, kidneys, and liver. A groin strike finally doubled him up and Dave rode him down the wall, now methodically kicking him in the face until he went to cover it before driving his toes into his thighs and kidneys to open him back up for another headshot.

"Ain't so tough alone, are ya boy?" Dave snarled. "Not so fuckin' tough alone!"

Donnelley’s assault was cut off by Baldy’s bulk knocking him aside from Seth, giving the other man time to try to stand. Adrenaline was in Donnelley’s veins now and by the time he’d somewhat righted himself another punch smacked into his ear, making him stumble again and swear. He had his arm up and chin tucked just in case there were more punches coming, and Seth came on strong again. Donnelley tucked himself in tight at the waist to receive a kidney punch that only connected with his ribs.

He responded in kind, ducking a wild hook that a toddler could’ve slipped and coming in close, two low hooks one after the other hammered into Seth’s side, one to the kidney and then his ribs before Donnelley pushed off his back leg and drove his shoulder into Seth, butting him against a wall. He stomped the heel of his boot into Seth’s toes and then sent hard knees into the inside of Seth’s injured leg’s thigh to add insult to injury there, all the while mixing in some shoulder strikes, smashing his shoulder against Seth’s chin and knocking the back of his head into the tiles.

A few more kicks, surgically delivered to the groin and the chin, saw the bald punk out of the fight. As he lay moaning in what Dave suspected was his own piss, Dave turned his attention to Donnelley and his foe. He watched the rest of the show, leaning against the wall with a booted heel on baldy's belly, catching his breath as he put in a dip.

"You 'bout done learnin' that boy his lesson?" He asked as he prodded the Cope into place.

“Let me see,” he called over to Dave, and then spoke into Seth’s ear, “You done learnin’, boy?”

Seth rested his head against the wall, breathing hard through a split lip that had already started swelling. When Donnelley stepped back, Seth only wobbled in place before carefully setting himself down on the sticky floor tiles with his bald friend. Donnelley heaved in a breath as he checked his nose again, still bleeding. “Figure we better clear out. I need a cigarette after that anyway, tell you what.” He chuckled, then clapped Dave on the shoulder, “Seriously, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Donnelley took his own advice and hurriedly strode out of the bathroom and over to the two women that had accompanied them here. Hoping Dave was on his heels, Donnelley put a hand on the small of Laine’s back and nodded for the door, speaking through a carefree smile that didn’t match the hurried words, “Let’s go, we gotta go, we gotta go.”

Dave flashed Ava a smile as he joined them. He winked at her and took her hand, falling in with Donnelley and Laine.

"Gonna head on down the road, sugar," he said. "Couple'a boys have made us feel unwelcome here."

Ava’s eyes widened. “What happened to your eye? Did they hit you?” She asked in concern, picking up her purse and tucking Chunk underneath her arm.

"Yeah, we had a lil' tussle. They were tryin' to jump Donnelley," Dave said. "It's alright, though, we handled it and ain't nobody hurt serious."

Laine grimaced at the sight of Donnelley’s bloody nose but made no attempt to stop him when he began pushing her towards the door. She glanced at him, “How bad do they look?”

“Oh, they’re fine,” Donnelley smiled, wiping away some blood from his nose again, “Just a friendly little disagreement.”

Laine shot a glare but held her tongue, for now. She hustled out the door, walking too fast and swaying a little but the pleasant drunken buzz was rapidly fading.

Donnelley caught her glare and smiled sheepishly, like a boy who’d gotten caught stealing from the cookie jar, “Everythin’s fine, lover.”

“I have unspent quarters,” she said, raising a brow as she pulled on his leather jacket. “We’ll talk about it later, let’s just get out of here before they call the cops.”

Donnelley turned to Dave and Ava, offering both of them a smile. For Dave, the two of them shook hands and then clapped each other’s backs, and he and Ava parted with a hug. It was a short round of hurried goodbyes and Donnelley made sure to voice his thanks, and his apologies for having their good time cut short. Donnelley would’ve been lying if he’d said the fight, especially with Dave by his side, wasn’t part of his fun. As Dave and Ava retreated off into the night, Donnelley and Laine hopped onto his motorcycle and made their way back to his house.

Donnelley had an idea of how he’d make it up to Laine for her unspent quarters.

>SEATAC AIRPORT
>WED, 16SEP2019
>0615...///

Donnelley and Laine sat in the quickly shrinking line for pick ups and drop offs at the SeaTac Airport. They’d smiled at each other every so often as the conversation died down. The reality that they’d be spending some more time apart set in little by little as they got closer to the airport until it was all they could think about. Donnelley depressed the gas pedal on his Bronco, the lifted four-wheeling rig guzzling gas all the way to the airport and looking like a mighty sore thumb among all the small commuter cars.

He pressed the brakes again and they came to a halt for the umpteenth time in the line. He looked over to Laine and smiled again, “Guess this is it now.” He said, “Ain’t gonna start cryin’ are you? Might make me cry, and I’m an ugly crier, don’t know if you knew. Fair warnin’.”

Laine watched the drop-off getting closer and she turned to meet his gaze, reaching to touch his hand on the gear shift. “Well, I’m pretty when I cry,” she said, the teasing smile and glint in her eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t. Because I’m not going to say goodbye.”

She left it at that and leaned over, putting her head on his shoulder, then gave him a swift kiss on his bearded cheek, “I’m only going to say, I can’t wait to see you again.”

Laine settled back into her seat, her fingers fumbling around with the buckle. The truth was she felt the tightness in her chest and pit of her stomach, almost like being homesick. She would miss him and likely cry over it once on the plane.

The closer they edged the more restless she felt, Laine had no option but to go home, work expected her in the office tomorrow. It felt surreal going back to the mundane world, especially after being resurrected.

“You always know what to say.” Donnelley smiled, though it was weighed down some with the clenching in his chest. He’d miss Laine, and no matter how much he didn’t want to, he had to let her go back home. Funny thing, there was a point in time where he was satisfied with all of them living their own separate lives. Now they had been intertwined and tangled so tightly that Donnelley could only think about when they’d meet next. “Looks like this is your stop.”

When they got to the appropriate space Donnelley merged out of the lane, then looked at the woman he loved. He had a sad smile on his face, and if Laine looked close she might see his eyes starting to mist over. He got out of the car with her and opened up the back, retrieving her luggage for her. They stood opposite each other in silence for a few moments until Donnelley realized he was almost holding Laine’s luggage hostage. He rolled it over to her as he looked off to the side, almost like if he didn’t see her disappear beyond the door and into the crowded airport it wasn’t really happening.

“Keep in touch,” he said, looking to her with a lopsided smile, “Okay?”

Laine smiled at that, hopefully she knew what to say at times when words were needed. A psychology degree still did not give a person tact. She could see his eyes, the emotion and the tears held back and looked away. If she allowed herself to start they would both fall apart. Taking a deep breath, she unbuckled her seat belt and slid from the jacked up Bronco. While he gathered her suitcase she put her laptop bag over her shoulder and gathered herself together.

She wanted to hug him tight and not let go but Laine knew she would fall to pieces and this was not the time or place. She took the suitcase, her fingers brushing over his as they exchanged looks before he glanced away.

“Always,” she said, “I’ll annoy you because before you know it we’ll see each other. You’re coming to Virginia soon I’m sure.”

She tried to smile but her throat grew tight. Laine nodded and forced herself to turn around and then looked back to see him one more time as she called over her shoulder, “See you later!”

The walk through the glass doors felt like she was treading through sludge, like those dreams where no matter how hard you try to move everything pulls you back. Laine went through the check in and stood in line, every once and awhile glancing at the doors though she could not see out and the Bronco would be gone.

Laine pulled out her phone as she waited and texted him, “Check your pocket.”

>...///

Donnelley stood and watched her leave, his Docs almost glued to the ground and deeply-rooted. He would’ve stood and waited there all day if the honking of a horn didn’t rip him out of his own little world of grief. He sheepishly waved and hurried back into his Bronco, putting it in gear and merging back into traffic. The drive home was somehow so much longer without Laine in his passenger seat and he simply sat in his driveway while his music played. It was several minutes before he decided to check his phone and saw the text, Check your pocket.

In his jacket pocket, she left a simple note torn from a memo pad with a bold heart drawn in pen and their initials in it. “I love you 4 ever” scrawled under it in her doctor’s handwriting. A teenage love note if there ever was one. He snorted out a laugh that shook his shoulders and he was one part embarrassed how juvenile they were with their love and one part endeared to it. As his laughs died down he took a deep breath and blew it out, fishing out his cigarettes and biting one out of the box.

He lit the end of it and sighed, looking at the note again. He smiled and wiped a moistening eye on his coat sleeve before texting back, I love you too.

Once inside his house he simply stood in the living room and looked around. It wasn’t as dusty as it once was thanks to Laine spot cleaning wherever she went. When he walked into the kitchen to grab his whiskey there was another pang of loneliness in his chest. The house seemed altogether too quiet without the sounds of their lovemaking or their conversations, their laughing. He shrugged off his coat and left it draped over the back of one of the couches, plopping himself down in another and turning on the tv, setting the bottle of whiskey down on the coffee table…///

He awoke with a start, sweat beading on his brow and dragging in air as he frantically looked around his living room to see nothing had changed. No threats, no guns pointed at him. It was the same dream, or one of them. Staring into those children’s eyes in Libya, and what he was forced to do. The nightmares were right on schedule, he grimaced. With Laine gone, he didn’t have that security blanket that was her presence. He reached for the whiskey bottle until his phone buzzed to life, his personal one. He looked down to see a name he hadn’t seen on his caller ID in a good, long while. He took two long swigs, one after the other and hissing with the burn. He accepted the call and held it to his ear, “...Hello?”

“Joseph, it’s Holly,” she said, her voice sounding like she would rather be doing anything else than this. Like maybe pulling a good tooth with pliers. “Do you have a minute?”

“For?” He asked, his own tone already taking on that age-old snark and resentment they seemed to have for each other. Years of unaddressed problems in a failed marriage will do that.

“It’s about Tilly,” Holly said, then paused, somewhere in the back of her mind knowing he hated that. Just like when she would tell him ‘we need to talk later.’ She grit her teeth and sighed, “She’s been asking about you.”

Donnelley quieted then, holding his breath and searching for something to say. Whether to be goddamn ecstatic or feeling some amount of dread. Dragging the man he was now across that threshold didn’t seem like the grand return into Tilly’s life that he’d imagined. He frowned and shook his head, that old anger creeping back up after imagining Holly dripping poison about Donnelley into his daughter’s ear, “I think we both knew this was comin’, Holly.” Donnelley spoke, “So, what’s she askin’ and how’re you answerin’? Ain’t makin’ me out to be too much of a rotten fuck, I hope?”

"I certainly knew it was coming," Holly snapped, "She's asking about you, who you are and where you are. Questions I've answered as truthfully as I dare. She knows you're an alcoholic, she knows about your PTSD, I've had to explain the incident at school several times as she's grown older and make it age appropriate. But most of all..."

Holly paused, the accusatory tone in her voice only fading slightly. "Mostly she wants to know why you never call or write, why you've never visited. Why you don't want to be her Dad. The same things she's asked since we split up. I've explained that it isn't about her, it's...that I kept you away, for her protection. That you had issues with alcohol and anger. She's been blaming me for years anyway, I might as well take it. It's not like she doesn't have a father, Mark is her father and a damn good one. But lately she's asking to see you. To meet you again. And not in the same way she used to use you against me. I think."

Donnelley snorted ruefully, shaking his head and looking out his window at the darkening sky. How long he had been asleep was still a mystery to him, “So, you goin’ to ask me over? Or tell her I just couldn’t make it because I’m too fuckin’ drunk.” Donnelley almost snarled, looking at the whiskey like it had been sneaking past his lips for years on its own. He lied, but taking solace and some imagined superiority knowing he was functional and not like those assholes face down in the alleys, “I cleaned up, Holly. You wouldn’t know that because you’re too busy pretendin’ we never fuckin’ met past makin’ sure I’m still alive for child support, but I’m pretty fuckin’ better.”

“But if I’m goin’ to answer any questions it’s goin’ to be me speakin’ directly to her. I’m not lettin’ you control her opinion of me.” Donnelley spat, “You really told her that? That I didn’t come around, because I’m still a fuckin’ alcoholic?”

Holly made an irritated sounding huff, "Don't give me that shit, you're damn right I keep up on that child support. I didn't make her on my own and that kid has dreams. Expensive dreams, let me tell you. We do alright but you'll be paying your part for the next year and eight months. After that ..."

She let it fade off, then sighed, "Yes. Because you are an alcoholic, Joseph. You drank yourself stupid when you got home and wouldn't deal with your issues. If you're better now...I'm very happy for you. I hope you are. I don't wish you ill but I had to tell her something. Would you rather her keep thinking you just couldn't be bothered to reach out to her? That whatever was going on in your life was more important than her? She blamed me for a long time that I kept you away, I was the bad guy and it wasn't fair. I had to explain once she was old enough."

Another pause before Holly said, "So...she wants to see you in person. Mark and I talked about it for quite awhile before we came to an agreement. If you're willing to come here and with our supervision. And sober."

Donnelley frowned deep and had to keep himself from cutting into Holly. Instead he closed his eye and drew in a breath, “Of course I’ll be sober.” Donnelley swallowed again, trying to keep his anger in check and not play into those old memories Holly had of him, “I’m not goin’ to ruin my daughter’s request for somethin’ that stupid.”

Donnelley got up and looked around his pockets for his cigarettes before eyeing his jacket and retrieving the box from there. He saw the note from Laine and his anger sank back somewhat. He put one of the cigarettes between his lips, “So, when am I bein’ expected?” He asked more calmly.

"I can schedule it for this Saturday evening, she's back in school and it would be best for her to have a day to ... recover before going back," Holly said, "I don't know how she's going to take seeing you. She's excited but scared, as you can imagine. She ...she has a lot of ideas of how it'll be. But honestly, she has no idea."

"I just don't want her to be hurt again," she sighed, "I know that you want what is best for her."

“I do. We both do.” He said, walking into the garage and closing the door behind him. He sat down on a step stool and lit his cigarette, “She’s old enough to ask for the truth, she’s old enough to get it. And I’m not wantin’ to hurt anybody.”

He pursed his lips and took another drag, exhaling smoke before he spoke again, “Can we just all be passed that. A lot’s happened. I don’t want either of us bein’ the bad guys in her mind.”

Holly could hear him smoking, she had given it up years ago but damn if she didn't crave one. "Alright, Joe. We'll put it behind us for her sake. Especially if you're doing better. Mark and I agreed that if you accepted then we'll have you over for dinner and then if Tilly wants to, you both can spend some time alone talking."

She did not sound very enthusiastic but like a wary mother bear grumbling.

"This Saturday, dinner is served at 7 sharp," Holly added.

“Okay.” Donnelley nodded, though Holly couldn’t see it, “I’ll be there.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

Some Time for Us...

>SHARPS ROASTHOUSE
>SEATAC, WA
>1400...///

Donnelley was quiet, the only sound in the car was an angry song yelling out its discontent at society turned down to a whisper. Wipers beat and screeched across the windshield as the rain poured out of the sky. There was a restaurant Donnelley had given Laine the address to, and it seemed like she’d made it first, sitting in her own rental car in the crowded parking lot. Donnelley parked his own car some ways away and walked to her passenger door, rapping a knuckle on the glass. When she disengaged the locks, he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. He didn’t reach across to her like she did with him those months ago in West Virginia.

He just looked out the windshield and then shook his head, looking down at his callused hands, “Should I have said somethin’ more?” He asked, “Protested harder? Submitted some fuckin’ paperwork at least?”

Laine waited in the car, watching the rain drops chase each other down the windshield, splitting around the still wipers. The music played without her listening and she was deep in her thoughts when the knock startled her. She jumped, green eyes in a pale face staring back at Donnelley from the otherside of the window.

She said nothing as he settled in, only reaching to turn down the volume of the rental’s stereo, her old mp3 player resting in the cupholder. Her own thoughts were not far from his and she waited a moment before speaking.

“Do you think that would have helped?” she asked, looking over at him. “You know how these things work, do you think protest and paperwork would have kept someone from having us killed?”

Laine shook her head slightly, “Whatever is going on, I’d be willing to bet there’s no other working group on this case.”

She brushed her hand lightly over her face, as if swiping at a spiderweb. “It’s like what Dawant said, how he was pushed out. I’ve seen it before or versions of it in local police departments like his and beyond. I would love to say the Bureau was not touched by such corruption but I highly doubt it.”

Laine sighed and leaned her elbow against the door, “Do you know what I did before going to the BAU? I’m sure you read my file, the diligent team lead that you are. Well, I worked at the LA field office for the first three or so years, I was on task forces dedicated to missing and exploited children and human trafficking, which I can tell you is a huge problem in and around Los Angeles.”

She pressed her thumb against her lips, “I don’t like talking about it because no one wants to hear about it. Those words like trafficking and exploitation, they do nothing to convey the reality of what it’s about. It doesn’t tell you about listening to broken parents like Armando begging for their children back. It doesn’t show you the fucking countless videos and pictures of children being raped and tortured. It doesn’t...it doesn’t convey the impact of listening to a six year old girl talk about how a man raped her and how strong she is because she is willing to stand up and testify in court because she doesn’t want that bad man to hurt other kids.”

Tears filled her eyes and she rubbed at them, mindless of the smudging eyeliner, “That was my job, to find the monsters and be the voice of those children. And after a while, I just couldn’t do it anymore. Because for every one we managed to catch and gather evidence and lock up, how many more slipped through the cracks, how many had connections and wealth enough to make it go away.”

Laine pressed her trembling hand against her thigh, “I moved to Unit 2 to get away from it, I’d rather face crimes against adults, as horrible as they are. I couldn’t take looking at another abused murdered child and feeling so fucking helpless against the tide of what caused it. A lot of it was organized crime, pedophile rings that do exist and aren’t just conspiracy bullshit but we can’t touch them because someone got elected and someone has too much money invested in some place.”

She shrugged, then shook her head, “People will kill to keep their crimes a secret, that I do know.”

Donnelley nodded. Gregory Morales. Just another name that kept him up at night, but so much more to whoever’s car seat that was there the day he died for helping the wrong man, “Yeah, they will.”

Donnelley took his own pack of cigarettes out of his hoodie pocket, bit one out of the pack and cracked the window as he lit it. He remembered the fight in the parking lot, leaving the Russian in the Alaska woods after fleeing a Walmart to get away from any cops unfortunate enough to be just doing their jobs that day. Remembered how Laine had run him over.

“Was that your first?” He asked, “In Alaska. The Russian in the parking lot?”

She was digging out her own pack, the cloves familiar and comforting and thankfully still available in Seattle hoodrat gas stations around SeaTac. Laine paused when he asked, rolling the black cigarette between her fingers. Her first was not the Russian, it was some poor Alaskan sex worker that got vanished so that she could return from the dead. But at least by her own hand, it was the Russian.

The memory of the sensation of the bumping tires made her stomach clench, as if in a dropping elevator. Laine put the cigarette between her plush lips, then looked at him for a light with a small nod of her head. He flicked his lighter and let the flame kiss the end of her cigarette, and he could already smell the cloves that would forever remind him of Laine.

“My first enlistment in the Army I never killed anyone. Weren’t any big enough wars for the unit I was in.” Donnelley shook his head, and stared at the drops running down the windshield of Laine’s rental. He’d pay for the smell of burnt tobacco they’d leave, his need for a cigarette had only grown since Hillgrove Cemetery. “It was my first couple months as a Deputy in Dallard County. Some guy in Dallas had taken a little girl and ran away with her. Me and Sheriff Gracy caught him racin’ southwest on the highway out of Dallas.”

“Chased him down in our cruisers all the way out there into the fuckin’ country.” Donnelley said, “It came down the channels that it was the girl’s father. Alcoholic, on probation after a DUI charge with assault. Mother was a drug addict. He led us all south to Hillsboro.”

“There weren’t any good guys in that scenario, other than what we all thought so highly of ourselves to be. Him savin’ his little girl, us stoppin’ a kidnappin’. I didn’t know all that about him and the girl, and the mother then, but I still didn’t want to do it.” Donnelley just shook his head and stared, “He knew he was done when he saw the roadblock on the way into Hillsboro. Opened his door and pointed a weapon. He was probably dead ‘fore he hit the dirt. Emptied my magazine.”

“Didn’t want to. Had to. Me or him, y’know?” Donnelley said, sighing and looking down at his lap, taking a hard drag on his cigarette, “I’m sorry you had to do that in Alaska. But you did that for me, and I owe you.”

Laine listened and watched him, his profile that was so familiar and dear to her. She took a drag and blew the smoke towards the cracked window. “I didn’t want to but I’d do it again,” she said, then glanced at him. “I would do it again for you. Hell...it bothers me but I don’t regret it.”

She balanced the black cigarette between her fingers and glanced at him. “I guess that makes me a bit of a hypocrite doesn’t it?”

Donnelley looked at her and shook his head, “No.” he said, looking away from her, “You’d have to do a lot more to be hypocritical with me.”

He cleared his throat after a moment of silence, taking one last drag and pinching out the cherry, putting the cigarette into a ziploc like he did. “Let’s go have somethin’ to eat. Make like we’re just a normal couple on a date and the only thing botherin’ us is the rain.” He tried a smile with her, reaching towards her hand, “How does that sound?”

Laine put out her cigarette and gestured for his ziploc, “You got me doing it now.”

She sighed, the heaviness of the day still weighing on her but smiled a little at his suggestion. “That sounds like something I need right now. At least one thing.”

Laine unbuckled herself then took his hand, her thumb grazing over the top as she said, “We leave this in the car, right? Let’s talk about other things, anything else.”

She unlocked the doors and let go of his hand, stepping into the misting rain. Laine waited for him offering her hand to hold as they crossed the parking lot. ”Think it’ll be alright?”

“Everythin’s fine, remember?” Donnelley took Laine’s hand with a smile, “It’s just us. That’s all I need right now.”

Once inside and seated, Donnelley wasted no time in ordering his usual. The Sinatra, a big square of frozen stone resting in two fingers of bourbon and a splash of bitters. Quick and to the point. He took his first sip and looked across the table at Laine, alone in the corner of the bar, “So, what’s the first thing you’re goin’ to do when you get home?”

Laine ordered a zombie, a fruity rum drink that was strong enough to make her feel fuzzy and push the shadows back. She held the half filled glass and considered his question. “Probably take a bubble bath and walk around my apartment naked. I love the team but I do miss living alone sometimes.”

Her green eyes flicked to him, “Not that I wouldn’t want certain company but after that, I’ll probably check in at the office and deal with whatever is waiting for me there.”

She took a sip, the tropical flavors defying the gloomy light from the windows. “Ghost offered to train Ava and I, so I suppose we’ll be doing that at some point. He seemed very put off by the idea we would be on the same team.”

Laine idly opened the menu that rested on the table, “Couldn’t hurt to be more prepared. I’m going to probably sign up for a personal trainer so I can get ready before I have to train with him. Just a wild guess that he’ll be merciless.”

“Just ask Dave. Me and Ghost put him through the rounds whenever we could.” Donnelley chuckled, “Shoulda seen his first time. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good neither. You’ll be fine.”

She stirred the cocktail with the swizzle stick and laughed a little, “I suppose it won’t be much worse than being back at the Academy except with those Oakleys watching everything.”

Laine took a sip, then muttered, “Well, he did give me pointers in weight lifting and wasn’t weird about it. Better him than Poker, I guess. He kinda gives me a bad vibe. I know he’s your old team leader just...you know, you get a feeling for how someone looks at you.”

She went back to the menu, “I don’t really have any grand plans past spending some time with you before going home.”

Laine glanced across the table at him, “What about you?”

Donnelley frowned in contemplation, looking up and away before he sipped at his drink and shook his head, “I don’t know. I guess I don’t have any plans either except for whatever you have for me while you’re here,” he smiled, chuckling a bit, “I guess since I’m on leave with the Company too… I’ve got some free time.”

His smirk drooped a bit, “Maybe I’ll… come visit you and Ava. Road trip, come bother my team across the country.” He perked up again, though he really didn’t know what he was going to do with himself with so much free time. The last time he had any time to himself he spent it doing drugs and fucking prostitutes, but that hardly held the same enticement ever since the case, “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ll think of something, you know I can find ways of gettin’ into trouble.” He smirked.

Laine raised her eyebrow, "Oh, you're going to let me be in charge of what we get up to while I'm here?"

A slow smile grew before she masked it by taking a drink. "I'd like it if you did visit, I wasn't joking about wanting your company. As for you getting into trouble, I have no doubts. Just make sure you can get out of it."

The waitress appeared, giving them a warm practiced smile, "Were you ready to order or did you need some more time?"

"I'll have the pineapple pulled pork with the proper greens salad and another zombie, thanks," Laine replied.

The waitress wrote it down and glanced at Donnelley, "And what would you like, sir?"

Laine tried not to grin and preoccupied herself looking at her phone until he was done ordering and the waitress gathered their menus and left. She finally looked across at him, her green eyes twinkling, "That's my line."

“Yeah?” Donnelley chuckled as he finished taking a long sip from his drink and winked at her, “I guess I can let you dictate what we get to do. I might like whatever you think up.”

Laine bit her lower lip and swirled the ice in her glass, "I think you might. First thing though we need to get a room. Another shitty motel or something else?"

“My place?” Donnelley quirked a brow. She’d invited him into her home, only felt right for him to return the favor. Besides, what he wanted to do would be better with some privacy, “Besides, motels around here are a special type of shitty.”

Laine blinked at his offer then smiled warmly, "Yeah, I'd like that. Much better than a shitty motel. Maybe we'll pick up a few things and cook breakfast together tomorrow."

The idea of even just a night or two of some sort of normal domestic bliss after the hell they had been through in Alaska was like water to a parched man. She wanted it more than anything right now just to stop and breathe with the man she loved.

Donnelley grinned wide at that thought of spending a night and having breakfast with Laine, “I’d love that.” He said, smiling at her and then finishing the last of his drink, enjoying the heaviness in his limbs and the subtle giddiness. He reached across the table and rested his hand on hers, “More’n anythin’.”

>...///

Laine drove behind Donnelley as he led the way to his house. In the backseat were some groceries and necessities from a quick stop at the store where he pushed the cart and she picked from the shelves. The rain had finally lifted, leaving the air cool and breezy, washing it clean.

She allowed brief thought to paranoia that the Program was watching and waiting to catch her and Donnelley together. But from what she had seen, a little daring was needed.

Donnelley took them down a few residential roads. It had been a few miles drive from the grocery store until they finally got to Donnelley’s home. Pulling into the empty driveway, it had just enough space for their two cars. “Well, this is it.” Donnelley smirked at the modest one-story. “My palace is out back.”

He chuckled, taking almost all the bags in the back of Laine’s car in one trip. It had been a habit both of efficiency and laziness since he’d been stationed in Fort Campbell, or moved to Seattle shortly after being discharged and the divorce that followed on its heels. But he wasn’t thinking about that now. The house inside was some kind of halfway between bare and lived-in. There were still a few pieces of furniture, a television. Though, most of the rooms that weren’t the master bedroom, the kitchen, or the living room were completely empty.

In one particular room, there was a large safe and a few gun cases leaning beside it. Donnelley only poked his head inside and told Laine he kept his guns and a few other things inside the room. Not much else. “I’m gonna slip into somethin’ a bit more comfortable.”

Laine followed him, carrying her laptop bag and her duffel over her shoulder as he carried the groceries. She looked over the front of the house, it was still in good repair but she could tell there was some neglect, that it had not been occupied for any great lengths at a time. She smiled as he led her through, “So this is Casa de Donnelley.”

As she followed him, she noticed the half empty state of things, a life cut in half and only one still remained here. Putting that in the back of her mind, they were here for themselves not anyone else. She admired the set of his shoulders and the flex of his triceps as he carried the bags all at once and dropped them off in the kitchen. Laine chuckled and shook her head, “Of course you have a room just for guns.”

When he left to change, she went to the bathroom to freshen up, digging through her duffel for a change of clothes and her toothbrush. Laine changed down to underwear, a pair of black boy cut shorts, and an oversized Smiths t-shirt that fell just to her hips and hung slightly off one shoulder. It was one she bought back in Idaho, at the little boutique close to the campus. It felt like months but it had only been just over two weeks since they left Muru with Sobel.

Laine looked at the mirrored medicine cabinet and the temptation to take a peek was strong. Pulling herself away, she stepped out of the bathroom, now barefoot and much more comfortable. She went back towards the kitchen to put away the perishables in case he had not.

She found Donnelley doing what she was thinking of doing, putting the last carton of milk away and then dumping the old one. It had a fair amount of chunks, speaking to the amount of time Donnelley had been away from this place. He smirked sheepishly at her as he did, the chunks making audible slaps into the metal kitchen sink, “Sorry. It’s, um,” Donnelley cleared his throat, “Been a bit since I’ve been here.”

Laine grimaced, “It’s cottage cheese by now.”

She touched the table top and noticed the dust, then went to get a paper towel and bent to look in the cupboard for a dust spray. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?”

Without a word she began cleaning the table, wiping it down. She leaned over it, reaching to get in the middle.

“When was the first time you called me? After our first adventure?” He said, smashing the carton and putting it into the recycling bin. He searched around for his fancy glasses and mugs, not exactly wanting to have to pass the bottle between him and Laine. She deserved some modicum of hospitality.

“You like mules?” He opened a pantry and finally found them, the amount of time he’d been absent let him forget a lot about this place, “Because I like mules.” He grabbed two of the copper mugs and left the kitchen to find his fancier whiskeys.

Finishing the wipe down, she looked over her shoulder, “When I called you from Seattle? I remember that, I think I woke you up. Still stirring over the Childress case, another one taken.”

She stopped herself then tossed the paper towel in the trash can and rinsed her hands. Laine put her hands on her hips, the shirt scrunching up to show off her thighs. “I do like mules, but you know what else I like?”

Laine smiled slightly, looking him over and bit her lip. She moved closer and watched his body as he moved, admiring his form. Her gaze settled for a moment on the still fresh scar of the bullet wound then moved down. Donnelley smiled to himself when he caught Laine staring, eyeing him like a piece of meat. He turned around with the two copper mugs in one hand, the bottle of Bulleit bourbon in the other, “Is it me?” He asked sarcastically, “I hope it’s me.”

She laughed, her green eyes gleaming as she looked him over again, “It is definitely you.”

Laine pulled a chair out and sat down, pretending not to feel the chill on the bare expanse of her legs as she crossed them. Propping her elbow on the table, resting her chin against her fist, she said, “Now let’s see the bartender skills.”

“Well,” he said, placing down the two copper mugs and the bourbon, “The most integral part of the mule, in my opinion, is the copper mug. Just ain’t the same without it.”

He eyeballed two shots into each of the mugs, “Oh, almost forgot,” he rushed back to the kitchen and then returned with two bottles of ginger beer, “And this too, splash of lime to go with it.”

“We forgot mint leaves, else I’d have some garnish and I could really woo you.” Donnelley snorted, passing Laine her mug and setting it down in front of her, “I hope I didn’t fall short of my reputation.”

He sipped at his mug and then added a bit more whiskey, “How’s it?”

Laine took a sip, tasting it then licked her lips, “Pretty damn good. I’ve never had it with whiskey.”

“I’ll excuse the lack of mint leaves since you’re cute,” she smiled and took another drink, “Thank you, by the way, for having me in your house. So, do I get to dig through your record collection or your photo albums now?”

“You know, flirtin’ with the bartender might get you some perks here next time you come around.” He winked, smiling at her as he took a big gulp of his drink and sighed. At her question, he shrugged, “Yeah, why not, I’ll let you judge me mercilessly.”

“Should be in a box in the bedroom, come on.” Donnelley waved Laine with him as he went. When they got to the master bedroom, Donnelley slid the closet door open, pulling two boxes out packed to the brim with records. “Have at it.” He chuckled.

Laine clapped her hands and picked up her mug to follow him back to the bedroom, “I will be without mercy.”

She stepped into the room giving the large bed a once over then turned to him pulling out the big cardboard boxes. A big smile grew on her face and she knelt beside one, “Is this the Black Flag album you stole from that car when you were a teen?”

Laine began pulling the records out so she could see the art and the titles, her eyes lighting up as she exclaimed, “Oh shit, tell me you have a record player. We’re playing some of these.”

She pulled out a familiar cover, “Got some Cramps, I love it. Oh shit.”

Laine picked up an album that was worn at the corners, fuzzy cardboard and teal color, “A first pressing of Minor Threat, badass.”

She continued going through them, selecting a few more and picked up a few more. “What’s this? The Funky Aztecs?”

Donnelley ripped his attention away from her very visible backside in the boy cut panties as she bent and reached going through his record collection. She might have noticed the consequences of her choice in attire down below his belt line. He shook his head and looked at what she was holding, chuckling, “Holy shit, yeah. Nor’ Califas, these guys had a song with 2Pac.” He said, looking at the cover art for their Chicano Blues album, “I can’t be punk all the time. I even have some Parliament in there somewhere.”

Laine slid it back into the box and hunted for the Parliament, leaning forward on purpose then glanced at him, a little smile appearing on her lush lips. The basketball shorts did not hide much. “I like a good funk,” she said, “And I like your variety.”

She looked over at him standing there and then shifted up to her knees, looking up at him, “I like those shorts, too.”

Raising an eyebrow she reached up and gave him a stroke down the front of his shorts then stopped, “So let’s drink and listen to your records.”

Donnelley bit his lip and moaned under his breath as Laine touched him through his shorts. He’d forwent the underwear again, and the two of them could feel all of it. He chuckled as Laine looked up at him, “I’ll get my player, make yourself comfortable.”

She grinned at his reaction and the sensation of him through the fabric. Laine sank back to her heels, then picked up her copper mug taking a drink as he went to get his record player. Her mind was getting a little fuzzy and she watched with a little smile on her face.

When he returned and plugged in the machine, she handed him a record and waited until he turned back around. The slight static, the warm crisp vinyl sound as the music from the Cramps Bad Music from Bad People started up. She curled her finger, beckoning him over.

Laine looked up at him, reaching to run her fingers along his waistband. “Just like being teens again, right?”

She ran her hand down the silky material, feeling him and kissed his stomach, feeling the gingery hair below his navel tickle her nose as she moved downward, then made a soft moaning purr as she rubbed against him through the fabric. “I’ve been wanting to touch you for so long, sir.”

He set his mug down as Laine fondled him through his shorts, watching her with a smirk and feeling himself growing with her touch. He lay a gentle hand on her cheek as he stepped a bit closer, what was behind his shorts dangerously close to her, “I’ve been wanting you to touch me for so long.” He bent down and locked his lips with hers in a deep kiss, pulling back and leaning close to her ear, “I love you, Laine.”

Without telling her, he grabbed her up with relative ease and then set himself on the couch where she had been sitting. Now, he smiled at her as she straddled his lap, no doubt feeling him and how hard he was beneath the shorts. It felt so right, and so freeing to be able to say what he felt. And being able to say it however he wanted without worrying someone was listening in at every waking moment. If there was one blessing behind the infuriating circumstances of being put on leave, it was being able to spend time like this with Laine. The woman he loved.

And fuck loud.

>...///

He reached over to Laine and gently pulled her on top of him. He smiled at the weight of her and the feeling of her slick skin on his own. He looked down at her on his chest, his blue eyes weighed down with exhaustion from how much Laine had worn him out.

“I love you, Laine.” He said softly.

When he pulled her over to him, she hugged him. They were both hot and sweaty but it was worth it to feel the intimacy that glowed between them.

Laine gazed down at him, smiling with an indulgent expression before kissing him. “I love you, too,” she murmured. “I love you, Joey.”

She pushed herself up, her breasts resting against his chest and looked him over, “It’s going to be really hard hiding this now.”

He shrugged and shook his head, “Let’s just be happy we don’t have to right now,” he said with a smile, leaning in and kissing her softly, “God, you tire me out in the best of ways, Laine.”

“I am happy,” she said, then grinned down at him returning his kiss, “You make me happy, and make me so wonderfully sore.”

Laine nuzzled against him and kissed along his collarbone then lower to the scar, kissing it lightly then lay her head against his chest. He quivered softly with a smile at the feeling of her soft, plump lips against his sweat-slick skin, and hugged her tight as she rested against his chest, “We’re like a couple of high school sweethearts, you and me.” Donnelley chuckled, then turned a tad serious through his smile, “Can I admit somethin’?”

She chuckled softly, “We are. Everytime we’re alone together I feel like I’m sneaking around to see my bad boy boyfriend and hide it from my parents.”

Laine glanced up at him, her green eyes warm with affection, “Of course you can.”

Donnelley chewed over his phrasing, rolling his jaw and grunting as he knew it would make things easier just to spit it out, “When me and Dave were talkin’ by the fire in Alaska,” Donnelley cringed a tad, not knowing how Laine would react, “He knows. I told him.”

“I just couldn’t keep it hidden.” He explained hastily, “Just seein’ him and Ava frolickin’ around with each other like that. It’s just… I was jealous. Hell, I’ll still be when we go back to the grindstone. I couldn’t keep it in, one part accident and… I don’t know.”

“I hate actin’ like we have a distance between you and me when all I want to do is hold you.” He said, looking away from her, “I’m sorry.”

Laine stared at him and closed her eyes, nodding slightly. She sighed then kissed the spot in the center of his chest, the ginger hairs tickling her nose. “You shouldn’t have done that but I can understand it. I hate pretending that you’re just my team lead. Sometimes I want to just hold you and I get so frustrated. Especially after what we went through. What you went through seeing it...remembering.”

She scooted up and kissed his lips lightly then more firm, “I don’t think Dave will tell anyone. At least not on purpose.”

Donnelley sighed, “Sure hope not.”

Donnelley stared up at the ceiling, wondering when the last time he’d slept in this bed was. Returning here for the first time was like walking into a mausoleum, haunted by a life that had ended eight years ago. He looked back down at Laine and smiled, hugging her close for a moment, “I’m so glad.” He chuckled, shaking his head at the giddy feelings that Laine always gave him, “I’m glad we met.”

Laine smiled at him, thoughts of Dave and their secret slipping away as he hugged her. “Me too,” she sighed, and reached up to brush her hand along the side of his face, “We’ve had our moments, but I knew you were worth getting to know.”

She kissed him then kissed his scarred cheek, laying against him for a while until she felt sticky from the sweat and his semen. Laine finally lifted her head, “I’m going to take a quick shower. I think we earned a nap.”

“Mind if I join you?” Donnelley asked.

Laine slid off the bed, naked and from his perspective he would see how he left her. She turned and curled her finger at him, beckoning him to follow to the bathroom.

>SEP152019
>1200...///

The nap turned into just staying in bed cuddling and watching Netflix until they fell asleep again. Laine woke first, leaving Donnelley snoring lightly as she went to start breakfast. She wore one of his old Black Flag t-shirt and a pair of black bikini panties with a cartoon devil on the front. She found in that drawer of faded band shirts she found a shoebox of cassettes. Most were hand labeled, mixtapes of a variety of genres but mostly punk and hardcore. She set it on the kitchen table while she cooked, breakfast never took long with quick eggs and bacon and putting blueberry bagels in the toaster.

Laine hunted up a dusty boombox and plugged it in, trying out the tape player. She was listening to a mix of familiar west coast bands as she sipped coffee and went through the others. Laine paused and picked one up, a familiar but much younger face among a group of other boys glowering into the camera in a black and white xeroxed flyer folded up and made into a cassette cover.

A grin spread across her face and she popped out the mix tape and put in the DIY recording and cranked it up. The low chuggy hard core began and Laine stood up, removing the bacon onto paper towels and stirred the eggs before turning off the heat and plating them. If the smell of food didn’t wake him then maybe a ghost from the past howling would.

It only took a few moments of the thick, chugging riff before Donnelley rounded the corner into the kitchen, pantomiming playing a guitar and bobbing his head. When the lyrics came in on the second verse, he growled along with a smirk as he closed in on Laine, “Kill them all! Slit their throats! Drink their blood! Make them ghosts! Make them pay, for what they’ve done! Don’t look back ‘til what’s done is done!”

He laughed and grabbed Laine into a hug and then kissed her. “That is a one of a kind recordin’ of the band Reagan’s Grave.” Donnelley smiled and bobbed his head to the song again, folding his arms, “My best friend, partner-in-crime, and brother-in-blood Eric was the vocalist. Guess who was makin’ them head-smashin’ riffs.”

Laine turned when he entered the kitchen singing along and sweeping her into an embrace. She laughed and stuck a cube of honeydew melon towards his mouth.

"Let me guess I'm basking in the presence of the shred master himself," she said, the pleased expression on her face. "I found that little gem in a shoebox when I borrowed your shirt. So tell me about this Eric and Reagan's Grave. I love a hot guy in a band."

“Damn right y’are,” he said, leaning over and taking the honeydew into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, “Eric was my friend who got killed in Dallas. Me and him started that band with another one of our friends named Ernesto, he’s on drums.”

“We played a few house shows in Dallard County and left a wake of trashed basements and smashed forty-ounces wherever we went.” He smiled.

She smiled at his recollection, the memory of what he told her about the friend he lost was not forgotten. Laine served the food, bacon and eggs with blueberry bagels and cream cheese and some cut up fruit. After the night they had she was starving.

"That must have been a lot of fun while it lasted. Those types of backyard shows were always a blast," she said, setting the plates on the table and offering him a cup of coffee. "Do you still play guitar?"

“Not often. I probably forgot most of what I had.” He smiled sheepishly, watching her set the table, how she moved, how she looked in the morning light, “I could pick it up if I had the time.”

Donnelley frowned then, and then snorted, “I guess that’s one thing I got now. Time. Can’t even do shit for my day job.”

Laine came up beside him and handed him his coffee, her free hand tousling his ginger hair and noticed a fleck of ash among the fire. She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the head and moved to her chair. “In all honesty, you could use a little vacation, but I understand. Idle hands and all that devils work.”

She smiled a little at him then winced as she sat down, shifting slightly so she leaned and crossed her legs. “I do have to get back to my day job but after that visit with Dawant yesterday, I’m not done with Maria’s case. Not by a long shot.”

Picking up her fork, she eyed him, “I promise I won’t go getting in the other working group’s way, but I have resources of my own with the Bureau. We might not have the original files or the physical evidence to look at but I’ve saved most of everything I could have photographed and written down. Once I get back to Virginia, I’m going to talk to Ava about making us some sort of secure cloud storage. Just in case.”

Her serious tone lightened as she began to eat, “But look, that’s not now. Today, I want to spend a day with you. Show me your motorcycle, play me a song. A walk on the beach? Anything but what we’ll be dealing with soon enough.”

He chuckled at Laine’s reminder that this time was for them, and them only. He sipped at his coffee and sat across from her at the dinner table. He had to sit there for a moment, not remembering the last time he felt so right staying in this house and sleeping in that bed. He could always fall asleep so easy, and wake up so contentedly with Laine next to him. “A walk on the beach sounds good, go over to Ruston Way and see the sights.” He smiled, “It’s a nice day out, could take my motorcycle there and ride the waterfront.”

Laine grinned, “I get to ride on your bike? Hell yeah.”

She leaned back and chewed the bagel, “I love a bad boy who plays in a punk band and rides a motorcycle. That sounds like a good plan, you know. I’ve never been out here other than for work so I would love to see the sights.”

He winked, “It’s a plan then.”

>1700...///

The sun glinted off the water below in the green waters of Puget Sound. Donnelley had laughed when Laine first smelled something off on the air when they approached Tacoma, and he explained that’s just how the city smelled ever since he could remember. The Aroma of Tacoma, the citizens had taken to calling it, turning the acrid stench the city had sometimes into something endearing. By now they hardly noticed it as they sat on the concrete outcropping facing the waves and the beach. The takeout boxes of fish and chips they’d gotten sat empty next to their beer bottles. “I remember when I first moved up here from Kentucky after my discharge.” Donnelley spoke before taking a drag off his cigarette, “Couldn’t fuckin’ stand the smell when we came here.”

Couldn’t stand a lot of things. Him and his wife couldn’t stand each other, and they’d tried to stay together for Tilly, but it worked out about as well as anyone would expect. Even if they’d moved away from Fort Campbell, moved away from the constant reminders of what his military service had brought him after Afghanistan and Pakistan, he couldn’t move away from himself. It took a year to figure that out. He looked at Laine and then smiled, reaching a hand over to place it on her thigh. This wasn’t about anything else but him and Laine, “Just give it some time and you’ll start to miss this smell.”

Laine wiped her mouth after taking a sip of the local brew, Mac & Jacks Serengeti Wheat which went well with the fried fish she drenched in lemon and malt vinegar. She inhaled then scrunched her nose, “What is it? It’s almost sulphurous. It doesn’t have the same stink as LA, it’s actually worse.”

She chuckled and raised her brows, “I don’t think I would miss it, but it’s certainly memorable.”

Following his example, she lit a clove cigarette, the strong spicy scent blotting out the rotten egg backwater stench. “It is a nice view though, a lot different than our beaches.”

When the wind shifted the scent of the ocean came with it, the salt and the rich scent of life. “I like all the trees here,” Laine said, “They just feel so old.”

Donnelley nodded, “Yeah, I don’t really know what it is either. Always chalked it up to low tide or somethin’, but I was never really sure.” Donnelley chuckled, taking another drag and breathing it out onto the winds, “A lot of history here if you know where to look.”

“That it could be,” she agreed, shifting to sit closer to him and put her cigarette between her fingers, letting it smolder. “You know, in California, they don’t seem to dwell on history too much, it’s always what’s next. What’s the next big thing. Maybe it’s an LA thing, but for a place where the sun sets, it is always looking ahead. Probably to its own detriment.”

Laine leaned back on her free hand, looking over the green and gray landscape, the cold ocean lapping at the stoney beach. She watched the water, secretly hoping to see the dorsal of a killer whale but so far nothing but a bald eagle that had soared overhead before heading out over the sound.

“You know, you should visit sometime. I know I’ve mentioned it before,” Laine said, bringing the clove cigarette to her full lips and glanced at him.

Donnelley shrugged, “I dunno. Y’think a simple country feller like me’d be able to make it in that there concrete jungle?” He smirked sidelong at Laine and then chuckled, shaking his head, “Yeah, I could. Maybe you could show me around?”

She chuckled and shook her head, “Please, I love the idea of corrupting a small town boy. But yeah, it’d be fun, there’s a lot to see. Sometime we will but first I’m owed a trip to Dalhart. Yeehaw.”

Laine raised her foot, now clad in a Converse sneaker but she still was holding onto the cowgirl boots she had bought in Idaho and kept a secret this whole time. A gleam in her eyes appeared as she looked at him, “You think a city girl like me could make it in that rough and tumble frontier town?”

Donnelley grinned, “Yeah, I got my six-shooters just in case we run into any bandits or Comanches.”

Laine laughed, “You and your arsenal of peacemakers.”

She learned back to admire the view, something about water meeting earth that always made her feel more calm. Laine spent countless hours of her youth on the coasts of California and later on Virginia beaches and waterfronts. The Puget Sound was different from both of those, with the distant snow capped Rainier and the pebbled beach with logs of driftwood that made convenient benches.

“I was thinking,” she said after a moment, “Maybe giving Ava a call and see how they’re doing. I’ll bet you they’re cozied up in some hotel room. But then I also worry about treading on their time, I’m enjoying it just being us.”
Laine smiled a little sheepishly, looking away from him, “I got to be a real mother hen, it’s annoying.”

Donnelley snorted a laugh and took another drag, speaking through the cloud of smoke, “Let’s just enjoy this for now. Just us. We don’t get this often.” He said, looking at Laine and leaning in to kiss her, “I want as much as time as we can get for me to say that I love you.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

No Angels...

Home Scene ft. J. Donnelley & Dr. Laine

>HILLGROVE CEMETERY
>SEATAC, WA
>14SEP2019
>1230...///

It was the type of day when clouds knit together and locked arms to deny the sun. Donnelley sat under it, eyes closed and sullen like seeing an omen. Dawant had called Donnelley while he was… away. Left a message telling him that he was wondering just where the fuck he was all this time. Staring up at the grey of the sky, he could’ve asked himself that too. This had all started because of Maria. And here they were worrying about Russians and international trafficking organizations, worrying about terrorists in Iraq. Worrying about each other, about who they could really trust. Worrying about everything except young Maria Vasquez.

Sitting on a bench among the headstones in Hillgrove Cemetery, wondering on the stories of each name carved into the stones. And thinking what a mercy it must be to not have your entire life emblazoned where everyone could see. Your name, when you were born, and when you died. That’s it. Maybe a quote about you. An idealized and romantic version of every tiny, hectic, tragic choking life. He looked at one, Charles Struthers’ last resting place. When people walked past his name, they probably imagined a sweet man who lived a kind life. And that’s better than knowing he was a raging alcoholic who died choking on his own vomit in a cheap hotel room after pushing everyone else away.

Or maybe he wasn’t. People tended to drape their own views over everything they see as they walk past it. He wondered what kind of funeral he’d have, and who would show up. If anybody did. Would Holly even know? Would Tilly? Donnelley shook his head and adjusted his cap, pushed his sunglasses up his nose a little further, and waited for the other two he was meeting here.

Laine stepped past the gate of the cemetery, the overcast sky pressing down over her. She tucked her hands in her jacket, the autumn wind tossing her dark hair as it blustered around the wide green expanse, the tombstones ranging from simple slabs to obelisks and angels staring with stone eyes.

She spotted Donnelley despite his sunglasses and hat, she knew by the set of his shoulders that it was him. Laine wore no covering, her face solemn and dressed in black she might just be a mourner. Reaching up, she brushed back the lock of hair that flew across her eyes, tucking it behind her ear as she approached him.

Maria rested here, among all the dead, and she was never gone from Laine’s mind. All their roads lead back to a girl murdered and how she got there and who put her there.

She walked up silently and stood with Donnelley for a moment, then looked him over. Laine had not dared speak much to him on the way home, the very scrutinizing eyes of the Program in the Air Force plane kept her away. Even now, she glanced over her shoulder before greeting him.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” she said, her voice neutral but her gaze was intent on his face, taking in his features behind the sunglasses.

“Just more time to think about… all of this.” Donnelley frowned, shaking his head and looking away from Laine for a moment, “Somewhere along the path we lost it.”

“Maria.” He said, looking back at Laine, “I wish it was simple.”

Laine tilted her head slightly, looking at him then at the headstone. “I remember when I thought it was. I thought it was another case like so many I’d worked, if I’d known then what I know now.”

A sad smile touched her lips, the burgundy lipstick highlighting the soft fullness as she pressed them tight. “I would have done things differently in West Virginia, I would not have been so blind. I think about her from time to time, where I failed. I still hate that it was taken away from us, I just hope...”

She swallowed back her fears, her paranoid thoughts of what was going on behind their backs. “I just wish they would let us be updated. I’m used to turning over cases after I’m confident on a profile of the unsub but this...just jerking it out our hands and left to wonder. I don’t like it.”

“What we saw in Alaska, there’s too many similarities to not have some sort of connection to West Virginia. It’s still about Maria in the end,” Laine added, “I haven’t forgotten.”

Her green eyes gazed past the headstone as she fell silent, her jaw tensing as she worked over memories in silence.

“I don’t give a shit what Foster says,” Donnelley frowned something dark, heavy brow knit together and his eyes narrowed behind his shades, “Or the Directors. She needs justice.”

He nodded down at Maria’s headstone, such a short amount of time between the two dates. Too short for anybody. The quote beneath it, my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping, but I shall go on living. “Pablo Neruda.” Donnelley murmured to himself, remembering how his High School love would pass him notes with different poet’s works on them as they passed in the halls, “Good choice.”

“You never struck me as a poetry person.” Dawant said, his footsteps quiet on the way to them. A voice that neither Donnelley or Laine had heard in a long time, and one that Donnelley had admittedly missed. The voice of someone who wanted to see this through for Maria, no matter the personal cost. He gestured to the squat man next to him, a stocky Latino man with slicked back hair and a full sleeve on either of his arms. A mustache drooped from either end of his lips and his dark eyes were ringed with sadness, “This is Armando Vasquez, Maria’s father.”

“Hello.” Armando nodded to Laine and Donnelley, offering his hand out for a shake, as Donnelley took it he spoke to him, “You’re the people looking for Maria’s…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Donnelley knew what he was going to say. Donnelley only nodded, “Yeah.” He said, a quick but tight and joyless smile, “Special Agent John Davidson.”

Laine met eyes with Dawant then Maria’s father, Armando. He had that same look, the deep etched grief and determination that she had seen before on parents of children taken. Even after years the waves of emotion would come, some fell to it and others pushed past and moved on, and some were like Armando. Holding the line and hoping for justice, anything to make some sort of amends to his murdered daughter.

She used her real name, this was her job, there was no pretending.

“Special Agent Heather Laine,” she said, “It’s...an honor to meet with you. Mr. Dawant, thank you for meeting us again.”

She shook Armando’s hand, meeting his dark eyes. The same eyes Maria had in her photo, deep brown but never so pained.

She glanced at Donnelley, then at Armando, “We are still working on some leads.”

“Well,” Armando sighed, eyes still on his daughter’s headstone, “I hope… that you’re close.”

“This is my little girl.” He frowned, looked at them with wet eyes, “She was the only one. Mi corazón, you know? You hope maybe one day she’ll just come home, that it was all a joke or she just ran away for the night with some friends… and then it’s years gone.”

Laine closed her eyes briefly, no matter how many times she heard that from someone it still hit her. It was a painful sensation and she was not even a parent, she still had trouble understanding how her colleagues who had children had managed to work in Unit 3. She nodded slightly, then looked at him, “I am sorry for your loss, I wish...at least she’s home and can rest in peace. It’s such a small thing but...now we focus on who did this.”

She glanced at the headstone, the tender age that Maria’s life was ended at and added, “Continue to share her story, her memories.”

Laine fell silent, this was always the hardest part and she tucked her hands into her jacket, shifting her gaze to Dawant.

Armando’s lip quivered and he cleared his throat, looking away and pretending to itch at his face. Donnelley knew how he felt, his own daughter around the same age was somewhere here in Washington. Losing her would be losing every good reason he had to watch the sunrises. “Can I, uh,” Armando sniffed and coughed into his fist, “Can I get some time alone with my daughter?”

“Of course, Mister Vasquez.” Dawant laid a hand on the other man’s shoulder and then nodded at Donnelley and Laine, “Let’s talk somewhere private, give the man some time.”

They walked some ways through the paths between the headstones until they’d gotten a fair distance from Armando. The three of them stood silent for a bit, Donnelley idly looking out at the rows and rows of headstones. Dawant cleared his throat, “So,” he said, “Where have you been?”

Laine stepped away from the grieving father, drawing a breath as she did. At his question, she glanced at Donnelley then back at Dawant. “We were sent to look into some other disappearances. Different circumstances but...”

They had no bodies, only Ipitok’s description of what happened to the women given over to appease the Wind Walker. A chill ran up her neck and she hunched her shoulders, “I don’t know what to say, other than we were taken off the case in West Virginia and given this other one. But we have not forgotten her.”

“I guess that’s fair.” Dawant said, “Can’t see why. Then again, I ain’t a Fed like you two.”

“I’m not gonna bullshit you, Dawant.” Donnelley looked from the headstones to fix Dawant with a healthy dose of anger, “It was taken from us.”

“The fuck? How? Why? How did you find out?” The more Dawant questioned, the angrier he got.

Donnelley could tell having cases taken away sparked something in Dawant, he answered with a shrug, “I knew because I was fuckin’ right there when they told us all to fuck off. Put us all on administrative leave. I’m only tellin’ you this because you deserve the truth.”

“I’ve worked with FBI before, they’re not known to just throw people off a case for no reason.” Dawant looked at between the two FBI Agents, the real and the fake, “They say anything?”

Laine shook her head, looking once again at Donnelley before she turned to Dawant, “Both cases, West Virginia and this last one, we’ve been taken off. We don’t know why and it’s very frustrating but we’ve not given up. It might be something with the higher ups that we don’t know about or...well, I don’t know to be honest.”

Her brows furrowed slightly, the anger and frustration over the arbitrary removal. The shady shit that had been going down since they found Maria. The leaks, the change in Foster’s attitude and then there was the shadow of Overman. She had not forgotten him despite only briefly having met him, he had set her on edge.
“I work with the BAU, normally we hand our cases over to other investigating agents or locals, but we don’t have them yanked from us and not allowed to follow up. There’s something strange,” she said, then paused, glancing at Donnelley. “We’re not giving up though.”

Dawant looked stunned, standing there and sighing at his speechlessness, “I heard that shit before.” Dawant snorted ruefully, “I ever tell you how I separated from the force?”

“Wayne Williams. We arrested him and sent his ass to prison for the murders of two white adults.” Dawant’s lip curled up in contempt, “I knew there was a few of them cops would go out on the town after their shifts and beat the shit out of homeless, hookers, anybody couldn’t fight them.”

“And I knew they tacked on the murders of those black girls and boys to Wayne Williams. I brought it up with IA.” Donnelley and Dawant Elmer eyes then, and then Dawant looked at Laine, “Guess what they told me.”

But he didn’t wait, “We’ll look into that, Detective. Thank you for bringing that to our attention, Detective. Now sit your black ass down and twiddle your fucking thumbs, Detective.” Dawant shoved his hands in his coat pockets, shaking his head, “Had my vision test scheduled by the Department with their doctor. Ocular degeneration, they said.”

“Let me go after that. Kicked me out the front door. Went to my own eye doctor,” he raised his brows, “Eyes are fucking perfect. Tell me what that sounds like. Go ahead.”

Laine crossed her arms and shook her head, her dark hair brushing the collar of her jacket. Her teeth ground together and she inhaled sharply, “Fuck those guys,” she muttered, they were the same as those who pushed aside the disappearances of troubled teens or sex workers, all those they could write off as less worthy of trouble. The ones Dawant spoke of were not anything unheard of in other cities and that made it all the worse.

“Sounds like they were covering themselves, their department,” she said, stating the obvious. The knot in her stomach as she thought about Foster grew, the unease she had felt since they had Maria’s case and everything that surrounded it taken from them and left in the dark, sent to Alaska to be murdered.

Her skin crawled and she hugged herself, then met Dawant’s dark eyes, “We were put on leave, told to forget about West Virginia, about everything that would be followed up by another investigation team. Yet we have no communication with them. No collaboration. It’s not normal, I agree Mr. Dawant.”

“You get close to something they don’t like, they’ll find a reason.” Dawant nodded, “And if they ain’t got one, they make one. I don’t know who’s in charge of all y’all, but… well, I don’t trust ‘em.”

Laine nodded slowly, unable to look at Donnelley as she agreed, “I don’t trust them either, I hate to say it but this but you learn to trust your gut. But I’ll continue working as I can but I’m aware someone is trying to hinder us.”

More than she would admit to Dawant and the feeling increased only after Foster dismissed them for a long break and said nothing to her even after leaving him with the documents and the USB of the footage. It was hard to reconcile the man with the one that had sat in the truck with her as they waited for Donnelley to show up or the one they had met over lunch with Detective Roy. She tried to tell herself that she did not know Foster, not like Donnelley did and perhaps it was just his way, that he had taken the training wheels off and now treated them like anyone else. But that doubt never left and it was only getting worse.

“I wish I could do more,” Laine added after a moment.

“So do I.” Dawant said, frowning, “I’m sorry, by the way. For what it’s worth. It’s not a good feeling, having this happen.”

“No, it ain’t.” Donnelley shook his head and looked away.

“I appreciate the honesty. Even though I’m going to have to establish rapport with some other people I don’t know shit about.” Dawant sighed, “Well, I don’t want to keep either of you longer than you’d like. Thanks for visiting, I know it means a lot to Maria’s parents.”

“Of course, it’s the least we can do. Put a face to this investigation for him, let him know that we… or someone’s on the case.” Donnelley shrugged, “Might help me if I was in his shoes.”

Dawant simply nodded, “I’ll see if Armando’s okay.”

Donnelley looked at Maria’s headstone where they’d left Armando, and the man himself was kneeling in front of it and uttering some prayer. Donnelley shook his head, knowing in the grand scheme of things, the only person who truly cared about Maria’s justice was her mother and father. And if it wasn’t true, Donnelley thought, then tell him why someone didn’t want him on the case anymore. Donnelley was in denial, but then he died, and now any doubt he had was burned away. Dawant was walking towards Armando and Donnelley followed, if only because his car was the same direction.

As they walked, Donnelley felt the first of the raindrops fall, and as they got closer to Armando and Dawant, the more the rain fell. Donnelley almost couldn’t look Armando in the eye, the only one of the four of them here the most personally touched by the case, and yet the only one the most ignorant to its dismissal. Armando waved Donnelley down from afar and he stopped, swallowed, pointing at himself. Armando nodded. When Donnelley finally got to Armando, Dawant nodded to him, “He wants to talk to whoever is in charge of the case. Just them.”

Donnelley looked to Laine, nodding, “I’ll meet you at the car, I guess.”

When the two of them were finally alone, neither of them spoke for a while. Donnelley noticed that the longer he went on with this case and those cases related in any way to the Program, there were more silences that just seemed to drag themselves out longer and longer, as if any conversation about the case were it’s death throes as it slid back into the oblivion of so many other cold cases just like it. The rain was coming down like a soft mist now as they stood, Armando not caring even though he was clad only in khakis and a t-shirt.

It was a little while that Donnelley had to wait until Armando spoke, “I’m from Juarez, Mister Davidson.” He began, “So I know how these things go. I’m not stupid. I grew up in the alleys, policia doesn’t really care about the narco crimes. They can’t do anything about it, and anyone who does dies.”

Donnelley looked at Armando, pretty confident in where this was going, but letting Armando lead him there anyway. He continued, “So I either need to bribe you for a name or accept that there isn’t anything anyone can do.” Armando looked at Donnelley, his eyes that of a father in need of vengeance, “Because, I have money, Mister Davidson.”

Armando and Donnelley shared a moment, Donnelley staring back into Armando’s eyes, until they softened again and he looked away at Maria’s grave, “But I can’t be that angry kid anymore, me sientes? I still have my wife.” Armando sighed and rubbed at his face, “You know, mi Abuela used to read me stories from the Bible. My favorite was always the Archangel Michael, the Angel of Justice, righter of wrongs, or whatever.”

“Had a sword of flame to burn away evil, you know?” Armando humorlessly chuckled, “Sometimes I wish I had something like that. Make sure they don’t get away with kidnapping and killing, rape, murder, ruining every life they fucking touch. If I can’t bring my Maria back, then I’ll make sure someone’s mother has to wear black and cry just like me.”

“Or just purify it all and start over, burn the whole world clean like Michael.” Armando hissed, a deepset frown and furrowed brows as he looked back at Donnelley, fists clenched. He was breathing hard and Donnelley only looked back and listened to him speak his feelings that he’d probably kept locked away from his wife. Armando unclenched his fists and bit his lip, shaking his head and looking away just as deflated as when Donnelley first saw him and muttered, “But, angels aren’t real, are they?”

Donnelley stood and stared down at Maria’s grave, remembering how he found her dumped in some clearing. Like meat. Compost. Food for maggots. The rain picked up then, and Donnelley shook his head, brow furrowed and his own dark frown, “No.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

Queen held his arms outward, palms up, the silver crucifix on the rosary winking in the light. His sunglasses were still in place but that impish grin appeared in his bearded face. “Blessing upon ye, me lad. You have served the Lord in his brutal ways.”

Dropping his arms, he turned and called out, “Angel, come on out!”

“Sup?” he asked Donnelley as he turned back, reaching up to push the sunglasses onto his head, holding back his long hair. He looked at the body and then back at Tex, “Who’s your friend?”

Ava poked her head out from behind a nearby SUV, her wild red curls a beacon in the sunlight. She couldn’t make out fine details with her vision but she recognized the hair and build of Donnelley.

She smiled broadly as she stepped out from behind the car, jogging her way over to join Queen and Donnelley with Prince tiredly but happily trotting along behind her.

Donnelley looked at Ava and then back to Queen, closing his slack jaw and shaking himself from another stupor, “Just help me with this bullshit and get in the goddamn car.”

Donnelley went back dragging the big Russian towards the cargo door of the 4Runner. He dropped him for a second, his limp head smacking on the pavement with a dull thud as he opened the cargo door, “I got arms, get his legs.”

The two of them hefted the dead Russian who was almost as big as Ghost into the back of the 4Runner. Donnelley wasted no time in getting into the front passenger seat while Ava and Queen piled into the back with the dog. The last occupant he wasn’t even going to ask about, “Go, anywhere. Just drive.”

Queen opened the passenger door to the back and saw the baby seat strapped in. He reached and unbuckled it, yanking it free and tossed it in the back on top of the body they had shrouded with a throw blanket found in the bed of the SUV.

“Ladies and dogs first,” he offered as Ava and Prince got in and he followed suit.

“Well, Agent Laine,” he said, “Nice driving.”

Laine only looked at him in the rearview mirror, a cigarette now between her plush lips. She flicked her gaze over to Ava and her green eyes warmed, “Good to see you guys.”

She shifted the Toyota into drive and straightened out, taking a look out the window as people started to gather at the entrance of Walmart looking and pointing their direction, “Shit, that was a performance,” she muttered as she drove towards the driveway.

“Still got that map, Angel? It’s in the bags,” Queen asked, settling back. “Oh, and that Glock, better let Tex have it.”

The smile had gone from Ava’s face as soon as she saw the dead body. An icy chill went down her spine but she quickly hopped into the back seat with Prince, setting down the bags and tackle box on the floor.

She tried to ignore the heavy scent of blood in the air as she dug out the map. She passed Queen the map and stared down at the tackle box seated on the floor.

She reached over and opened it, shifting through the bottles in search of the Xanax, her hands starting to shake as they grew cold.

He noticed her getting into the box and set the map aside after giving Laine instructions to head south to get on the parkway so they could make it out of town faster.

Queen leaned in and took the bottle from Ava’s hand, “Nah, you wanna start with the lower dose. Since you never had it and are still on that other shit.”

He took a bottle of 1mg Xanax and opened it, giving her one. “If you don’t feel it, I’ll give you a second.”

Shaking some out for himself, he popped them like Skittles and handed the bottle without a word to Tex, tapping his shoulder. “Made a pit stop, just the essentials you know?”

He took the Glock from where Ava left it on the seat and handed that over to him as well, grip first. “That’s got a full magazine, one chambered.”

Laine was smoking hard and glanced at the bottle that was passed forward, “What the hell is that?”

“Xanax, Doc,” Queen drawled as he crunched the last bitter pill. “Figured we earned this.”

She glanced at Donnelley, then went back to watching the road as she came to a light. “Maybe later,” she murmured, her senses still alert and she tried not to relive the feeling of the SUV bumping over the Russian’s body.

Ava nodded at Queen, swallowing down the pill in silence and leaning back in the seat. Prince got himself comfortable by laying his paws and head on her lap and she rubbed his head, distracting herself while waiting for the Xanax to kick in. They found two more of their teammates, whatever else happened, that was a good thing.

“Gimme one of those.” Donnelley asked of the cigarettes. When Laine passed him one he lit up, rolling the window down just a couple inches. Without a word, he popped one of the Xanax and chewed it, tasting the bitter and fighting against grimacing. “Find us somewhere quiet.”

“We need to talk.”

>40 MINUTES LATER...///

>SOMEWHERE OFF SEWARD HWY
>10SEP2019
>1500...///

Donnelley sat in the front passenger seat with his face in his hand, two of his fingers clutching a lit cigarette that left a little tail of smoke rising off of it. He hadn’t said much since they’d dumped the Russian’s body down some backroad for wolves, bears, raccoons and flies to get to. The most immediate of their problems was gone, but the looming one still cast its shadow over them. Donnelley spoke without lifting his head, “I’d said I needed to talk to all of you.” Donnelley paused, “I’d ask you to believe me, but… well, maybe I should ask. It’s definitely the weirdest shit we’ve been through.”

His other hand held the activated Motorola burner phone. He’d refrained from typing in Foster’s number. This was the only chance he’d ever had for something like this. It’d be the only chance any of them would have too, and he wanted to make sure they knew their choices from here on out. He’d made his already. But he wasn’t going to make theirs. “When I say this, I swear it’s true.” Donnelley looked to Laine next to him, and then turned to Ava and Queen in the backseat, “Y’all understand? Are we crystal?”

Laine rested her forearm on the steering wheel, her attention on Donnelley. He had been uncharacteristically quiet and brooding, not since that first ride together in Blackriver when they had sat on the shoulder of another rural road. With the other two in the car, she hesitated reaching out this time to touch him but his distress was palatable and all of them were on the taut strings of anxiousness. She let her right hand rest against the console, close to his side.

The tension in her upper back pinched as he made his preamble and she nodded slowly, the flickering of memories flashing in her mind. Fog. Sarah Jung’s fear. Walking together with their weapons out. The cold.

Queen leaned forward, the effects of the Xanax coursing through him made him mellow and relaxed, ready to hear anything Tex wanted to lay on him. He had an inkling of trepidation but it floated on the chemical buffer.

“Sure, we trust you,” Queen said, reaching over the seat to pat Donnelley’s shoulder with a bro grip, “What’s up?”

Ava felt calmer than she had in awhile, at least for the first time since they left the BLACKBOX. It was a cozy feeling, one she basked in on the long drive while petting the snoring dog in her lap.

She was only brought out of her comfortable haze when Donnelley started speaking, blinking her eyes slowly behind the cheap reading glasses on her face.

“I woke up wearing a biker’s questionably clean underwear,” Ava said bluntly. “So the bar for strangeness is already pretty high. Whatever it is, I trust you. No matter how crazy it is gonna sound.”

Donnelley nodded slow, but that didn’t exactly make it easier. He sighed, “How much do you guys remember from before?”

Ava frowned as she puzzled over the question and her foggy memories. “The last thing I remember is us leaving Yutu’s house with Ipiktok and the SIREN agent, it was snowy and we were...walking for some reason. I don’t remember why we were walking. Things get a little hazy after I had that seizure and that dream.”

Queen shrugged, "I remember the shaman and gearing up. Before I woke up in a confession booth. I thought maybe we'd had a wild night but…"

He trailed off, tugging at the stiff collar.

Laine looked at him, then glanced at the others in the rearview mirror. "I don't remember much past leaving Yutu's home and taking Agent Jung with us. We were supposed to meet a plane I think? But it was so foggy."

Donnelley looked between all of them, took his moment. He looked away from them and back out the windshield at the trees around them. He’d have to tell them, “We died.”

He left that on the air for a moment, “We were double-crossed. ARTEMIS and SIREN were sold out to the Russians.” He frowned, his hands balling into fists, “Fuckin’ TRIDENT was in their pocket. The whole goddamn operation was bust. They killed us to get to Ipiktok.”

“And somehow we woke up from that. In other peoples’ clothes. I need you to understand something, about why I haven’t called Foster yet, or anyone.” Donnelley turned back around, craning his neck to look at those in the back too, “You don’t retire from this. Not until they don’t need you, or you get killed, or you take it into your own hands. This ain’t the FBI or the DEA. Even if I quit on the CIA, the Program would still have me in the lineup.”

“Dyin’ for this, livin’ like this, it ain’t for everyone. This is the only chance any of you are goin’ to get to walk away from all of this. Live some kind of life.” Donnelley held the phone in his hands, “As soon as I call Foster on this phone, everyone still in this car is back on-duty. And there is no goin’ back.”

He looked at each of them, searching their faces for any doubts, or resolve, “So?”

Ava’s eyes widened and her breath grew still in her lungs for a few moments as she listened and processed the information. They had...died? No, they had been murdered, but supposed allies.

As Donnelley posed his question, though she was still trying to understand the concept of dying and yet waking up 3 days later, she didn’t hesitate, “I’m not staying dead.” She said, looking up at him with eyes containing a mixture of confusion, pain but a spark of something else. Something not dulled by the Xanax she had taken. “I have my family, my parents, my grandparents! I can’t let them think I’m dead, it’d crush them. Not to mention Dave! I have to know if he’s okay!”

Queen stared at Donnelley in the rear view mirror, then looked out the car window, digesting what he had said. Had he really died and come back? As a priest no less. The universe did have a delicious sense of irony. He was officially dead, for this brief moment the Program did not own him. He dug in the front pocket for his box of Kools, “You mind?”

He asked Ava in a perfunctory way, then lit a cigarette, his thoughts racing. A chance to get away from the murder and mayhem of THUNDER. To go back to what? DEA and that bullshit, maybe start a new career and get clean. Queen took a drag on his cigarette, blowing smoke out the rolled down window.

“So a fresh start,” he said, seeking Donnelley’s eyes in the mirror. “What the hell else would I do with my life? Been runnin’ at this speed too damn long.”

Queen sighed and tilted his head slightly, “Ain’t nothing as exciting as this, besides. Ain’t no fight like it.”

He grinned but his eyes did not reflect it and he sank against the seat. Glancing at Ava, he said, “He means you wanna walk away from the Program? Get out now and you’ll not have to worry about them finding out you’re dead in some place by some means they’ll never be able to know.”

“I’m not walking away from my family or my friends.” Ava said firmly, looking to Queen with a frown. “I walk away from the Program, I have to walk away from them too. I’m not doing that.”

Donnelley looked at Queen in the mirror, a hidden pain in his eyes remembering him dropping like a stone and thinking for those last few seconds that he’d never see that mischievous smile on his handsome face, or those damn jokes ever again. He looked away from Queen and out the window, taking and lighting his own cigarette, “There doesn’t have to be any kind of fight at all, man.” Donnelley’s voice weakened at the last word, before he regained himself, “I seen you die once now, and it didn’t feel good. But, I wouldn’t have anyone else watchin’ my back out here.”

Donnelley locked eyes with Queen again in the mirror, “If you’re really sure about this, Queen.”

Queen smiled slyly, the cigarette between his lips as he looked at Donnelley’s reflection, “You know I cain’t quit you.”

He snickered a laugh, looking at Ava once more with her serious expression. His heart ached a little for what would probably become of her after a few years of exposure to men like him and the shit they had to do, what evil she would see and come to know.

He looked at Laine, knowing he’d watched her die too and it felt no better. The last thing he wanted to do was have it happen again, or watch her mind slowly chip away. He nodded at her, “What about you?”

Laine listened to the rest making their decisions quickly, determination and inevitability. Her stomach knotted at the idea that she had been killed, shot dead but she had no recollection of it. Except Donnelley, how quiet he had been, holding that back since he found her walking down the road in another woman’s clothing. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, feeling the nausea rising at the faint scent of blood still in the car or maybe it was just her mind playing tricks. Reminding how she had become a killer.

“I need a little walk,” she said, glancing at Donnelley, the indecision in her eyes.

Laine stepped out of the truck and made it to the treeline of the shoulder of the road before she bent over, spitting bile up as she had little else in her stomach. She stayed bent, her hands braced against her knees. There was a time she knew when to step back before she ruined herself. Behind her, one of the car doors opened and closed again.

The sound of footsteps in the dirt coming closer and the smell of a cigarette. Donnelley stepped closer to her and placed a soft hand on her shoulder, “I’m sorry I had to tell you that.” He said, not knowing what else to, “Whatever you decide… I understand.”

Laine wiped her mouth with the hem of her t-shirt then glanced down at it. His hand was warm as a chill ran through her. Holding the bottom of her shirt she asked, “Alasie Creech is dead isn’t she? Just as sure as that Russian.”

Dropping the shirt, she stood up straight, her hands trembling after getting sick. “I killed her, taking her place in some cosmic bullshit. I don’t know...Donnelley.”

She put her hand over his on her shoulder and squeezed it, then turned to face him. “I thought that I had faced the worst but I was always a step back.”

Laine searched his scarred face, his deep blue eyes, “I always knew when I should pull back before I lost myself, but this...how can I walk away from this fight?”

Donnelley pointed back down the road, “That way, probably.” He shrugged, looking to Laine as she pleaded for guidance on what she should do next. On what she should do, “It’s a lot to consider, Laine. I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away from all of this. From me.”

Laine closed her eyes briefly, the brief memory of her father settling in for the annual reading of Lord of the Rings. How he had admired the heroes of that story but it was far different in reality. The Program could destroy her, maybe not at first but little by little, grasping at the little things to keep her from falling into that void. Another sunrise.

She looked at him, the realization it would be to leave everything. “I don’t want to lose you,” she said softly, her green eyes searching his face. “Any of you but...Joey, I…”

Out of habit she looked around, then at him, “This war, it’s everything I swore to fight against. The evil that men do, and now the evil that exists in places I never imagined.”

“I think you might need me and I need you,” Laine said, then shook her head, the real word lingering on her tongue. “I want you.”

Donnelley looked at Laine, searching her eyes. Those same eyes he’d seen light up and make things seem like they were going to be alright. The same eyes he’d looked into so many times before and felt his heart flutter, “Laine, I know you took an oath for this, but… I never want to see you how I saw you in Noatak. I don’t know if I could be the same…” He frowned, looked away from her and took a drag off his cigarette, “It hurt me, Laine. Thinking that I’d never see you again and I couldn’t do a goddamn thing for you.”

He wiped at his face and took a breath, shaking his head, “I want you, Laine, I need you.” He looked at her, seriousness in his face and voice, “But I need you to be sure about this too.”

Laine wanted to touch him and hold him but they were not alone. She would trust Ava but she did not know Queen, not like Donnelley did and he made no move to fill the small gap between them. She swallowed hard, then nodded, “I won’t leave. Whatever happens, this is the good fight and I think if I turned away I’d never be able to live with myself. Leaving you, UMBRA. Who would make sure we had trail mix packed or make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

She smiled a little, biting her lip slightly as her eyes glistened. “Most of all, I need you to know how much I care about you. I died and never got to say it. I’m sorry you have to carry the memory.”

“Laine,” he smiled, looking at the Toyota for a second and then back to her, “I know you care. I mean, hell, the shit we do with each other…”

“Laine… I…” he looked to her, then away down the road, nothing but the wind and the trees and the gravel on the isolated backroad. He knew what he wanted to say, but he didn’t want it to be said now. But when then? He didn’t get to say it either before she’d died right in front of him, “I’m glad. I need you with me through this.”

She gazed at him, the same softened expression she reserved when they were alone. Laine nodded, stepping closer to let her hand brush his, giving him a little squeeze before moving past. She looked back at him, “Another night and another sunrise, we will see this through. As far as we can go.”

Laine wanted to kiss him but held back, turning to return to the SUV instead.

"I still don't think I can like killing people," Laine muttered, knowing that would be the thing to keep her up in future nights despite the momentary triumph of knocking down the Russian.

“Be an entirely different problem if you did.” Donnelley said.

>QUEEN/AVA TOYOTA

“Do you think she’s okay?” Ava asked Queen after watching Laine walk away, Donnelley going after her shortly after. She looked to him, a disquieted expression on her face despite the visible haziness from the Xanax in her eyes.

Queen watched Laine dart from the SUV to get sick and Donnelley followed after. He glanced back over at Ava then shrugged, "Dunno, everyone has their breaking point and I don't know her well enough to know if it's turning a man into road kill or learning she was shot and killed by traitors and somehow mysteriously brought back to life."

He waited a beat as he lazily smoked the rest of his near finished cigarette. "A real mind fuck that one is. I'm still tryna imagine being dead. Doesn't seem like any fun."

The several bars he had taken had made him sleepy and stoned, a pleasant numbness to the horror of the idea Tex had watched them all killed but now they were back. Someone somewhere had interfered with the laws of nature.

“Yeah…” She said quietly, looking down at Prince blissfully sleeping and unaware of just about everything. She rubbed at one of his ears.

“Why aren’t you taking the chance to walk away?” Ava asked after a beat of silence. She looked back up at him, the frown and creases of worry on her features. “After what you told me about why you need...well,” She nudged the tackle box with her foot. “You could leave, get clean and live a nice life... I could help you, too. Make a new identity and everything.”

Queen pinched the ember out on the butt of the cigarette, the little sting in his fingertips reminding him he was still alive. He considered her question for a moment, then leaned his head back against the headrest. He was still dressed like a priest, albeit there was a blood splatter on the black cloth now. Whether it was from Taylor or the roadkill Russian, he wasn’t sure.

“You know, I started out a lot like you,” Queen said, rolling his head so he could look at her. His sunglasses pushed his hair back and there was nothing obscuring the clear pale color of his eyes and the slight dilation of his pupils making them piercing.”I was on an investigation team, doing the intel and...well I got moved, I was more useful to them as someone that could find people that needed killing. And then I started doing the killing.”

He wanted another cigarette, another Xanax, maybe the cocaine sitting heavier in his pocket. “But you see I can’t walk away. Because that man out there, he’s my best friend.”

Queen gestured to Donnelley still out with Laine. “We’ve been to hell and back, no way I’d leave him to go squirrel away and try to live some safe anonymous life. Ain’t any different from you. I don’t want to leave my friends, I don’t want to have to never visit my mom unless I’m heavily disguised. I already know what it’s like to live a lie, for every day and every interaction and connection you make with people to be founded on lies and deceit. That you can never be honest and be who you really are.”

His thoughts flashed to the lies of his cover with the Hell’s Highest and one of his best friends, Easy, who still knew him as another person. How he had to keep quiet about certain aspects of his relationship with Joseph but he loved him without question. He lied to THUNDER about how he felt about them, he embraced it and hated them at the same time and like the chemicals Queen snorted and swallowed, he could never truly give them up. And his mother didn’t know anything of what he did now and would never if he had a choice in it.

Queen shook his head, “Nah, Angel. I appreciate your concern and offer but I won’t live another lie, I got too many already.”

Ava watched him as he spoke, her heart welling with concern at the same time she admired Queen’s dedication to Donnelley. She didn’t know the two of them were so close.

And his reasoning...well it was very similar to her own, even if she hadn’t voiced it fully.

She tried to reach over to touch his shoulder, but was stopped by the very heavy and very tired Dalmatian on her lap. She huffed and settled for giving Queen a smile. “Donnelley is lucky to have you for a friend.” She said, scratching Prince’s ears again. “And...I’m glad I’ll still be able to see you around.”

Queen smiled slightly at that, “Yeah he is and I’m lucky to have him. Makes a lot of difference in a world like ours to have someone you trust completely. Who you know has your back. And I’m glad to be around, Angel. I’m sure we’ll all see each other. We’ll see the rest, too. Avery and Dave. Maui...Ghost, Poker...They’re probably finding their own way right now.”

He glanced out the window to see Laine turn and stand close to Donnelley, close enough they brushed each other. Then she was moving back towards the SUV. He looked over at Ava, searching her face then asked, “You got that weed?”

Ava still smiled but tilted her head to the side curiously. “You had it last, I gave it to you with the cigarettes.”

Queen chuckled, flashing a self-deprecating smile, “Oh, yeah.”

Sitting up, he dug in his pockets, pulling out a bag but in it was tightly wrapped white powder. He shoved it back quickly, then found the other sandwich baggy with the biker’s weed, to conveniently prerolled for some party he would never make it too,“There you are.”

Laine opened the driver side door, climbing into the seat and slid behind the wheel. She glanced at Ava in the rearview mirror, “Sorry about that, I’m better.”

Ava met her eyes with her own dilated gaze and smiled reassuringly. “It’s alright, it’s a lot to take in. I’d give you a hug but, well,” She motioned to the snoring dog using her as a pillow. “Cerberus here has me pretty pinned.”

Laine raised her brow, the dog had not been unnoticed but now she felt like she could tackle that question. “Cerberus?”

Queen said nothing, busy searching for something in the tackle box at his feet. Laine looked at Ava, “I’m almost afraid to ask where you found the guardian of the underworld.”

“I...liberated him from...some not so nice people.” Ava answered slowly, shifting awkwardly in her seat and eliciting a grumble from said dog.

Queen was still digging around, now not wanting to look up. Laine looked from Ava to Queen’s bent back and back to her, “You stole a dog? Rescued, I mean. Of course.”

She frowned slightly, “And where did you get all that, Queen?”

He froze then glanced up, a slight grin on his bearded face, “I’m nothing if not resourceful, Doc.”

Laine looked out at Donnelley still on the burner phone and shook her head. She thought about punching Thumper and running over the Russian, what’s another crime or two among friends. “So, what do you plan on doing with the dog, Ava?”

“Take him to a shelter?” She said slowly, feeling like a child that had gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “I acknowledge that the decision was not well thought out, but a lot was happening and they didn’t even really like him so...It seemed like a good idea at the time.” She wrapped her arms around Prince. “Plus look how sweet he is.”

Queen sat back and cleared his throat, not wanting to talk about how he robbed and beat a man for the drugs and cash with Laine’s sharp gaze on him. After giving Prince a pat he looked out the window, crossing his arms. “That sucks,” Laine said, “Just dropping him off at some shelter, he is a pretty boy. I guess he’d get adopted quickly.”

Prince thumped his tail, waking as another soft voiced person seemed to be paying attention to him. He glanced up at Ava, his expressive brown eyes attentive to her tone. He put a big paw on her leg, shifting his body on the bench seat.

Ava looked down into his large brown eyes and groaned, dropping her head forward. “I’m too high and emotionally exhausted for this.” She picked up his chain lead and opened the door. “I’m gonna take him out to use the bathroom, before we get going.” Maybe figure out what to do with him. She slid her way out of the Toyota, gently pulling on Prince’s collar.

After a brief stretch, Prince hopped down and Ava shut the car door, walking off toward the treeline for the dog to do his business. Hearing Donnelley’s voice, she looked over to him on the phone. Despite the buzz of the Xanax, she felt a sting of worry. Would Foster believe them? Would the Program even take them back? Or would they think they were something...inhuman.

Prince’s head perked up as well and before Ava could stop him, the excited dog was pulling her over toward Donnelley, his tail wagging and tongue lulling out. “Prince! No, heel!” Ava squeaked, trying to pull the dog back but he was far bigger than her and clearly never been properly trained.

“Foster, we just killed a guy and had to dump his body out here in the middle of nowhere…” Donnelley paused on the phone, “Yes, it’s really me… Oh, you’ll know I’m real when I break my foot off in your ass… Yeah, I’ve known you for almost ten years now… I swear to god, just call Sobel to come do his thing and we can fuckin’ prove it... Bye… Yeah, you too, fuckhead.”

Donnelley hung up the phone and slipped it into his pockets, just before he squawked and stumbled back as the dog caught him off guard, jumping into his shoulder in an attempt to get some affection from a new person. “Whoa, boy, come on. Down,” Donnelley chuckled as the dog was on his hind legs, tail thrashing, “Down, boy.”

Donnelley shielded his face from an onslaught of dog tongue and stepped back, letting the dog fall back to all his fours, “Well, that’s done.” He said, his smile fading some as he looked at Ava, “Are you sure?”

Ava tugged on Prince’s collar and patted his hind end, looking up at Donnelley in confusion for a moment. “Oh,” She breathed as she realized what he was asking. “I’m sure.” She answered with a nod. “Like I said, I have my family to think about and…” She trailed off her mind drifting to Dave, wondering what happened to him after they were betrayed and hoping he was okay.

She shook her head to focus back on the now, looking back up to Donnelley. “And, I have a thing I’ve been meaning to do and I can’t do that if I’m officially dead.” She studied Donnelley with a concerned frown. “How are you doing? I mean, I know we all...but I don’t remember it and you clearly do. I can’t imagine…” She trailed off, unsure if she was at a loss for words because of the strangeness of the situation or the pleasant cozy fog brought on by the drugs. “Do you need a hug?” She offered, trying to inject some lightness back into the air.

Donnelley’s smile returned as he looked away from Ava at the offer of a hug. He didn’t really know how he was doing, just been on autopilot this whole time and keeping himself occupied with the list of things he and Laine had to do to get the phone and her clothes. “I don’t know.” He shook his head, his smile fading away as he looked at Queen and Laine in the Toyota, and at Ava. His lip quivered and he closed his eyes, head hanging, “I don’t know.”

He couldn’t get it out of his head, in every quiet moment it filtered back in. The fact he saw it happen in a vision, and then witnessed it all and was powerless to stop it. Raging against it as it all happened in front of him, and then giving it all up when he knew everything was over for him. The last thing he remembered was trying to get to Laine as he died.

And then he woke up on that road. “I can’t fuckin’ believe it, Ava. I’m so fuckin’ sorry I did that to all of you, I’m so fuckin’ sorry for being a goddamn fuckin’ shitty…” He buried his face in his hands, “I let you fuckin’ die. I let all of you fuckin’ die…”

“I died and my daughter don’t even know who the fuck her father is, damn it!” He shook with it, the grief and the anger, and the sadness. The weight of failure he never wanted to feel again since Chechnya. “I failed all of you and you ain’t even fuckin’ angry at me.”

Ava took a step back in surprise, seeing Donnelley break down in a way she had never really seen before. Nor did she think was possible for the man. She didn’t dwell much more on it, just stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, giving him as strong a hug as she could.

“You didn’t do anything.” She whispered to him. “It wasn’t your fault, none of us had any idea what was really going on.” She heard Prince whine and saw the dog sit next to Donnelley, looking up at him with his head tilted to the side. “It’s not your fault.”

Donnelley knelt there for a moment, just letting himself be held. He wiped the tears from his face and took a breath. No matter what he felt, he was the damned Team Lead, he couldn’t be like this. Couldn’t be seen broken down. The war wasn’t over for them still, despite all of them here being dead for three days, “Thanks.” He said, reaching over and squeezing Ava’s shoulder, “For everything. This team’s still a team, no matter what.”

He was forlorn, and then he snorted, smiling, “Gotta say that was some of the best damn sleep I ever got. Three days, shoo’.”

Ava smiled up at him and patted his arm. “Any time, that’s what teams are for.” She reached over and rubbed Prince’s head to reassure him everything was okay. While she didn’t quite have the level of gallows humor that Donnelley did about it, she still nodded along. “I was gonna let Prince here go to the bathroom before we leave to go...wherever we’re going.” She frowned up at him. “What is the plan now?”

“Well,” Donnelley scratched at his beard, “We sit here and wait.”

Laine watched from the SUV as Donnelley finally broke down and Ava was there to hold him. What she should have been doing if it had not been for her own constant worry about being caught. She glanced away, the heaviness returning and looked in the rearview mirror at Queen who was sorting through a bag of pre rolled joints.

“Got one for me?” she asked after a moment.

Queen met her gaze in the mirror, then reached into the bag and leaned forward. He handed it to her and gave her a pat on the shoulder. Laine took it and glanced at him, “Thanks.”

He struck his lighter and lit it for her, “It’s gonna take some time.”

Laine took a puff on it and tested the quality, it was good but then weed was legal so there wasn’t much of a chance of getting a bunch of stems. “It sure is,” she agreed, taking a deeper drag and held the smoke, slowly releasing it between her lips.

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>4 DAYS AGO...///

Ava squinted her eyes, both against the bright light of the noon day sun and tried to make out any of the businesses she was walking passed. She had found her way out of the alley after what felt like twenty nerve wracking minutes of taking random twists and turns.

Each new alleyway had filled her with increasing panic as it just felt like she was becoming more and more lost. Finally she had made it onto the sidewalk, no sounds of blaring metal music telling her she was probably a decent distance from the bar. But that sense of dread and panic didn’t lessen as she walked along as best she could in the too big shoes.

She knew she was probably drawing attention, she could see people walking along, their faces blurred and barely distinguishable from one another. She walked as close as she could to the edge of the sidewalk near the buildings, her arms folded around herself as though she could make herself smaller and less noticeable.

“Phone, phone, I just need to find a phone.” She muttered to herself, alternating between looking at the ground to make sure she didn’t trip over anything and up around to try and find...Something. She didn’t even know what she was looking for.

Maybe some kind of big sign that said, ‘This way to your team!’. As she walked, all that kept racing through her mind was the same questions. What happened? Where was she? Where were her friends and Dave? Were they okay? Had they been drugged and dumped?

What happened?

Her skin was starting to break out into a cold sweat, her breathing was starting to come in short huffs and despite how close her arms were tucked to herself; she could feel her fingers and hands growing cold and shaking at her sides.

An overwhelming sense of fear and confusion welled up in her chest and she eventually stopped walking, leaning against the brick of some building and curling in more on herself. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes as her breathing turned into shallow gasps, her chest tight and throat parched.

“Where are they?” She asked herself with a soft sob. “Where are they?”

The downtown district came into view, blending from the rundown neighborhoods of Mountain View into more businesses than houses. Queen realized walking around like a priest in public brought as many stares as it did warm smiles, most stares quickly averted and some doggedly aggressive. He tried to remember when he had seen a priest just shopping for toilet paper and could not recall it, maybe they just didn’t go around in their uniforms.

He mused on this as he hit the button of a crosswalk, still unsure where he was going but on the other side he could see another Holiday gas station. The first two he tried did not have a payphone, well one did but the receiver had been smashed and hung in two pieces from the steel cord. Queen jogged across the street, the rosary beads bouncing against his chest and kept his eyes out for anything strange. His anxiety was trying to crawl up and take root but he’d had black outs before, maybe someone had roofied them but he did not feel the hangover side effects.

He stepped inside with the bing-bong of the chime and the cashier looked startled and then nervous. The collar again. Almost as bad as a badge. Queen smiled benignly and asked,in his fake Irish accent, “Do you have a phone I could use, lass?”

The woman at the counter stuttered and blushed, “Uh, yeah. You could use ours, Father.”

He thanked her and took the old landline phone from where she pushed it over the counter. She stared at him a little longer then began doing a cigarette inventory, glancing over her shoulder every few moments.

Queen dialed Donnelley’s number, but it went to voicemail and he turned his back on the cashier and whispered, “It’s Billy, what the fuck happened. Did we party after getting out of Noatak? I don’t remember shit and my phone is fried. I’ll try calling again.”

He glanced over but the woman was thankfully busy with a customer and he tried remembering Poker’s phone number. It was one he rarely called unless he had to and his mind felt a little hazy, memories of fog and mixed with a dead cop and Avery and the Shaman speaking of things that made him shudder and almost cross himself.

“Fuck it,” he hung the phone up.

“Father?”

He turned, forgetting a moment priests didn’t drop the F bomb. “Oh, sorry. Do you have fresh hotdogs?”

“Honestly...I wouldn’t touch them, I’m about to finish my shift so they’ve been there for hours.”

Queen raised his brows then went to the aisles, picking up two packs of Little Debbies that were on sale and a large cherry coke Slurpee. A sugar rush but it was cheap energy.

Once he left, a cup cake between his lips and continued towards the center of town. He strolled along noticing a rise in bars and he passed a pool hall with a huge set of neon moose antlers over the door. It was tacky as fuck and he loved it. As he turned away something down the street caught his eye, a flame of color bright in the sun.

Queen moved, taking a drink from the large cup as it dawned on him. The floof of red hair, the small stature but the clothes were all wrong. The strange look of too large boots and the straight cut hem of pants that did not fit right and a long men’s shirt. Like a little hobo clown leaning against the wall.

He blinked, whatever had knocked him out and got him into a priest outfit might be still in his system. As he got closer he could see the delicate pretty features he recognized.

“Ava?” he called her name, now moving quickly and elbowed a man out of the way who cussed at him in some language he didn’t understand or care to. “Ava!”

Queen approached her, trying not to laugh at her outlandish appearance.

Ava blinked as she heard her name, her head snapping up and looking around as hope surged in her chest. She pushed away from the wall as recognition clicked. “Queen?” She called out, looking around until she saw a figure running toward her. She couldn’t make out the features, but the build was right.

Excitement and relief flooding through her she started to run toward the figure. “Que-!” Her shout was cut short as the large boots tripped over themselves and sent her sprawling face first on the sidewalk.

Queen winced at her fall and hurried over to her, setting his large cup down and picked her up by her shoulders. He examined her face, she had a scrape on her chin from the fall but otherwise seemed alright. “Jesus Mary and Joseph,” he said in the phoney accent then dropped it for his more familiar Florida Panhandle drawal. “Ava are you alright? What the hell are you wearing?”

He helped her to her feet and shook his head, looking at the boots. Relief to finally see one his own filled him and he laughed, giving her a hug, squeezing her against the rosary beads. “It’s good to see you,” he said, then released her.

Ava hugged Queen back tightly when he pulled her into the embrace, her anxiety melting away at being in the presence of a familiar face. “It’s good to see you too.” She sniffed, looking up at him and finally able to make out his features now that he was close enough. She opened her mouth to launch into a tirade of question, but paused and tilted her head to the side like a confused cat.

“Why...Are you dressed like a priest?”

“I heard the Village People needed a sixth,” he replied dryly then shrugged, “I have no idea, honestly. I just...was sitting in a confessional booth at Saint Anthony’s church. Dressed like this. I mean, I’ve had some wild nights and woke up in strange places but this takes the cake.”

He remembered and said, “Speaking of, you hungry?”

Queen removed from his pocket a slightly squished pack of Little Debbie zebra cakes and handed them to her. “I found...well, the wallet of the priest, too. In the pant pocket. He was kinda broke. What about you?”

Ava sniffed again, gently wiping at her scraped chin with the sleeve of her shirt. She reached for the cake and winced as she moved her left hand to do so. She took it with her right hand instead. “I...I don’t know. I woke up in a dive bar, it might have been a biker bar?” She frowned as she thought back to the experience. “I was in a bathroom and I was wearing...This.” She motioned to the clothing on her body.

“Well, not exactly, I had to make alterations so it would fit but I was wearing the clothes of this biker guy.” Her frown deepened as she looked up at him. “But his phone and wallet were still in the pockets and, um, well,” She took his hand and gently tugged him down to whisper in Queen’s ear. “His gun was still there too and I...took...it.”

Queen raised his brows and gave her a conspiratorial smile after she whispered in his ear. Looking at her still very close he had to remind himself of her reaction in the Camaro and his private promise to himself out of respect to Dave. He pulled back, fighting his natural urge to push a little farther. “You want to keep carrying it or did you want me to?”

“Here, let’s get off the street,” he put a light hand on her back and guided her to one of the alleys. “That’s a hell of a place to...what did you say, wake up?”

Queen rubbed his beard, giving the short hair on his chin a tug as he thought it over, “I guess that’s how it was, just waking up. Coming to. And you were wearing that? Fucking...what the hell is going on. I know you didn’t go party with bikers and strip and then borrow one of their clothes and his wallet…”

As he said it outloud he could hear how mad it sounded and he shook his head. “This is nutter butters, Angel.”

Queen took a sip of his slurpee then offered her a drink. “What’s up with your left arm by the way, I see you favoring it?”

Ava looked down at her arm as she tucked the pastry into one of the pants gaping pockets to eat later. “Oh, um,” She flushed as she lifted up her arm. “I...panicked and crawled out of the bathroom window so I didn’t have to go through the bar.” She pulled the sleeve back and winced, noticing the wrist was starting to grow red. “I fell on my wrist and shoulder because I climbed out head first.”

She looked around to make sure they were alone and she shifted so Queen was blocking her from sight. “Here,” She lifted up the shirt enough to reveal the gun and holster tucked into the belt. “My eyes are useless right now, I don’t have my contacts in and my glasses were nowhere.” She removed the gun and holster from the pants, revealing the pink bullet scar on her lower stomach the holster had inadvertently been hiding. “You should take it, it’s a .38 revolver.”

Her face grew concerned, but grim as she looked up at Queen. “Were...Were we drugged?”

“Lost both contacts too?” He watched her raise her shirt, trying not to stare at her pale flat stomach then noted the scar but said nothing. “.38 revolver, good ol’ Saturday Night Special. Thanks, I’ll take care of it.”

He untucked the priest’s shirt and put the holster and gun against the small of his back, snug between the belt and his skin. Queen clicked his tongue against his teeth at her question, “I don’t know, Angel. It’s a good guess but how does it explain us wearing other people’s clothes and having their IDs? Some high strangeness going on for sure. But let’s work on something we can solve.”

Queen rubbed his hands together briefly, “Like that arm of yours and your vision. There’s a Walgreens up the street. But uh, that dude have any money in his wallet? I got about seven bucks left after the snack. I should have looked for the collection plate but it got weird and I had to book it quick out of there.”

“I tried calling Te- Donnelley,” he said, then shook his head, “Just went straight to voice mail. But we can keep trying once we find another phone.”

He looked her over, “You might even be better off walking without those boots, probably more a hazard but it’s up to you. It’s not a far walk.”

Ava looked down at the boots and reached down to untie the laces. “Yeah, I need to get rid of these, I just didn’t want to walk around barefoot in the alleys. I have to be able to get some flipflops at Walgreens right?” While she was undoing the boots, she reached into the sock where she had stashed the money and pulled it out.

“Um, here,” She stood up and held out the folded bills to him. “Between the wallet and the emergency money in the boot, I’ve got 114 dollars.” She wiggled her feet and pulled them out of the boots, sighing in relief to no longer have the heavy weight on her feet.

She reached down to pick up the boots. “Do you want these? If they’re your size? They seem like good boots or should we make a homeless man very happy?”

Queen took the money but counted out the fourteen dollars and handed it back to her, “Never be without at least a few bucks.”

He put the rest in the wallet and tucked it in the back pocket. “Not with these slacks, those boots would throw off the whole look. I kinda like the aesthetic, very clean and minimalist. Hold onto those though, we could use them for I don’t know, smashing a car window.”

Queen looked at her with the cut jeans hovering around the falling socks and huffed a laugh. An idea came to mind as he flashed a grin at her, his eyes twinkling with the familiar impish gleam,“It’s not far so, if you want I can just piggy back you over. I’m no Ghost but you’re pretty small, even I could carry you a few blocks. If not, just mind your socks and don’t trip.”

Ava blinked up at him in surprise. “Oh, you don’t have to do that, Queen.” She smiled, though the weight of everything that happened weighed it down. “I appreciate the offer though.” She hesitated for a moment before stepping forward to give him another hard hug.

“I’m really glad to see you, Queen.” She said, her voice growing soft. “I was really scared and confused. I’m still pretty confused, but I’m not as scared now.”

Queen shrugged, the rejection taken in stride, “I’m just that kinda guy.”

He smiled at the hug, that was good enough but understood her fear and anxiety. He had not let his mind rest too hard on the details of what had happened but he had seen enough in his work with the Program to know that they just didn’t wake up with costumes on. There was always a price and whatever happened, whatever had been asked it had cost. Just how much he was not certain and he would not voice his concern to Ava. Instead, Queen pat her back, “I can imagine, I’m guessing you never got black out drunk. We’ll get it fixed, you’ll see.”

Queen glanced down at her, then gave her a slight squeeze. “We’ll find Dave. And the rest.”

He let her go and gave her hair a ruffle, “We need to control that, too. It’s too humid this close to the water. Can you see enough to follow me? Maybe hold my sleeve or back of my shirt if you’re having trouble. Let’s get going.”

Ava’s eyes brightened at the mention of Dave as he pulled away, before growing concerned and wondering if the same thing had happened to him. “Yeah, okay.” She bent down to pick up the boots. “Oh, um, also,” She cleared her throat. “I have cigarettes in my pocket. I know you smoke so you can have them if you want...I also took the dude’s weed.”

Queen gave her a look of appraisal then spoke in the Irish lilt, “Ah, tis a sin to be smoking the devil’s lettuce, lass. Ya better hand it all over to good Father Patrick to take care of proper.”

Ava smiled and giggled at the accent, reaching into the pocket and pulling out the pack of cigarettes which also contained the weed. “Sorry Father, I’ll say ten Hail Mary’s to make up for it.” She held it out to him.

“Do so, and don’t be forgetting a couple of Our Fathers,” he replied.

He took the Marlborough cigarettes and put them in the front shirt pocket then opened the bag of weed to take a sniff. Decent but not good, probably local stuff. He put it in his pocket and asked, “You wouldn’t have found his lighter, too?”

Queen took that too and immediately lit a cigarette and took a drag, “Not as good as my Kools, but it’ll do, thanks.”

With a nod of his head, he gestured to the alley exit, “Let’s get going.”

Ava nodded, took in a breath and followed him out of the alley...///

>...///

Another car honked and this time Laine did not even turn around, she just stepped over and waved them along then flicked her middle finger at the middle aged male driver. It had been the fourth since the truck to try honking and slowing down, one even bold enough to ask her how much. She longed for her gun and badge and a pair of actual shoes.

“Not interested,” she said as he tried slowing down. Her feet ached after walking a mile or so down the road where it finally met a highway. She had no clue where she was going, Laine realized she could be walking into the wilderness of Alaska in flip flops and no jacket. Maybe she could have taken the ride, she had the knife and the knuckles but after the near miss with Thumper and the strange flashes of unsettling memories she did not want the risk.

Laine felt a sharp pain and stopped, moving off the shoulder to remove the sandal and pick out another piece of gravel. She took a breather and from where she was, she could see Diamond Blvd just ahead where it crossed the parkway she had been following. A Costco, blessed civilization in one direction and a couple of gas stations in the other. Slipping her foot back into the shoe, she started walking towards the intersection.

Red light.

Cop on the other side of the intersection. He couldn’t tell where he was looking on account of those fucking cop shades, and after the time Donnelley had just had, he could be looking at him. He forced himself not to stare at the cop and looked elsewhere. His eyes scanned the road, looking at pedestrians as they walked and continued their lives not knowing he’d just killed two people and stole one’s car. “How the fuck did I get here?” He muttered to himself.

He looked around again and then heard someone honk. He looked at the traffic signal and noticed it had turned green. With a light touch on the gas he set the Toyota rolling along again to the next red light in the streets. Out of habit, he scanned again, eyes locking on one pedestrian. Sure, her clothes were odd, but those hips. He couldn’t stop his mind from going there even after his wake-up. He forced himself to stop checking her out, immediately feeling like he was betraying the memory of Laine. And then he squinted at her. Before he knew it, he was staring at her. Another honk came from behind him, but he paid it no mind.

The cars behind him swerved around him as he refused to go with the green light. As the woman got closer, sure as shit, it was Laine. He rolled down his window, not having any witty or smartassed thing to say, and not being in the mood for one, “Laine?” He yelled, “Laine?”

The honking at least was not towards her this time as she walked quickly across the crosswalk, hips swinging with the movement. Her head was tilted down, watching that she did not trip over the cheap rubber of the flip flops. When she looked up to check the light she heard it. Her name.

Stopping in the middle, she froze and looked around then towards the source of the honking. That red beard and scar, his blue eyes visible from even where she was. Laine smiled, “Oh shit, Donnelley? There you are!”

She ran forward to get out of the road, regretting it immediately as she forgot she wasn’t wearing a bra. Fuck it.

Laine ran to him, happy to find someone from her team but even better it was Donnelley. In her rush one of her flip flops snapped and fell off her foot and she limped over to where he was parked and without hesitation hopped into the passenger side seat.. “Hey, am I glad to see you, where the hell did we all go?”

Buckling up, she looked over at him, what he was wearing was not the tactical gear he had on last she remembered.

Donnelley depressed the gas pedal and made it just before the yellow light had turned red. He took his moment and tried to decide to tell Laine what had happened, asked her if she knew anything. But he knew she wouldn’t. He swallowed, was this a dream? Was he really dead and this was what the last few firings of his synapses brought. He shook himself from his doom and gloom musings, “Anchorage.” He said, still not believing it somewhat, “How did we get here?”

“Anchorage, I thought so,” she said, digging into the purse and pulling the last two Merits out and offering him one. “I don’t know, I woke up in someone else’s bed. At like noon.”

She lit her cigarette with the cheap disposable lighter, the clear colorful plastic ones that always stopped working before the fuel ran out. It took her a few strikes before getting a flame.

“I don’t even know when I woke up.” Donnelley said, before looking over and seeing the offered cigarette, “Oh, Jesus fuck, thank God.”

He snatched it out of Laine’s hand and shoved it between his lips, lighting it and taking in a huge drag. He rolled down his window and blew it out, “Goddamn, that’s worse than Queen’s fuckin’ Kools.” He chuckled, and then the memory of him dropping like bricks after his brains sprayed out the back of his head flashed across his mind, “You haven’t… have you seen anyone else?”

Laine grinned a bit at his sentiment then furrowed her brow, “Jesus, Donnelley. I was wearing some woman’s underwear and sleeping in her bed. I didn’t see her at all but nothing of mine was there. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know...I don’t think I did anything. Then this dude showed up pounding on the door and I grabbed what clothes would fit me which is why I look like I just rolled out of a thrift shop donation bin. I had to punch him in the teeth to get past...I think he was her pimp. I got the hell out of there.”

She took a drag and said, “I brought her purse, I’m going to try and find her if we can. Maybe she knows...something.”

The niggling fear in the back of her mind, the shock on Thumper’s face when he saw Laine rather than the woman he was looking for. “These do suck,” she agreed, wanting to think about something else. “You’re the first I’ve come across, I tried driving away in her car but ran out of gas back down the parkway and that’s why I was walking. Her phones were fried and that smell...you know, the electric burn smell. I swear I smelled it when I woke, I thought there might have been an outlet fire, that apartment was pretty rough. But it wasn’t.”

She looked at him, flicking her cigarette with her thumbnail a few times, “You don’t know when? I saw the clock by the bed, it was just after twelve. Where did you wake up, those aren’t your clothes. At least I’ve never seen you wear that.”

“I…” woke up with She-Ra behind me and we immediately set to killing each other. And then I killed someone just for seeing the aftermath, stole his truck, and now we’re riding in it with his kid’s car seat in the back… “was drivin’.”

“I’m pretty sure the smell was there too. Power steerin’ was out in the car, had to ditch it because it wouldn’t turn over.” Donnelley lied easy, “Now I’m in Anchorage… lookin’ for y’all, I guess.”

Laine looked at him for a long moment, narrowing her green eyes slightly, “Just like that I guess. Donnelley. I woke up wearing some hooker’s thong with her pimp knocking at the door! What the fuck is going on? If this turns out to be some need to know bullshit I swear…”

She stuck her cigarette between her full lips and felt her hand trembling as she sucked on the nicotine to calm her nerves that had been fraying as since she woke in someone else’s sad little life. Laine leaned away from him, pressing her elbow against the window sill of the door, the wind whipping her short dark hair as the smoke streamed out.

“I’m tryin’ to figure this shit out too, okay?” Donnelley snapped at her with some measure of annoyance to be yelled at, but he understood. He didn’t know what in the hell was going on, but the fact remained no one else but him seemed to remember what had happened before. “I’m just goin’ to set us North and we’ll look for a- a payphone, or some place that’ll let us use their phone.”

“I don’t know how we got here anymore than you, Laine.” Donnelley said, taking a hard breath and then another drag off his cigarette...///

>CHEVRON GAS STATION
>10SEP2019
>1300...///

“I’m stopping for gas here, how much cash do you have?” Donnelley turned to Laine.

“Apparently, Sam Teague doesn’t believe in paper money.” He showed one of the wallets on his person, then the other, “Gregory Miles only has ten bucks.”

Laine had remained silent for most of the trip, her temper slowly cooling as they traveled. After the strain of the experience and uncertainty she lashed out, the man that usually had answers had nothing. She mentally flipped through the clues and tried unsuccessfully to piece together the time before waking in Alasie's bed.

She jerked her head when he spoke, looking at him for a moment as she registered he spoke of two men. Whatever that meant, she didn't pry this time, stubbornly putting up that wall.

"Good thing my girl worked for cash," Laine said, reaching for the wallet in the purse and counted out sixty dollars. "Here. Buy a better lighter, too."

She handed the cash but held it a moment, looking at him. "I'm really glad you found me. Walking in flip flops for any distance other than to the pool sucks."

Her eyes sought him, the tension still there but softening. "Can you get me a Snickers, I'll pump the gas."

“Yeah, sure.” Donnelley took the cash, not saying anything about Laine’s trepidation at handing it over. He made his way over to the convenience store, opening the door to hear Waylon Jennings on the store speakers and the door chime as he walked in.

“Hey there.” The attendant said, disinterested in who he was talking to as he thumbed through a magazine.

Donnelley prowled the aisles for a Snickers and snatched two up. Walking back to the checkout counter, he slid them across to the attendant who eyed them and then him, “Anything else?”

“Pack of American Spirits, black. And, uh,” Donnelley clucked his tongue as he plucked a red Bic lighter from its place on the display, “One of these.”

“Uh.” The attendant scanned the items as Donnelley handed about thirty bucks over.

“Can I get this on…” he leaned back to look out the glass doors to see where they were parked, “On two, please. What’s the date today, by the way?”

“Don’t own a phone? Brand new, they do everything.”

“Lost mine.” Donnelley frowned something dark. “You got one I can use?”

“Out of luck, Bud.” The attendant looked at him for a second before sliding his items over in a plastic bag, “The tenth.”

“Of?” Donnelley quirked his brow.

The attendant quirked his own, “September. Man, you alright?”

“Probably not.” Donnelley grabbed up the bag and left, walking back to the truck. He sided with Laine at the pump and then brought one of the Snickers out of the bag, “Here, you’re not you when you’re hungry.” He smirked, reciting their catchphrase.

Laine waited with the nozzle in the gas tank, watching for the pump to click to zero to indicate it was ready. She leaned against the car, squeezing the nozzle as Donnelley approached.

She took the candy bar and gave him a little sheepish smile.

Laine set the lock on the handle and then turned to him. "Any luck calling someone?"

She reached for the sanitizer mounted over the windshield wiper fluid and rubbed her hands together before wiping her hands on her sweats then tore into the Snickers.

“Didn’t have a phone,” Donnelley said, opening the driver door and taking a seat as he opened his own Snickers, “SOL on that front.”

He bit into the Snickers and talked around it, “I don’t even know what the fuck our next step would be.”

They were both silent for a few moments, Donnelley quietly chewing while watching the numbers on the gas gauge rise. He looked at Laine, a flash of her dead eyes as she lay on the ground before he looked away and then back at her, “How much do you remember?” He asked quietly, “From before?”

Laine was toying with the broken flip flop, it was nearly useless. She needed clothes and shoes, the nights were going to be getting colder. They still had enough money and if carefully spent it could last while they looked for the others.

She glanced at him, it was unusual to see him so lost. He always seemed to know what needed to be done or at least it appeared that way. Laine waited as the gas pumped and kept eating the candy bar, giving herself some time before going back into the SUV. She looked at it, her gaze pulled to the back and the child safety seat strapped in the back. Something cold prickled up her spine again, the clues that were plain as day but her mind did not want the conclusion she was piecing together.

Dragging her gaze from the back seat she looked at him, dressed like a redneck but not his version. She thought about what she had remembered, it was not much. When she woke, there was the electrical burning stink still in her nostrils but anything else in the recent time before that was just bits and pieces.

“Let’s see,” she said, “I remember us going to Noatak, I remember the incident with Yutu and how that turned out. I remember speaking with Ipitok and then…”

Laine took the last piece of candy bar in her mouth, chewing hard as she thought about the most fragmented flashes of memory. “A woman showed up, Agent Jung, she was freezing, like she had been caught out in a storm. I remember being afraid of what...what I don’t know, I just remember feeling very worried when I saw it was snowing. I think we left the house but everything’s just a haze after that.”

She shrugged then looked at him, “Doesn’t seem very helpful, what about you?”

Donnelley shook his head, “‘Bout the same.” He lied. He’d tell her. Sometime. Maybe when they found the others, if there were others. If they found a quiet spot, others or no, he’d tell her when the day ended. “Just the Op. The tundra, then Noatak. Charles goin’ down when Yutu started shootin’.”

“The vision…” He muttered, looking off and thinking about how he’d seen it happen before it did. Was this how Ava felt any time she had her dreams? He swallowed, shaking his head slightly and looking back to Laine, “Then takin’ Ipiktok and leavin’ the house to meet CORAL NOMAD. That’s it.”

“Somethin’ happened, Laine.” Donnelley shivered as he looked back at the gas meter, remembering Laine’s dead and empty eyes, “Somethin’ bad.”

The gas meter stopped at 30 dollars and he hopped out to replace the nozzle in the machine. Closing up the gas tank, he slapped the lid shut and got back into the driver seat, cranking the keys and watching the needle rise to half full. As they left, he had no more words to say, and he didn’t like the silence. He turned up the radio and listened to the dated country music that crooned out of the speakers. Greg liked Country. Greg liked Country and had a kid he was going home to. Greg was never coming home. He heaved in a breath and pressed himself into his seat, growling softly. “We need a fuckin’ phone.”

She slid into the passenger seat, pulling the shoulder belt over her chest. “Want me to try?” Laine said, shifting the strap between her breasts, “I might be able to convince him to lend it.”

She reached over to put her hand on his, brushing her thumb against his skin. Laine said nothing, just holding his hand for a moment. The sensation of his warmth and the light pulse on his wrist was reassuring and Laine squeezed a little harder.

“I think you’re right,” she said, her voice huskier than usual. “I think...I don’t want to say it but if we’re here where did they go? Maybe we were drugged and placed but...you said you were driving when you came to? That doesn’t make sense. And you had two wallets, that’s different from my experience as well. We need to find the others, they have to be here. Somewhere.”

“Dave’s resourceful.” Donnelley nodded as he smiled for the first time all day, just holding Laine’s hand. He squeezed her hand gently in reassurance both for himself and for her, “I’m sure Ava’s okay.”

If Laine was alive, Ava had to be. He hoped she was, and that they’d all find each other somehow. It was a modest city and there weren’t many hiding places. Still, it had its dangerous parts like any other, and if Ava or Dave weren’t careful… his mind didn’t dwell too hard on that. “We’ll try somewhere else.”

Laine leaned against the center console and looked down at her broken flip flop dangling from her foot. “We could just drive around, maybe we can spot them like you did me. Check places they might go, like gas stations or...bus stops?”

She jiggled her foot, the pedicured black polish gleaming, “We both woke up in strange clothes, maybe if they did too, they’d try to get something else. Maybe thrift stores?”

Laine thought about Thumper and worried over Ava, “I hope so, I’m sure about Dave but Ava? If she had any situation like I did...well, she’s been trained right? She’ll be fine.”

Her voice carried the weight of the worry, their team scattered like chaff in the wind by some unknown force. “I just wish I could remember something before waking up in that apartment. I figured she was a night owl, she must have been sleeping in. Maybe…”

Laine trailed off, hunting for Alasie Creech was down on her list of missing person priority. “What do they say about being lost in the woods? To sit tight and someone might find you. What about the Program, do they have any protocol for being lost in a city you’ve never been to or remember going to?”

She huffed a laugh and glanced at him, “Can I get one of those Spirits?”

“Oh, yeah,” He took the pack from the plastic bag, driving with his knees while he unwrapped it. He took one out and turned it over, taking another out and placing it between his lips, offering the pack to Laine, “Check a Walmart, maybe. Might find Dave. Either way, we’ll find a burner phone. Something cheap, just so we can call someone.”

“Good idea,” she said, taking the cigarette and letting him light it before settling back, “I need some real shoes, too. Just something cheap that won’t fall off my feet. And a jacket, it’s fine now but it’ll get cold later and I’m half dressed.”

She took a drag and blew it out, “My luck I woke up in a petite woman’s apartment, not a lot of choice in wardrobe. But let’s do it, maybe we can ask around. Contact the locals to put up a missing persons case?”

The hopefulness about the idea faded as she recalled how stubborn some places were about taking adult missing persons cases, dragging it out when the most critical time passes. And it was something they could even do, if the Program would care. Fuck them, Laine thought as she sucked on the cigarette hard enough to make her cheeks hollow, a sudden feeling of anger towards the faceless higher beings that put them in Noatoak hit her. And the not so faceless.

“I don’t think the Program would like their agents being looked for by the entire Anchorage PD… if they even give a shit.” Donnelley muttered the last part. The more they drove deeper into Anchorage the more the place looked like a SeaTac, but further north. Whores, pimps, drug dealers. Hell, they might find Queen just walking around right here. “Let’s just make a trip to Walmart.”

>...///

>Carr’s Pharmacy
>10SEP2019
>1300...///

Queen tried on another pair of sunglasses, gazing at himself in the little strip of a mirror on the display. He was beginning to warm to the look of the priest’s clothes on him, form fitting and black, the stark white collar a contrast to his colorful tattoos. Not to mention the looks he got from women, a titillating blend of holy and handsome, the forbidden fruit. He grinned behind the Rayban knock-offs and took them, cheap sunglasses always had their uses.

The limited clothing offered at the pharmacy was poor quality and overpriced, the sweat shirts so thin they wouldn’t keep out a strong breeze from a desk fan let alone a late summer Alaskan evening. The temperature would drop after the sun went down and neither of them had a jacket and Ava needed shoes and clothes that fit her.

He went to the girl at the makeup counter and smiled. She gave him a heated look then saw the collar and her expression turned from interest to confusion. “Can I help you?”

“Ah, lass, I was wondering if you might know where the nearest second hand or thrift store was?” Queen asked, slipping into his Father Patrick persona. “The Lord provides but the Lord is frugal.”

The girl smiled a little, then took a piece of receipt paper and wrote down the directions, “That’s the Goodwill downtown, they have a good selection. A lot of winter wear, you know. Getting to be that time of year.”

“You are a dear,” he said, then looked over the heavy makeup covering a flush of acne on an otherwise cute young face. “You know you should scrape off that whore’s paint. You’d be a much prettier lass without it.”

Queen winked and she flushed red, turning to look in the mirror at the bright coral lipstick that did not suit her skin tone.

He strolled back to where he left Ava trying on the generic glasses and he poked his head around the tall display rack, “Find anything that helps?”

Ava turned to him with a pair of small, perfectly circular black rimmed glasses on her face. She blinked up at him through the glasses. “Yeah, these work okay for things close to me.” She said, turning around to look down the aisle with a frown. “Further away, I can’t see shit.”

She turned back to him and shrugged. “It’s better than nothing though.” She held up a pair of cheap sandals, still attached together by a plastic tag. “I found these, they had slippers which would be warmer but these were cheaper and, well,” She frowned. “We need to be careful with the money we have.”

"Forget that, just buy some socks and panties here. I got directions to a thrift store, it's not far. It's hard to find non-prescription glasses to see far, but take whatever helps," he said, then looked at the socks that had fallen around her ankles, the bottoms black from walking outside. "On second thought, you might want the sandals for now it's still a bit of a hike."

“That’s probably a good idea.” She adjusted the glasses on her face and pushed them up to rub at her eyes. “My head is clearing up at least,” She lowered her glasses and glanced in the direction of the pharmacy. “There’s no chance of me getting my medication here, I don’t know how long it’s been since I last took it.”

Queen paused, raising an eyebrow, “Medication? You got some chronic condition or what? Restless leg syndrome?”

He flashed a little smile for her to know he was teasing but still had a concern in his pale eyes, “I can tell you it’s not been too long, even if those newspapers said it was the tenth. And I don’t remember it being the tenth when…”

He furrowed his brow, the line between his brows forming. They had not discussed too much of what they recalled before ‘waking’ as she called it, in the strange places in a stranger’s clothing. Queen knew his stash was gone but was not feeling the effects from any withdrawal yet. “I mean, I uh...do you feel like you’ve missed your medicine for a few days?”

“It’s the tenth!?” She said in a hushed exclamation, turning to him with wide eyes. “We were in Noatak on the seventh, how did we lose three days!?” She shut her eyes and took in a deep breath, panicking was not going to help them here. “Sorry, sorry,” She said, shaking her head pushing the glasses up to rub at her face. “I’m okay, I think, it usually takes a few days for me to start feeling...Icky.” Ava frowned again. “But, it has been a few days.”

Queen put a light hand on her shoulder, leaning down slightly, “Look, between you and me, I’d be feeling like shit, too if so much time passed between...doses. I don’t though, so something wacky is really going on. But look, we'll figure it out, we’ll find the others and everything will be alright.”

He glanced around, a few shoppers lingering near the pharmacy counter. “What’s your prescription for?”

She relaxed a little at his reassurance, taking a moment to collect herself before answering, “I take Klonopin for anxiety, nightmares and sleepwalking.”

He knew the drug and it wasn’t for lightweight anxiety caused by being introverted and awkward. It wasn’t even something he indulged in as it was more rare and stronger than the Xanax and other brands of calming bliss in a pill.

“Well, you’re rolling with the big benzos now aren't cha?” he teased but was already going over what he recalled about the medication. “Yeah, you’re not getting that without an ID and prescription that’s for sure. You don’t take anything else? Xanax or estazolam or anything?”

Queen reached to toy with the rosary around his neck, it would not really matter, all those scripts were hard to get without a doctor’s note and ID. Sometime maybe he could get with time and his contacts but they were far from Florida, about as far one could get and still be on the same continent. He mulled it over and thought of himself, the withdrawals from the opiates and cocaine, all the Xanax he’d tossed back like tic tacs to deal with THUNDER’s shit. It was coming, the storm was delayed, not absent. And the reason he had even headed towards downtown in the first place, the shittiest neighborhoods always had the guys that hung out on the street.

“Look, I gotta plan but you’re gonna have to get cool with a lot of stuff real fast,” he said, meeting her gaze.

Ava blinked up at him, furrowing her eyebrows together in confusion. “Um, okay? What are you going to do? Does it involve the priest's uniform?”

Queen considered it then shrugged, “I’m not sure yet, we’ll see how it goes. Playing it by ear. But look, I’m gonna try to get you something that you can take but it probably won’t be Klonopin. Not in this town. We’ll both get set up, I just need to find the right guy. Let’s get our shit and get out of here.”

Ava's baffled expression only grew, her gaze growing mildly pensive as she studied Queen. “O...kay. I trust you know what you’re doing.” She said, giving him one last look before turning to go pick up a couple more things from the aisles.

Queen smiled, a hint of sadness flickering through his sea colored eyes, “I’m glad you trust me with this. I am after all your friendly, neighborhood DEA priest.”

He took her things with him to the front, waiting for whatever else she would bring as he asked for a pack of Kools and he picked up a plastic folded map of Anchorage. Queen watched the price adding up, fucking overcharging for the convenience of not going to a Walmart. The total was almost a third of their money, leaving them with about seventy dollars.

He handed Ava the bag with her underwear and new socks and sandals, waiting while she made a run to the bathroom to put some on under the baggy cut jeans and oversized t-shirt, the faded Harley Davidson logo just recognizable on it. He shared some trail mix with her as they walked to a bus stop, now with a map he had a better idea of where they could go.

The northbound bus pulled up and the driver gave Queen the once over in his priest shirt and tattoos and the waif he brought along with him. With a slow shake of his head, he said nothing as they dropped their dollars in the machine.

As Queen watched the neighborhood turn seedier, he kept his sharp gaze out for the telltale lingering knot of men that seemed to be waiting for nothing. He saw women like that, strolling no doubt and he knew he was close. Once he saw advertisements for check cashing and payday loans and a directional sign for a nearby RV Park he pulled the chain. It was a place to start hunting.

He glanced at Ava after they stepped off the bus and he turned to her, “Stick close, let me do the talking. And trust me, no matter what I say to them.”

The street was a collection of strip malls across from the airfield complex and beyond it a variety of RV parks and small apartment complexes and rental homes. He tucked the map in one of the bags and pulled off his short sleeve black shirt and the stiff collar, stuffing them into the bag as well. Leahy had been an undershirt guy and Queen now looked much less holy in the wifebeater and rosary, the full sleeve tattoos on display now.

The variety was a chaotic mix of color and black and white, spiderweb reaching over his right shoulder and below it a laughing devil with a top hat and old english lettering that said HHF, FHH and on the other among the duller black tattoos was a bright red heart with an arrow piercing it, a classic with the scroll that said “Mom” wrapped around it. It was all filled in with decorative art, creating a full canvas on his skin that was starting to spread down his fingers and up his neck and already crossed his chest and back.

Queen shook his long hair out, running his fingers through it to make it look less tidy and greasier, the cheap sunglasses completing the look. He took the pack of Kools and removed one, putting it between his lips but not lighting it. He roughed up his beard and looked at Ava, flickering a dimpled mischievous grin, ”Do I look like trash enough?”

Ava had been quiet the whole trip, watching the scenery pass and turn from the somewhat respectable downtown to something...more insidious.

Her mind started to put the pieces together and a knot of anxiety started to take hold in her chest. Her arms were folded tightly over her chest as she watched Queen strip off the priest uniform and posed his question.

She looked at him with clear uncertainty and no small amount of fear and worry. “Queen...You don’t have to do this. I feel fine right now, I’ll be okay for a few days, even without my medication.” She said, her voice soft and almost pleading with him.

Queen saw her worry and it felt unfamiliar, he was so used to the bravado of THUNDER that her concern confused him for a moment. He shook his head, "Ain't no thing, Angel. I did this all the time in my day job. Besides, you…"

He hesitated, she'd figure it out sooner or later, innocent or not she wasn't stupid. His expression shifted from gleeful anticipation to a more introspective look.

"You ain't the only one that's gonna be feeling bad once our systems catch up with whatever happened," he said quietly, "And I've been at this long enough to know I don't want that if I can help it. I'd be useless and I can't take care of you if I'm useless."

Queen flashed her a smile, "Come on, think of this like an adventure. You're playing an urban tourist."

Ava looked away, as though a suspicion she wasn’t even fully aware of had been confirmed. A number of emotions flickered across her face, concern, fear, a touch of disbelief and frustration at herself for being so oblivious.

Chiefly what weighed down her expression was a look of disappointment and sadness. She didn’t say anything in response to Queen, her arms folding tighter around herself.

Queen watched her register it all then took the unlit cigarette from his lips, tilting his head slightly as he gazed down at her. Shame and anger twisted in him, she was there judging him. It had been sometime since he had a teammate look at him that way. They all knew and some shared, including and especially Donnelley.

"It's like that, huh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She looked up at him, her brow furrowing. “Like what?”

"How long you been in the Program? I've been doing this shit almost six years," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gruff. "Most of that with THUNDER. Doing what I gotta do to keep myself from suck starting my pistol so don't judge me if my shit ain't a prescription."

He turned his head, not wanting to see that disappointment, let her get angry or offended, that was easier.

“...Queen.” Ava said quietly, her eyes stinging with tears. “I’m not judging you. I’m just... I don’t even know.” She reached out and tentatively touched his arm. “I still think of you as my friend. I care about you. I know that.”

Queen held his breath, glancing at her glistening eyes and kicked himself internally. He could lash out at her, make her feel bad and guilty since she still thought of him as her friend. Twist the knife of his own crumbling mental health only propped up by whatever chemical he could put in his body that would bring him up when he needed it or down, but always numb. He looked at her again, there was something in her naive optimism that from the beginning reminded him. Beyond her cute face and his desire for her, that had passed now and it was front and center.

She reminded him of the only woman that meant something in his life, his mother. How his mom would look at him with the guileless blue eyes and ask about his work, how proud she was that he had a real career. She always found the bright side even in the darkest places, and Queen often wondered how much of it was for her or for him.

With Ava, she was that same lightness and Queen could not do what he needed to so he just muttered, “Look, I know it’s fucked up.It didn’t start...it was just to, you know, get through shit.”

He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair and dropped it, looking down at his priest’s loafers. Queen had a feeling where the good Father had gone but he had said nothing about it. Another thing to bury up his nose. “I don’t ask you to approve it, it ain’t your world and I would never have brought you so close to it if I didn’t…”

Queen sighed raggedly and crossed his arms, “If I didn’t need to, I need it. I know what’s coming. I can’t go cold turkey and be useful.”

Ava looked up at him and finally nodded slowly. “Okay.” She said quietly. “We can’t really afford both of us being...less than functional right now. I’m half blind already.” She let out a deep and heavy breath before unfolding her arms and motioning to him. “Let’s go do what needs doing, I’ll be right behind you.”

Queen rolled his shoulders and shook himself, trying to rid himself of the tension and slip into a persona and told her, “Just do that, stay behind me, stay quiet and follow my lead. It ain’t nothing. And...don’t call me Queen. Just use...Billy, that’ll do. I’ll call you... Emma. But we shouldn’t need them, it’s just in case.”

He glanced over down the street, noting the couple of dudes that had not moved from their corner. “These guys smell like street hustlers, I’ve seen two busses pass and nothing. I’m going to chat them up, just stay close.”

Already a knot of regret was forming, he should have left her at a McDonalds and done this on his own. But finding her had been a small miracle, considering the strangeness of their arrival in random places around Anchorage. He thought about how much easier and fun it would be with Tex but who knew where he was, he didn’t answer his phone. He put that aside and focused on the buy, he had about forty bucks he was willing to part with for this, it would leave them with thirty. Skin of their teeth but if it was one place Queen thrived it was the edge.

Putting the cigarette between his lips and the sunglasses back over his eyes as he strolled over to the three men sitting around the curb near the bus stop.

“Sup, fellas, any y’all got a light?” he asked, motioning a flicking with his thumb.

The men, dressed casually in jeans and large coats, glanced up. The one sitting on the curb stood up, eyeing Queen as he took in the tattoos and then looked past him at Ava. “Yeah, sure,” he said, reaching for a lighter, “You’re not from around here.”

Queen had made no effort to mask his southern accent and he took the light, inhaling sharply on the Kools and grinned, shaking his head, “Nah, man. Florida. I came up for work on the boats.”

“A long way,” the man in the Canucks shirt said, he had a native look to him and was wary.

The man who offered him a light was wearing a hunting jacket over a t-shirt with the old mud flap busty girl silhouette printed on it. “Florida, why would you leave?”

“Man, have you ever been to central Florida in the summer? It’s swamp ass 24/7, besides I heard there was good money if you got a strong back and boundless energy,” Queen replied, his eyes dancing a bit at the end.

Canuck eyed him, “A little early for the boats to come back, usually its the end of the month.”

Queen just shrugged, “I ain’t the captain, hoss. We had a hull full of ice and fish, we came back. What else do you want?”

Busty Girl shook his head, “He just don’t trust us white boys.”

“I don’t trust strangers, Kev.”

Queen took a drag of his cigarette, ignoring the short stocky man in the Canucks jersey. He leaned in to talk to Busty Girl who was called Kevin. “Look man, I’ll be square. I’m tryna fuck that little piece I picked up at the bus station.”

He gestured to Ava who stood a few feet back then turned back to the man, “See? A runaway, but she’s into pills. You know, stripper shit. Xannies and oxys. Or whatever you got close to that.``

Kevin nodded and smirked, looking at Ava then to him, “She dresses goofy but she’s cute. I wish I could help you man, but I just got ice. You smoke?”

Meth. He held it for Ghost’s occasional use and sometimes he’d use if he had no coke but it wasn’t his first choice or even second. “Nah, I don’t wanna turn her into a fucking meth scag, I need her just..pliable. You know how it be.”

“Sure...but sorry, man.”

“What about coke?”

Kevin laughed, “Man, what kinda town you think this is? It ain’t Florida.”

The others joined in laughing and finally Kevin added, “Alright, look. You seem cool, so look, buy some of this shit from me and I’ll tell you who sells pills.”

Queen took a moment then shook his head, “I just got enough for the pills, but I got a boat load of buddies that have been hitting the pipe all summer and are gonna be needing to resupply for the winter season. I can send them here.”

Kevin rubbed his chin, the sparse goatee looked more like pubes than a beard. “Aight, sure. Lemme call him and see if he’s home.”

Ava watched the scene unfold, her hands shoved nervously into the giant pockets of her pants. She fingered the switchblade tucked in one pocket, the knowledge she had a weapon a comfort. Though things seemed to be going well, from what little she knew about drug deals.

Listening to Queen talk to the group of men was...disconcerting. It was a side she hadn’t seen before and even though she knew it was an act she was still uncomfortable to be standing there.

She pulled the little Debbie cake Queen had originally given her out of her pocket, desperate for something to do, to take her out of this situation altogether. She winced as she ripped open the plastic wrapping, the ace bandage wrapped around her wrist helping somewhat with the ache. She looked out at the street around them as she ate the ball of processed sugar masquerading as a pastry, reminding herself that this was the best option for them in their current situation.

“He’s there,” Kevin said, putting up the phone. “He’ll be waiting, he’s got all that prescription shit. His chick works at a Carr’s, got that hook up.”

“Nice,” he said,not caring how the man got his pills. “Where’s he at?”

“Not far, just go up Sitka here and take a left on 3rd, follow it and take Orca Street up until you hit East 1st avenue then take a right, head up til you see a Tesoro gas station then go up North Sitka. It dead ends at Karen’s RV. That’s where he got his trailer. It’s a blue and white one, uh...fuck, I forget the number but Taylor’s got a one of them spotted dogs. Like the Disney movie with the old bitch trying to make a coat. My kid loves that movie.”

“A dalmatian?”

“Yeah that’s it,” Kevin said, making a fist and hitting his knee. “Anyway, don’t forget to send your shipmates down here.”

“No problem,” Queen said, reciting the directions in his mind and he turned and went back to Ava.

“Remember these directions,” he said, repeating them to her. “We gotta walk.”

Queen put an arm around her shoulders and Kevin grinned, flashing him the double thumbs up and Canuck just scowled, going back to playing some game on his phone. The other guy hadn’t done a damn thing the whole time and hardly looked their way.

After they got a few blocks up 3rd Street, they walked past businesses and warehouses. Queen stopped and looked at Ava, “Good job back there. Sorry you had to hear all that, it’s just how most of them talk. A lot of stupid macho shit.”

“It’s...fine.” She said, her shoulders tensing in surprise as his arm wrapped around her before forcing herself to relax again. She threw away the wrapper from the Debbie cake in a passing trash can, the sweet sitting in the pit of her stomach like a stone. “We’re close to done, right?”

Queen let his arm drop once they were out of sight of Kevin and his crew. He lit a new cigarette and looked at her, “Well, to get the pills we both need, we gotta see this dude Taylor at the RV park. Look, if you really want I can have you wait for me at that gas station. Just stay inside and you’ll be fine. Drink some coffee, see if you can use the phone. I can handle this buy alone.”

He weighed the advantage of a second set of eyes and the fact she was a young, pretty female that was often a good distraction if he needed one but Ava was completely out of her element with him. Queen felt another stab of guilt at what he was exposing her to, with himself and just in the general area. Walking her through the rundown neighborhood known in Anchorage for violent crime and drug use.

He got them moving again and as they walked they came across the low but sprawling concrete building with eight foot fences topped with concertina wire. The Anchorage Correctional Complex or better known as the local jail. Queen said nothing to her about what that was and just pushed her to move along.

Ava pursed her lips at the suggestion, looking down at the sidewalk as she mulled it over. She didn’t want to leave Queen, part of her was afraid that if she let him out of her sight...he might not come back. And she’d be all on her own.

On the other hand, there was nothing she could realistically help him with by going to the deal. She also didn’t want to be around to hear...more of what Queen would have to say or do to get their respective medication. Whether prescribed or not.

She sighed, taking the cheap reader glasses off her face to rub at her eyes. “I don’t...think there’s anything I can do to help you, is there?”

Queen saw her reticence and breathed out smoke from his nostrils, “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or endanger you. I ain’t gonna lie, it’s not without some danger to go to a dude’s trailer you don’t know to buy illegal pills. But I kinda don’t want to leave you, we still don’t know what the hell happened and if anyone else is around or back at Noatak. It also helps put people at ease sometimes, when they see a woman, especially a pretty one that looks harmless. You’re an extra set of eyes for me, while I’m focused on Tyler or Tayler, Tailor? Whatever the fuck’s name is. Most likely, nothing will happen and we’ll get our shit and go.”

He raised an eyebrow, “If you really want to stay behind, I respect that. It’s not for everyone and I get that, I’ve already exposed you to enough bullshit for a day.”

Ava looked up at him and took in a deep breath, putting the glasses back on her face. “Okay, I don’t really want to separate from you either. So, I’ll go.” She rubbed at the shoulder she fell on and tried to fight down the rush of anxiety through her system. “If I’m going to be an extra set of eyes for you, what do I need to look out for?”

Queen smiled, that mischief filled smirk on his bearded face and nodded, “That’s good, you’re a down bit...chick. I’m teasing...uh, well.”

He rubbed the back of his neck then smoothed his shoulder length hair, Ava was not the kind of person to call that and he did not want her to take it bad. He meant well but forgot occasionally not everyone was hood trash.

“Mostly keeping an eye out for anyone that might pull a weapon to rob us. It’s rare but it happens but if this dude is a legit dealer, he’d have little reason to rob us and more likely to make the sale. It’s hardly even a risk but I try to cover all angles,”

She nodded, glancing to the small of his back where he had stashed the gun she’d gotten from the biker. “If I look like I’m hiding behind you, I can get to the revolver if we need it.” She pointed out to him, blinking in surprise at herself for coming up with that back up plan.

Queen smiled, a moment of soft affection in his sea colored eyes mingling with amusement, “No, let me handle it. I just need you watching out. Even if it’s outside, in case someone rolls up. We’ll take a look around when we get to it. You got anything else you can use as a weapon?”

Ava reached into her pocket and pulled out the large switchblade. “I have this. I can...menace someone with it?” She said with a small shrug, putting the knife back in her pocket. “I’d feel better if I had pepper spray or a taser.”

He tried not to make a face of doubt, then asked, “I take you never used one or maybe Dave showed you some tricks, he’s got that big ol’ buck knife he wears.”

“It’s alright,” Queen said then beckoned her to keep moving before they attracted attention. “Just keep it, but be careful. It can get turned against you if you hesitate.”

The walk was not very long, another fifteen minutes walking past homeless and junkies, Queen glaring daggers at any that tried to approach. There was a cluster near the FoodBank and the stink of stale beer was a cloud they had to walk through. Nothing he was not used to in the times he had to slum it but he kept Ava close at his side.

Finally they turned onto North Sitka and the big sign pointed towards Karen’s RV Park. It was surprisingly scenic along the waterway, a sprawling location full of tourists and locals, big nice modern RVs and some without wheels up on blocks in semi permanent residents. It reminded him a little of the trailer park his mom was at now, fairly clean but with a touch of poverty under the veneer. Just the place a guy might make good money selling pills to aging housewives and teenagers.

As they walked he heard a tinkling sound and glanced up, one rooted RV had a collection of wind chimes and the sunlight flashed off some of them. A sudden sick feeling knotted in his stomach and he felt uneasy, a sudden feeling that came and went as quickly as he could register it. He brushed his hair back, a tingling still there in his scalp.

As they wandered he spotted another planted RV painted a soft blue and had a doghouse cobbled together from scrap wood and a black and white spotted dog chained up. Around their designated ‘yard’ was a six inch wire decorative fence that circled half dead pansies that look like they had been stepped on a few times. There was a pair of molded plastic chairs sitting out with a cable spool table, a scattering of beer cans around it.

“This is it,” he said as they approached.

The dalmatian sat up, his soft black ears perking up and Queen whistled low and said, “Hey puppy, it’s alright.”

The dog stood and moved quickly to the end of its chain and wagged its tail while barking, sending decidedly mixed signals. He whined and jumped up, straining the collar but clearly starving for attention.

Queen reached out and the dog sniffed at him then barked, but turned to Ava and wiggled and whined.

“Hmm, well good choice,” he told the dog then glanced at Ava, “He likes you.”

Ava’s eyes brightened at the sight of the dog, smiling down as the dalmatian turned to her. “Oh hi pupper.” She said, holding out her hand to let him sniff her. “You are just the cutest little guard dog.” She cooed, reaching out to scritch his ears after he sniffed and bumped her hand with his nose. “You know, Cerberus means ‘spotted’ and I bet he’s as friendly as you.”

The heavy nylon collar was worn and had no tags, just the clipped-on chain that tethered him to the doghouse. The dog continued to bark and yelp until a loud, deep voice bellowed out the window.

“Goddamnit, Prince, shut the fuck up!”

Ava jumped up at the voice, backing away from the dog and closer to Queen out of reflex. “Cerberus is a better name.” She whispered up to Queen.

Queen smirked slightly at that and gave her hand a brush with his to assure her, “Yep.”

He mounted the steps and knocked, then stood back until the door swung open. A big bearded man stood at the door, he might have once been stacked like Ghost but he’d let himself go and was slumping towards fat. He wore a too-tight Grunt Style t-shirt, a peek of hairy belly showing above his heavy leather belt.

The man stared at Queen for a long moment then shifted his gaze to Ava and back again. “You friends of Kevin?”

Queen rubbed his nose and nodded, “Yeah, he called ahead.”

The big man gave him a once over, “You carrying? Gonna have to pat you down.”

“Ain’t no need,” he said, “‘Course I’m carrying, this is still America ain’t it?”

“Damn straight, but show me,” he said, watching him intently.

Queen lifted his undershirt to flash the inked flat stomach and turned to show the .38 tucked into his waistband. He bent to pull the black slacks up to show the socks but no weapons and turned out his pockets. “Satisfied?”

“Leave that gun,” he said, shifting his gaze to Ava once more. “She can hold it and stay out here. I just need one of yous.”

Queen nodded, forcing a smile, “Sure, bud.”

He turned to Ava, his back momentarily to the RV and removed the holster, taking his time as he whispered, “Take it, act like it’s the whole thing.

Ava looked him in the eye, not nodding her head but conveying she understood and would follow his lead.

She still had the plastic shopping bags and Queen made a fuss of putting the gun in one of them and dropped it down the front of his pants, the cold steel making him hiss at it touched his junk. It was a small snub nosed revolver and the priest’s trousers were not as tight as he normally wore his pants. If he walked carefully he could keep the gun in place.

“Alright, doll, just take a seat there,” the big man called Taylor said to Ava, “Won’t be long.”

Queen walked gingerly up the stairs and nodded at the looming man who did not step back from his door, forcing Queen to squeeze by. Inside there was little furniture but an old sagging couch and a very nice Lazy Boy. A woman sat at the table, she looked like she might be studying.

“Got a guest, Maggie,” Taylor grunted.

She looked up and stared at them for a moment, then stiffened, “Oh?”

“Customer, so get off your ass and get us some beers. He’s got a girl outside.”

“Why is she outside?” Maggie snapped, closing her text book and stomped over to the fridge. She pulled out four beers, opening them with practice. “You bring him in but not her?”

“Maggie, shut up.”

“I know why,” she said, her thin mouth twisting in a frown.

“Shut the fuck up, go keep her company if it bothers you so damn bad, woman,” Tayor snapped, snatching to of the beers from her. “Go on, fuck off outta my house.”

Maggie stared daggers at him then shifted to look at Queen, her lips curling in an ugly sneer. “Figures.”

She took the beers and left, letting the door slam.

Taylor handed the bottle of Budwieser to Queen, “Fucking broads, I swear. Give her a house, pay for her schooling, still ain’t fucking happy.”

He looked over Queen again and Queen found it a little more intrusive, more searching than wary.

“So, Kevin said you had pills.”

“Yep.”

“Can...you show me?” Queen asked, hoping this wasn’t the kind of dealer that wanted to hang out.

“Fucking Maggie,” he said again,” She better not be out there TALKING SHIT!”

He yelled it so it would be heard by the women in the small yard, the distinct accent now clear, Taylor was a son of Philadelphia or maybe north Jersey.

“Anyway,” the big man turned to Queen, “Got my stash in the bedroom, come on.”

The woman exited the RV, slamming the door and storming down the few steps. Her hair was dyed black, the chestnut roots starting to show as the wind from the river blew it wildly. Prince jumped up and barked, wiggling around but she ignored him, taking a plastic chair and slamming her ass into it.

“Here. Have a beer,” she said, thunking it down. Her face was hardened, but still there was a prettiness there behind the anger mask. “Sit down, Prince. Damn dog.”

She looked at Ava, crossing her legs and jiggling her foot, agitated. She wore tight jeans and Ugg boots, her dark green sweatshirt bore the mascot of the stylized Sea Wolf of UAA. “Can you believe that shit, I’m trying to study but he gets one...customer and it’s like...well, fuck me.”

“FUCK YOU!” she called back at his audible accusation.

She took a drink and turned to Ava again, “So what’s your story? I’m Maggie.”

Ava jumped as Maggie came storming out, blinking rapidly for a few moments. “Um, I’m Emma, just here for...well.” She shrugged stiffly, awkwardly trying to keep herself from blurting out ‘to buy drugs’. “Thanks for the beer, but I’m good.” She pointed over to Prince. “Can I pet him? He’s really cute.”

“Sure, knock yourself out,” Maggie said then chugged her beer before taking Ava’s untouched bottle. “Fucking Taylor got this dog for me for Christmas two years ago. Because I said the movie was cute, but that didn’t mean I wanted a dog. I knew I’d end up cleaning up the shit and taking him for walks. While his FAT AASSSSS sits around selling shit that I get for him because I got the goddamn job.”

She twitched a little and sipped the beer, then pressed her forehead with her hand that was covering the bottle. “He just pisses me off sometimes. Especially when he does this shit.”

Maggie glanced at Ava petting the dog, “So you’re cool with your dude doing that? It doesn’t bother you?”

Ava smiled down at Prince, ruffling his ears and laughing when he almost knocked her over in his excitement to play. She looked up at Maggie, listening to what she had been saying and feeling sorry for the poor dog.

She managed to calm Prince down enough to just sit next to her while she petted him and tilted her head to the side. “Does what bother me?” Her initial instinct was to think she meant buying the drugs, but that was a strange question to ask given the reason they were there.

Prince wagged his whip like tail and slapped Ava's legs as he curled his body around, excited to get attention and affection. He tried licking her face and settled for her hands until he was sure she was not going to walk away then he settled in to sit and lean against her leg. His big eyes kept looking up at her in his spotted face. When her attention shifted to Maggie, he put a big paw in her lap, as if to remind her that he was there.

Maggie rolled her eyes and took a drink, pinching her nose and she rubbed it. “You know, when he swings that way. Acting like a fucking fag, he knows I hate it. Why am I not enough? You know you know why he took him aside alone. I know his fucking type. Your man is his type.”

>...///

Inside the RV converted into a semi-permanent home, Taylor led Queen to the back room, having to shift his bulk to move sideways through the narrow doors.

“Sorry about Maggie, she’s a fucking cokehead,” he spat, “Can’t even take a few Adderall? Nope, too good for it. So I have to drive down to the damn base to pick up her speedballs.”

Queen perked up at that, “Oh yeah? Make that trip often I guess.”

He shook his head as he opened a drawer, keeping his eye on the slender tattooed man. “Nah, fuck that. I just get her enough that’s supposed to last her for a while but she’s been snorting up like she’s Michele Pfieffer in Scarface. Finals. She’s studying to be a pharmacist.”

Taylor opened the tackle box and put a display of dozens of pill bottles, all of them the amber or blue from a pharmacy. “No knock off shit here, my friend.”

Queen stared for a moment, the itch to snatch up the bottles and find what he needed pushed down. “So, how much for some bars? And you wouldn’t happen to have Klonopin.”

Taylor checked some of the bottles, “Huh, nah sorry. Is that shit good? Maggie might be able to snag some if you really want it.”

The burly dealer was looking at him intently and Queen now understood it, the hooded hungry gaze that kept traveling over his torso and lower. He was checking him out and mildly surprised, but Maggie’s reaction now made much more sense.

Queen cleared his throat, tucking his hands into his pockets, feeling the hard edge of the gun in the crotch of his trousers. “Yeah, I want it.”

Taylor perked up, raising a brow, “So, uh, 2 milligrams are $5 a piece, but that’s negotiable. Got some Oxycodone, you into that?”

Queen gave him a smoldering suggestive look, if he misjudged what Taylor was about then he probably would end up pissing off the big man but if not, he might make it out with the medicine and not be wiped out.

“I’m into whatever you got in there,” he grinned, “Especially if the price is right.”

Taylor stood up straighter, sucking in his beginner's gut, reaching to tug down the snug shirt but brushed the belt buckle. He groped himself and Queen smirked, he had judged his intent correct.

>...///

Ava’s eyes widened. “Ooh.” She suddenly felt a crushing shroud of guilt settle on her shoulders as she stroked Prince’s head. “Uh, they could not be doing...that, right?” She said to Maggie, her eyes darting nervously toward the trailer door.

Prince whined and panted, his pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as Ava stroked his sleek fur. He was a lean dog and ribby though he had a food dish with some brown dry pellets in it. He pawed at her again when she spoke, picking up her emotion.

Maggie drank from the beer, narrowing her eyes, “Ever since Taylor did some time, he’s been like that. Maybe even before when he was in the Army, who fucking knows. He didn’t tell me about it until I caught him. I fucking caught him sucking some dude’s dick, some guy that he used to go ‘fishing’ with.”

She looked at the now empty bottle and hurled it against the ground, it struck a stone and smashed, leaving broken glass scattered among the wilting pansies. “How’d you find out about yours? Or does he even swing that way?”

Maggie laughed bitterly and toyed with the engagement ring, “He’s in for a big surprise then.”

Ava felt her skin grow pale and she looked again to the trailer door. “Sh-should I be worried?” She asked Maggie. “Taylor isn’t going to...hurt him, is he? If he says no?”

“You should be worried about yourself,” Maggie said, picking up the second empty and toying with it. “Don’t worry, Taylor’s clean at least, I make sure of that. But I don’t know about your dude, he looked a little janky with all those tattoos, no offence.”

She looked over at Ava, “And what are you wearing? Does he have you dress like that or...whatever.”

“Taylor...I...huh, maybe,” Maggie pondered, shrugging. “I don’t know, he’s never hurt me but then he doesn’t fuck me like he used to.”

Maggie leaned forward, her hazel eyes almost a shade of gold in contrast to her tanned skin and dyed black hair, “Between you and me, Taylor might look like a big grizzly but he’s the fag, he likes it in the ass. Tries to get me to do it but fuck that, God gave me an innie.”

She laughed at her own vulgar joke and wiped away a tear, smearing her eyeliner.

Ava shifted uncomfortably again, her heart starting to beat faster with concern for Queen. She didn’t hear anything coming from the trailer, no sounds of distress or a struggle. She looked back at the door. “Should we...Knock?” She asked. “Check on them?”

>...///

Taylor had his pants around his ankles and was now stroking himself, still holding in his gut to keep the power build appearance. “Lemme see yours now,” he panted, sitting back on the bed. “I got some condoms.”

Queen was shirtless, standing in front of the bigger man, having let go of him to tease at his zipper, “You sure?”

“Yeah, I got poppers,” he said, biting his lip under the beard.

“Alright, close your eyes and open your mouth,” he said in a low growl.

Taylor eagerly complied, his tongue extended in anticipation and Queen felt a ripple of distaste, this cocksucker just figured he’d just suck and fuck for pills. Maybe he would but not this day. Queen unzipped and took out the .38 and shoved the barrel into the man’s mouth, clacking against his teeth and cutting his gums.

“Don’t fucking move,” Queen snapped, “Try grabbing me and your brains will be all over your bed.”

Taylor stared with fear and fury, the veins standing out on his neck. Queen hushed him and said, “Ah, don’t. I don’t mind killing you, to be honest. I’ve killed a lot more less deserving you fucking asshole.”

Taylor looked into Queen’s eyes, the pale flat color told him he was speaking true. “Where’s your bitch keep her coke?”

“Hunhphh,” he gurgled, the barrel getting shoved harder into his mouth. “Fuuggh.”

“Kitchen? Bedroom? Bathroom...ah, yes bathroom. Classic,” Queen said when he nodded at the third one.

“Now, I’m going to take this gun out of your mouth, if you yell, if you try to get up or anything other than what I ask you to do, I will shoot you. Understand? Good.”

Queen did not want to shoot the poor dumb bastard, the shot would draw attention and the death was unnecessary. He pulled back slowly, then said, “Get the money out of your stash, I want at least 2 grand, you can keep the rest. But I’m taking that box and the coke.”

Taylor stared at him then grimaced a bloody smile, “You fucking li-”

His words cut off when Queen stepped forward, cracking the short hard barrel against the big man’s temple, gashing his scalp open causing a gush of blood down his bearded face. Queen reached back and pistol whipped him across the jaw, hearing a crunch that had to be molars. Shoving him back against the bed, Queen straddled his chest and struck him a few more times until Taylor slumped. His jaw was slack, blood trickling from his temple and mouth.

Breathing hard, Queen swiped his hair back and tucked the gun into his waistband. The big man was breathing but the dent in his temple was likely serious and Queen moved fast. He grabbed the tackle box full of pills and then he jerked open drawers and dug around, finding a roll of bills and a loaded Glock 17. He put the gun in the small of his back and the money in the tackle box.

“Poor dumb bastard,” he told the unconscious man. Before he left, he ripped the cables from the wall and used them to tie his wrists and ankles. It was not perfect and he could loosen them up with some time but it was something.

Queen peeked out of the room, no Maggie. He glanced out the window and saw her with Ava. “Shit,” he muttered before rushing to the bathroom. He lifted the toilet tank and found the floating plastic box, inside what felt like half an ounce of coke. Tucking that in his pocket, he found Taylor’s leather bomber jacket and threw it on, it hung from his narrow frame almost as bad as the t-shirt Ava wore.

He looked out the door and thought about how he would deal with Maggie. Time to see if you’re ride or die, bitch.

Queen yanked open the door, and flew down the stairs, using the revolver to cold cock Maggie in the back of the head. “Ava, run, go towards the river!”

Maggie snapped forward, her forehead bouncing off the wooden table and slid out of her chair into the dirt. “Asshole!”

She rubbed her head and Queen aimed a kick at her jaw, trying to knock her out. His priest’s loafer was no steel toe boot but she was a small woman and it was enough to send her reeling, sprawled on her back. When she did not get up, Queen motioned to Ava, “We gotta go, move.”

Ava jumped up from her chair when Queen came bursting out of the trailer and started assaulting the woman. “What the fuck dude!?” She exclaimed as she started to make a run for it.

She looked over to Prince, trying to chase after her and she gritted her teeth, running toward the dog house. She unclipped the chain and started to book it with the chain leash in hand. “Fuck today, fuck today, fuck today!”

Queen whooped like the southern boy he was and waved Ava on, “Bring him along, let’s boogie, Angel.”

He ran carrying the tackle box and glanced back to make sure Ava was close with the spotted dog eagerly charging forward to drag her along. The chaos that he had ignited fed his adrenaline almost as good as a bump and he quickly jumped a four foot fence that separated the property from the down slope to the water’s edge.

Queen turned and held out a hand, “Can you get over it? Don’t worry about the dog, I’ll haul him over.”

A man stepped out of his RV, a tourist from the looks of it and saw them fleeing. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Mind your business, sir, you’ll be happier for it,” Queen said, the glimpse of the revolver tucked into his pants and bare chest was enough for the man to scramble back into the RV.

“He might tattle, so let’s go take a cruise,” he said, helping Prince make it over the cyclone fence. “You good?”

Ava dropped over the other side and looked at Queen with wide eyes. “No! But I don’t think we can talk about that right now!” She said, reaching down to pick up Prince’s chain.

Queen laughed at that and led her down to the creek, it was not too wide at this point and he recalled from the map it flowered towards the sound, widening and becoming more scenic. He jogged down the side of the creek, then finally spotted what he was looking for. Small boats like they had back in Miami for cruising the canals, just wooden hulls with an outboard or oars.

“Here, this one,” he said, putting his tackle box on the bench seat then reached for the chain as Prince splashed into the water and hopped in, wagging his tail at the excitement after the two or three years chained in one spot.

Queen turned and offered his hand, he could scoop her so she would not get her feet wet but the image of Dave and his buck knife came back so he reached down to pull the boat in another foot or so, holding it in place. “We’ll go down the creek aways, they probably assume we have a car or beat it back to the bus.”

Ava clambered into the boat with Queen’s help, sitting down in dumbfounded silence while holding onto Prince’s collar to make sure he didn’t jump out of the boat. “What happened? Are you okay?” She asked, her panic over the situation giving way to concern after what Maggie had told her.

Queen pushed the boat off, feeling the tug of the current that flowed westward and hopped in, ignoring the wet socks and shoes and moved to sit near the back. He reached down and looked for an oar, finding a single one and he struck out, rowing until Karen’s RV park vanished around a bend.

He smiled, satisfied with himself and slid the oar back and looked at Ava, “This is Ship’s Creek, looks like we’re up it with a paddle. And hopefully a motor.”

Queen half stood and tilted the motor, squeezing the primer bulb to get the fluids going. He replied over his shoulder, concentrating on getting the old motor to wake up. “Well, he had a different idea of how I might pay for those pills. And you know, I might be a lot of things but I ain’t a whore. So I robbed him.”

Queen shrugged and glanced at Ava, a gleam in his sea colored eyes. He leaned back over the motor, “I didn’t kill him or anything if that’s what you’re worried about. Just knocked him out, tied him up. Took his gun and money, the pills. We’re set, Angel. You got the bags, right?”

“Um, yeah.” Ava sighed, picking up the bags and holding them out to him, Prince laying down partially in her lap. He clearly didn’t get a lot of exercise and that had been a lot of excitement for the pup. She stroked the top of his head. “...Queen I stole a dog.”

He cranked the key over a few times and finally the motor caught, it was a lightweight two stroke but it would get them along quickly with the current. Queen laughed, glancing at the little redhead and the dalmatian dog. “You sure did,” he said, “Is that your first property crime?”

Queen paused from steering and grabbed the priest’s shirt and pulled it on, leaving off the collar. He handed the stolen jacket to Ava in case she got cold or needed a cushion to sit on, it was warm and pleasant out in the sun.

Settling back, he shifted the motor so the boat propelled itself down stream, keeping to the middle of the creek that narrowed in places though it seemed deep enough. It chugged along, leaving a stream of blue smoke and they passed such scenic views as parking lots and a huge scrapyard. But even in the drab urban landscape Alaska peeked through.

The afternoon September sky was brilliant blue, without a trace of haze or snow. The summer greenery was still on display and passed by willows and other trees he could not identify. The waterway was surprisingly clear and as he steered them he saw flashes of silver and rose. Late season salmon were still pushing up stream, occasionally jumping and splashing as they did.

Prince would raise his head at the splashes but was otherwise content to snuggle against Ava and enjoy her attention and seemed not to care that he was drifting far from his home. Queen reached for a cigarette, lighting a Kools and enjoying the victory of relieving the streets of Anchorage of narcotic prescriptions.

“Agent Patrick, you still got it,” he muttered to himself around the filter clenched between his teeth.

Before long, the creek widened and grew more shallow and he could see up ahead bridges spanning across, to the left was a dock and several picnic tables all occupied by families and fly fishers looking to snag one of the salmon. Queen slowed the engine and made his way towards the shallow edge of the creek.

“This is where we get off,” he said, picking up the tackle box. “Anyone asks, we’re just here for fishing but I lost my rod in a bad cast.”

They walked by families having lunch in the last of the northern summer. Some people waved at what they assumed as a couple out to enjoy fishing and walking their dog. Prince was charming, excitedly barking and bowing at other dogs and children, tugging Ava around as he did.

Beyond the scenic point, there was the sign for a Comfort Inn, the same one he had seen on the map he bought that had all the tourist need locations for the downtown area. “Might need to count that money and see what kinda room we can get. If they take dogs that is. Then, we go looking for anyone else from Noatak that might have popped up, if any.”

Ava nodded along, gently tugging or whistling Prince back to her when he started to get out of hand. The poor dog was starved for attention but that made him eager to please and listen to her.

“We can maybe drop him off at a shelter while we’re looking?” She suggested, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. “I really didn’t think the whole thing through, I just knew I couldn’t leave him there.” She reached out to ruffle up the Dalmatian’s ears. “No I couldn’t, you weren’t happy there. You deserve a nice happy home because you’re the best boy.”

She looked back up at Queen. “We need a phone, try to call Donnelley or Foster, anyone.”

Queen glanced down at the dog, reaching to stroke the spotted fur and rub the floppy ear as Prince panted happily after his romp. “We need a phone first, a cheap burner phone, one of those prepaid things. Then we’ll figure out what to do with the dog.”

He glanced around then beckoned her over to the last picnic table before the scenic view park ended. Queen set the tackle box down and opened it enough to fish out the roll of bills. “Let’s see what ol’ boy was stashing. Probably had more than one spot.”

The coke in his pocket weighed at his attention but he would not take a bump yet, not with Ava there. Straddling the bench seat, he kept the money close to him as he counted so as not to attract attention. They were all fifties which amused Queen, who the hell used fifties anymore but those who never touched ATMs.

He finished counting and sorted in the smaller bills from what Ava had given him. “I think we’ll be alright, Angel. We got just over a thousand now. We can get a room maybe, get something proper to eat and figure out what to do with the dog.”

Queen took two fifties out and folded them up, tucking it down into his shoe and then another two fifties and a twenty and handed them to Ava. “Just in case, I don’t want us to get separated but I don’t want you broke if it happens.”

Ava’s eyes widened, glancing around nervously to make sure no one was hovering nearby and taking the money. She puzzled over where to put it for a moment before reluctantly putting it in her back pocket and hoping it didn’t fall out of the cavernous jeans.

“Okay, we have money, that’s good.” She rubbed her hands together, trying to ignore the origins of that money and focus on the problem at hand. “So, should we go get that prepaid phone first or go secure a room for the night?”

“The room can wait, we need the phone and some food,” Queen said, glancing towards the Comfort Inn. “We’re near downtown, there’s no shortage of motels. We still need to get you some better clothes but we can use the daylight hours to keep looking.”

He locked the tacklebox back up and glanced at her, “We can get one of those phones at any pharmacy or Walmart.”

Ava nodded, her stomach cramping with hunger now that she didn’t have adrenaline pumping furiously through her system. “I would be up for some food.” She said, rubbing Prince’s head as it rested on her lap. “Sorry buddy, we’ve got some more walking.”

The White Spot Cafe was just south of the fishing area, a moderately priced restaurant after Queen and Ava did a quick backtrack from the overpriced seafood place near the river. Without a smartphone for an Uber and with the dog, the bus was out of the question, they walked.

Prince was happy as a clam, wagging his tail and pulling Ava along when he wanted to follow a smell. It was clear the dog had little training or socialization but he was friendly and eager to please.

The cafe had a few tables on the sidewalk and Queen took a seat, offering to hold the dog while Ava went inside and ordered them some food. “I don’t mind what you get me, I’d eat just about anything right now.”

Ava nodded and made her way inside, almost walking on auto pilot as she stared up at the menu. It was...strange, but it felt like she was developing a means to cope with everything that was happening. Her mind was grabbing at whatever task she could focus on in the moment, keeping herself going by jumping from one manageable problem to the next and ignoring everything else that was piling up at the back of her mind.

When they finally settled for the night and she had nothing left to distract herself with...she didn’t know what would happen.

Maybe that was why she had such a strong impulse to take Prince. A nice baked in distraction.

“Can I help you?” The teenager at the counter asked and Ava snapped herself out of her thoughts, realizing she was just standing there and staring blankly at the menu.

“Um, yeah, I’ll have…”

Ten or so minutes later, Ava walked out of the cafe with a tray filled with baskets of food and one large bowl of water. “Here you go buddy.” Ava said, setting down the water bowl. “I’ve got some plain sausages for him to eat too, but he needs to drink first.” She said, moving aside the basket of three plump sausages. “I got a tuna melt and some fish and chips, which do you want?”

Queen reached for the fried halibut and put in front of him, “You can’t wave french fries at me and not expect me to bite.”

He picked up the ketchup and gave it a shake, watching Prince drink the water in sloppy gulps. “Can’t beat fresh fish,” he said, digging into the food.

After a few bites, a young man stepped outside the cafe and brought two plastic cups full of lemonade. “You forgot your drinks, Miss.”

He glanced at Queen and edged back and returned inside. Queen looked over at Ava, “How are you holding up, I know it’s been a little much today.”

“...I honestly don’t know.” Ava answered with a frown, studying her tuna melt for a few moments before taking a bite. “I think I’m just kind of...numb? To it now?” She said, her eyebrows knitting together. “Like I’m in survival mode or something.”

Queen stuffed two fries into his mouth and chewed, watching her as she replied. His cheap sunglasses were back on his face and he hid his gaze. “Yep, probably. It’s been a day. You just gotta keep acting and never stand still, a moving target is harder to hit.”

He sighed and picked up a piece of the fried fish, a thick cut of local halibut. “It gets exhausting though, unless you get some help.”

The dark glasses masked his eyes but the angle of his gaze was at the tacklebox sitting at his feet. “Like the song says, I get by with a little help from my friends. Wherever you find it, Angel. And with whoever.”

Ava studied him as she chewed, taking the time to mull over the words before looking down at her food. “Yeah.” She said quietly, picking up her lemonade and taking a sip. “Let’s eat and...get to finding our friends.”

Queen went back to eating for a while before he was unable to resist, he said, “You got Dave, dontcha?”

Ava blinked at the question before a small smile appeared on her face. “Yeah, yeah I do.” She took in a breath. “I hope he’s okay, I’m sure he is but, still, I hope he’s okay.”

Queen smirked slightly, his expression still guarded. “I remember when we first met, I knew I’d called it right the way he was always aware of you. He’s a good man and seems to have a good heart.”

Let’s see how long it lasts in this line of work. But he kept his mouth closed on the cynical remark. He tossed a fry to Prince who snapped it up and begged for more, even after eating the reindeer sausages. “He’ll be alright, probably worried sick about you though.”

Queen stood up and wiped his hands on his napkins, there was little left on his plate and his glass was empty. “I’m gonna go inside and try to use their phone, call a taxi. We need to get to a Walmart and time is ticking, the days get short real quick up here. I don’t know when sunset is but I don’t want you caught without warm clothes.”

He left her there but took the tackle box, stepping into the cafe.

“Excuse me,” he said to the teen behind the counter. “Mind if I use your phone? We need a taxi.”

The boy scowled and looked at him then at the door, “Sorry, phone’s out.”

“It’s out?”

“Yep.”

“Well do you have a cell phone?”

“Why should I lend it to you? Surprised you junkies even had money to buy food here. Must be a nice change from the soup kitchen,” the young man sneered, suddenly brave without the cafe full of customers in the midafternoon

Queen raised his brows then glanced around, “What’ll it cost me for you to call a fuckin’ taxi for me and my girl? And they need to take dogs, too.”

“Ten bucks,” the kid said.

“Fuck you, here’s five and do it while I wait.”

The counter boy took the five dollar bill and dialed up the local cab company. It was not long before a cab pulled up, a yellow one that had seen better days but the driver was a smiling native looking man with a round face and thick love handles.

“How’s it going? Is that dog friendly?”

Queen nodded, “Sure is, a real prince.”

He opened the back door for Ava and the dog and their bags and took the passenger seat for himself.

“Where to, Mister?” the driver asked, punching buttons on his meter.

“Take us to your finest Walmart,” Queen replied, clicking his shoulder belt into place.

Ava stretched out her legs as Prince laid down and contentedly panted in the seat next to her. Her feet were killing her from all of the walking, the running and then more walking. It was a relief to sit down and get herself driven to a place. The sandals she bought at the pharmacy were hardly supportive and her calves were burning.

She watched the buildings roll by, stroking the top of Prince’s head when he rested it on her lap. Her mind played over the conversation with Queen, frowning as she thought back on his tone and expression. Perhaps the strain of the day was just starting to settle on him, not to mention whatever had happened at the trailer.

On top of the stress brought on by the general strangeness of their circumstances, he had to drag her around like...A lost dog. Having to ‘take care’ of her because she was borderline useless. No, not even borderline. She was useless in this setting.

She took the glasses off her face, rubbing at her eyes and fighting a sniff. Keep it together, damnit. She scolded herself, shutting her eyes and leaning her head back against the seat. You can do one thing to help make this easier and just keep it to-fucking-gether.

>...///

Donnelley stood in front of the meager selection of pay as you go phones and their cards. It didn’t take much sussing out to decide which one. There was a cheap Motorola smart phone for fifteen dollars, and a cheap card with just enough minutes for a few quick calls for twenty. He grabbed the card and turned to the counter, “Hey,” he called out, raising his hand, “Hey, ‘scuse me?”

Neither of the employees turned around, two Native girls talking and snickering over a conversation he felt he wasn’t supposed to hear. He waved again, starting to get a little annoyed, “Hey, excuse me, please.”

One of the employees turned to him when they heard him, “Yeah?”

Donnelley pointed behind him at the phones, “Can I get some help here?”

The employee sighed and trudged over to him, a young woman who looked to be at the tail end of her high school career. Native, long black hair put up in a low bun. She looked at the phones and it seemed like watching an actor just before they slipped into a role, plastering a friendly smile on her face, “Which one were you looking at?”

Donnelley looked at her for a moment, not buying the fake smile a single bit. He’d have liked it more if she just didn’t smile at all, “The Motorola.”

“Oh, of course! Just give me one second.” She looked up at him and giggled and then trudged back to the service counter, bending down and rummaging through a few boxes before retrieving the phone he was looking for, “Here you go, sir!”

Donnelley walked over to the counter and slapped down two twenties, sliding them across to her, “Here you go, ma’am, thank you so much for your wonderful service!”

“No, thank you for choosing Walmart.” The employee beamed up at his own exaggerated fake smile as she took the two twenties. They stared at each other smiling their most passive-aggressive, friendly smiles while she grabbed Donnelley’s change.

She handed over a single dime. Donnelley leaned in close, reading the girl’s nametag, “Thank you, Amy.”

“No problem, sir.” Amy smiled back, her narrowed eyes more cutting than friendly.

Donnelley turned around as he grabbed the phone and it’s card off the counter, spotting one of the managers strutting down the aisle way across from the electronics section. He smirked. He walked away from the electronics service counter and up to the manager, a blonde woman in her fifties with some pooch around her waist and a face that maybe once was beautiful, but now just smelled like cigarettes and cheap makeup. Amy watched from the service counter, poking her friend to look as well.

The manager’s jaw dropped as she listened to Donnelley’s story, “And Amy and her friend were talkin’ ‘bout this here scar cross my neck. I don’t know what kinda delinquents you folks employ here, but I didn’t do no tours in Afghanistan protectin’ our great country from them Taliban to be treated this way.” He feigned offense and his best thick Texas drawl, “If’n I did somethin’ to offend her, I’m truly sorry, but all’s I was doin’ was askin’ for her to help me with these items here.”

He sighed, shaking his head, “I just wanted to call my son and daughter n’ tell ‘em…” Donnelley forced some hurt into his voice, “That daddy’s home, and he’s okay.”

Amy watched from the service counter as her manager marched her way. The last thing she saw before Donnelley disappeared down another aisle way was his smirk and dark eyes. “That asshole…”

“My office, Amy, right now!”

>...///

Laine sat on the little bench with the mirrors as she tried on cheap sneakers, trying to keep the cost down around twenty dollars. She had a jacket from the discount rack, the fake fur trimmed hood and fleece lining at least seemed promising. She found some leggings that would fit properly and a pack of socks, cheap white ankle socks that could be shared with Donnelley. Everything was rapidly adding up with their limited funds and she kept a constant tally in her head.

She put the shoes back and walked in her bare feet to pick another pair that were on sale and ugly as fuck but at least not a broken flip flop. Laine opened the pack of socks and put some on, then the shoes. They fit and would do, simple gray off brand walking shoes with a bold orange stripe along the side.

She put the flipfops in the box and kept it so it could be scanned but wore the new shoes, popping off the tags, fuck the police. Next would be some toiletries and Laine gathered her clothes and the shoebox, holding them against her chest.

Donnelley found her when he almost bumped into her coming out of the shoe aisle she was in. He made to step back and apologize, but seeing it was Laine he smirked at her, “We need to stop meetin’ like this, people’ll talk.”

Laine smiled a little, reaching up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear, “Seems I’m just drawn to rugged redheads.”

She moved a little closer, though her items kept them apart, “Find a phone? We need some toiletries but this is all adding up. I thought Walmart was supposed to be cheap.”

“Yeah,” he held up as shook the box and card held in hand, “Forty bucks right here. Let’s go get some teeth shit then.”

He looked around at the other aisles and led Laine towards the toiletries section, on the hunt for toothpaste and brushes. There was a feeling he had, like the hair on the back of his neck standing on end and he looked about. He figured it might have been that asshole Amy waiting in the shadows to stab him in the neck with a shitty Walmart knife from the kitchen aisle. As they finally made it to the toiletries aisle, Donnelley still felt it. He watched Laine scanning the shelves for cheap toothbrushes as he scanned the other customers milling about.

“Kids toothbrushes are usually cheaper, I’m not tryin’ to impress anyone.” He offered to her, eyes still searching for whatever threat his body was reacting to. This wasn’t just his normal hypervigilance, this was something more.

Laine bent over to find the cheap brands and found a double pack of small toothbrushes and took a travel sized toothpaste of the name brand, not wanting to scrimp there. It was annoying to play it so close to the dime with just the basic necessities but Donnelley seemed to know where to find the bargains.

“I guess we can’t be picky,” she put back the little overpriced tube and took a generic one of a larger size. “At least I look the part of a Walmart shopper. A perfect cover.”

She stood up and struck a quick model pose in the too small sweatpants and the Betty Boop t-shirt. Laine could tell he was distracted but he had been since she found him. “I guess this is good enough.”

Putting the toothbrushes by the 3-1 body and shampoo wash she hefted the pile and said, “You really can’t come in here and not use a basket.”

After they checked out, she ducked into the restroom to put on the cheap bra and the leggings. Laine paused before throwing the teal sweats into the trash can, a guilty feeling creeping over her. This could be evidence. She glanced around but the stalls were empty and she shoved the sweat pants under the used paper towels.

She met Donnelley near the exit, the great blast of air conditioner hitting her as they walked out. Laine turned to look out at the parking lot, a sudden tingling along the back of her neck. She looked over her shoulder then back out, the feeling of being watched was one she trusted, it had helped her avoid dangerous situations before. But she saw no one that stood out, leaving her unsettled.

“Alright,” Donnelley said, “Let’s get back to the truck.”

Though he didn’t take the first step, instead just standing in place at the edge of the curb, looking into the cars, at the people walking to or from the Walmart. He felt threatened, but he couldn’t tell who was watching them. It could’ve been one of the others. Not Queen or Ava, but TRIDENT. Just like She-Ra had sprung to action. He reached over and slipped his fingers between Laine’s. Just like She-Ra, whoever else was after them he’d kill. “Just follow me to the 4Runner.”

Donnelley began walking back to the car, making as straight a line towards it as he could, walking fast. As he scanned the parking lot again, he caught sight of someone trailing them from the other row of cars, matching their pace.

Donnelley's reaction reinforced her sense of wariness. She clasped his hand tight and followed him, walking quickly with the red purse bouncing in her hip and the Walmart bag in her free hand. She caught a sense of movement between the cars, a man. She did not recognize him but something about the set of his shoulders and jawline frightened her and made her stomach knot up.

Gripping Donnelley's hand she hurried, almost jogging now. "I don't know who that is, but I'm afraid," she said quietly, the sensation of fear and anger turning inside her.

“It’s okay, we’ll be okay.” Donnelley didn’t stare, only keeping him in his peripherals and glancing at him every few seconds. They finally got to the Toyota and Donnelley reached into his pocket, clicking the key fob and unlocking the door. “Just get in the driver’s seat. If anythin’ happens, just drive.”

Donnelley glanced sidelong at her, giving her a reassuring smirk, “Over him, if you can.”

Laine reached into her purse, pulling out the brass knuckles and pushed them at Donnelley. "Here," she said, "I have a folding knife, too."

She reached for it and glanced up seeing the man moving closer through the cars. "Shit, he looks Russian. Those tattoos…"

Laine scrambled into the truck, sitting rigid as she gripped the steering wheel. "Be careful, Donnelley. He's not looking for spare change."

Her heart was pounding and the sense of deep fear and loss washed over her as she looked at Donnelley.

Donnelley passed the keys to Laine and exchanged them for the brass knuckles. As Laine slipped into the driver’s seat he closed the door, turning away from Laine and looking to the Russian. He balled his fist tight and stood square with the bigger man, “Too late for you to walk away?”

The Russian said nothing, just reached into his pocket and withdrew a pocket knife, flicking it open so the small three inch blade could be seen. Donnelley guessed that was his answer. They stepped closer and closer to each other until the Russian struck out with the knife intending to stab at him, but Donnelley turned to the side, pushing the Russian’s head bouncing painfully off the roof of another car and then planting the brass knuckles right into his teeth. Donnelley could hear them shatter against the hard brass and the Russian stumbled back, swiping wildly with his knife and spitting blood.

Donnelley threw another tight hook at the Russian’s face, eyes hateful and roaring his anger out, but he slipped Donnelley’s punch to his right. Donnelley turned to face him again, stepping to his right away from the other man’s knife arm. As quick as he could, Donnelley charged, growling for violence. The other man stepped back and saved his ribs from taking the brunt of Donnelley’s furious blow, Donnelley’s brass knuckles only roughly impacted and scraped off his stomach, still eliciting a grunt from the Russian.

Laine could see the fight, the Russian with his knife as it flashed in the sun. Donnelley drilled him in the mouth but it did little to stop the man. She felt a deep dread when she looked at him and it only took the next swing and miss and Laine was throwing the truck into reverse.

“No you fucking don’t,” she hissed, stomping on the gas.

She reached over the back of her seat, turning to look out the back window at the Russian, trusting Donnelley to get out of the way. Gunning the engine, she tore backward from the parking spot. A deep and visceral hate erupted from deep in the pit of her chest as she met eyes with the Russian in her rear view mirror for the briefest second.

The Toyota’s bumper struck the big Russian, his head cracked off the corner just above the tail lights, knocking him down but Laine didn't brake. He fell under the tire and the weight of the SUV bore down on his torso as it passed over him. When the truck passed over the bump, Laine put it back into drive and the tires spun and ran back over the Russian, blood now pouring from his mouth and nose after his chest was turned to hamburger meat under the tire.

Donnelley stumbled back and watched it happen, leaning to rest with his back against another car watching Laine end the Russian in a spectacular fashion. He rested there for a couple seconds even after the Russian had stopped breathing, but shook himself from his stupor and grabbed the man’s folding knife. He folded the blade back into the handle and slipped it into his own pocket and hefted the body, knowing they’d need to get rid of it somewhere.

>...///

The yellow cab pulled up outside the entrance of the Walmart and Queen was contemplating taking a bump of the coke in his pocket in the bathroom. The baggie in his pocket beckoned at him and he kept touching the lump under the black cloth. His priest collar was back in place, he had fixed it in the drop down mirror and ignored the sidelong looks from the driver.

“That’ll be $26.50,” the cabbie said but Queen’s attention was caught by movement in the parking lot.

His attunement to violence was sharp and he spotted two men from the corner of his eye, squaring off to fight but not like normal pushing and shouting. These men were fighters and the flash of ginger hair and a scarred face made Queen freeze. He lifted the cheap sunglasses to get a better look but he was almost certain he recognized the stance of his friend.

“Fucking, Tex.”

Queen grinned, reaching in his pocket and found a fifty dollar bill and tossed it to the cab driver, “You never saw us, bud.”

The priest’s shirt rode up as he bent to leave the cab, the gun in his back waistband flashing and the driver pointedly looked away and through the windshield.

“Let’s go,” he said, turning to Ava and the dog, “Stay down and keep an eye out, if you see anyone running towards them or me… warn us.”

He hesitated then gave her the Glock 17, a gun he was certain she knew how to use as it was close to the federal issued 19. Without another word, he dashed away, the .38 in hand, held close to his side as he ran towards the brawl.

Ava’s eyes widened when she heard Queen utter the name Tex. She sat up straighter, heart racing with excitement and relief that another of her team was there. She couldn’t see well what was happening in the distance but she could make out the way the blurred shapes were moving that it wasn’t good.

She turned to Queen when he handed her the Glock, grimacing with fear but taking it anyway. She took one of her $50s as Queen got out and tossed in the front seat as well and reached down to snag the tackle box Queen left behind to tuck under one arm, carrying the plastic bags in her grip. Then she took a breath and darted out of the taxi with a newly rejuvenated Prince happily following after her; the gun held low at her side like Dave had taught her.

Queen closed in but as he was going to take aim at the big tattooed man flashing a knife, a Toyota 4-Runner slammed back against him and made sure he was not getting back up. He paused and recognized the female driver with short dark hair, then slowed his stride, tucking the gun back into his waistband.

“Figures I’d run into you fighting in a Walmart parking lot, you goddamn redneck.”

Donnelley looked up at the familiar voice, seeing a priest standing before him. His eyebrow quirked as his mind worked at piecing together who he was looking at, all the while he was frozen midway in the act of hefting a dead Russian to cover up a vehicular homicide. His jaw went slack and he muttered out a quiet, “What the fuck…”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>ANCHORAGE SAFEHOUSE, EN ROUTE TO
>11SEP2019
>0900...///

The road was a thin ribbon of asphalt that wound through the woods and mountains, the late summer rapidly vanishing into autumn under the morning sun, the air still brisk from the night. It had been years since he had been up this way but the operator remembered the routes. He had a knack for it, a quick study of a map or visit a place once and it was etched deep into his memory.

Under his thick black beard and the dark Locs covering his eyes, it was hard to make out his features other than the deep olive skin and the occasional flash of smile at his own private joke. His tactical gear was mostly deep green digital camouflage, mixed in with grays and a black t-shirt under the jacket and plate carrier. He was a CORAL NOMAD operator, more anonymous than any other Working team. His call sign was not even velcroed to his gear, only a blank spot for it. They were the ones who asked no questions and gave no answers, who mopped up after whatever the teams left behind or whatever was left of the teams.

It was a quiet drive and he itched to turn on some music, the man beside him probably would not object. Sobel, or as the operator called him, Spooky, was a man of few words. Maybe he would not object, maybe he would not even mind but he might look at him in that way and it was one of the few times he felt fear from one of his own.

“Hey, Spider,” he said, glancing in the rearview mirror at the woman in the back seat. She was also dressed in similar gear though hers was more black and gray toned but also without a name plate. Her glare told him what she thought of the call sign he had christened her with when she joined their team. He had taken one look at the tall lanky woman with legs forever unfold herself from a chair and the name stuck.

“Wanna play Slug Bug?” he asked. “Maybe I-Spy is more appropriate?”

She shook her head, then narrowed her dark eyes, “I spy with my little eye an asshole that’s not keeping his attention on the road. That’s Zeus.”

He shrugged and smirked under his beard, “Are you always this much fun at parties? Lighten up, Mama, we have had a long night. Ever been to Alaska? I’ve been a few times, first time I came up right after highschool. Hitched it all the way from Texas.”

“Sure you did,” she said, glancing at the back of Sobel’s head. He was always so quiet but never not working, she could almost see the gears grinding. About the four in the other car, the prisoners. Spider had been witness to some of his interrogations, not by her own choice in the matter but because she was the medic and they had to stay alive. He was careful, very methodical but the human body was both resilient and remarkably fragile at the same time.

“Oh yeah, right up through the Rockies,” he laughed, “The farther north I went, the less Mexican I became, suddenly I was from whatever local tribe was there. It was fun though, white girls thought I was exotic when I said I was from the Aztec tribe.”

His dark eyes hidden behind the black lenses of the shades gleamed, “I bet even you would have too back in those days.”

“I doubt that,” she said, her sharp features giving no hint of a smile. “My tastes have been the same.”

“Ah, that’s just because you never had the chorizo, only the bolillo,” he chuckled.

“Gross.”

Spider leaned back, turning her face to watch out the windows as the sun gleamed off the distant snow capped peaks, bathing them in golden light and was just now reaching the deep forested river valleys. They had left after dawn from the airport, the Safe House should not be far. Despite her distaste for his humor, Zeus never failed to get them where they needed to be.

“How much longer?” Foster spoke up from the back, next to Spider. His shades had been glued to his face since it got light enough to justify them. He scrolled on his phone looking at work emails, Intel reports. Whatever kept him looking busy and unapproachable.

“Shouldn’t be long now. Fifteen minute ETA.” Sobel too had his shades, but he busied himself with looking out at the countryside and committing it all to memory. Something to recall alongside his Idaho plains when he needed calm. He turned to his Mexican compatriot in the driver seat, “Fifteen?”

“Si, Jefe,” he agreed, “Maybe thirteen mikes, if the following car doesn’t lag again. pinche mamon doesn’t know how to follow. He’s either on my ass or falling too far.”

“You picky, bitch,” Spider said, then gave a side eye at Foster. He wasn’t one of their team and it made her a little nervous. She fell silent, her brooding features left a mystery of her genetic origin, perhaps a blend of Native American or Northern Europe, maybe even a little of the East but she never bothered saying.

Zeus turned off the main highway, flicking a glance at the rearview mirror to see the SUV behind them following too close again. Asshole. At least they were close to Safe House and likely not going to be ambushed but the chance was always there and he did not need the car with the assets putting its nose up his ass.

“Gonna have a talk with Junior about his driving,” he muttered, “Ten minutes, ETA. We’re in the woods now, keep your eyes out Spider. All of them.”

“Fuck you,” she murmured, trying not to show a hint of laughter, watching the trees flit by as they moved.

It was indeed ten minutes on the dot when the SUVs came roaring up to the Safe House. Or what was left of it.

“What the fuck?” Zeus said, “What the fuck these putos been up to?”

He pulled to a stop and honked, tapping out a rough version of La Cucharacha and then stepped out, leaving his door open and he slung his rifle up. Spider could see the damage right away and reached to grab her medical bag, putting it over her shoulder.

“Are we clear to go?” she asked, still new to the game after her stint as an Air Force medic somehow tripped and fell down the stairs into this dark hole. “What the hell happened?”

Sobel dismounted, closing his door and removing his sunglasses. There was a gigantic hole in the Safehouse, filled with detritus. The chassis of what looked like a responsible family sedan was peeking out from the hole. “Get the detainees inside, don’t worry about the house.” Sobel looked to Spider, “Lead Foster to the barn with the detainees. Zeus and I will introduce ourselves.”

...///

Spider climbed out of the SUV, in her combat boots she was just over six feet tall and long limbed, her trim figure hidden under the layers of tactical gear. She left her rifle slung across her chest and her medical kit on her back as she walked over to the other car. A young man in the driver’s seat had an eager look about him, with close cropped blonde hair so fair he might as well have been bald.

“Let’s unload them,” she said, passing his window and going to the passenger door, opening it. There were four of them and they had been quiet mostly. She did not know who they were or why they were picked up and she liked it better that way.

Spider took the arm of the first one, “Step out, just follow my lead. There you go.”

She led them to Junior who stood with the chain wrapped around his hand and an eager dog that had been picked up along with him. One of those spotted breeds that got popular, Spider was not sure what it was called. She was a cat person.

With Junior and Foster, they lead the hooded detainees into the barn. It was old and run down, it smelled of must and something else, something almost rusty. Her nostrils flared slightly at the sight of the single chair and the dog that had been brought along immediately began sniffing around it.

“Here,” she said, bringing one of the detainees over to the wall, “Take a seat, get comfortable. It might be awhile.”

Spider helped each one to sit as it was difficult with their hands zip tied behind their backs, none giving her an issue save one. Even under the hood she sensed the aggression and said little to him other than basic instructions.

“Junior, get that dog away from there,” she snapped, looking at the younger operator sharply as the dog kept digging around the stained floorboards.

“I’m gonna take him out for a walk,” he announced, enjoying the duty of a dog sitter compared to dealing with shackled detainees. Spider was left with them and she asked, “Does anyone need to piss, raise your hand?”

The joke was unappreciated without Zeus around.

She found a bucket in the corner of the barn and hoped it was not leaky. Spider set it down and glanced at Foster, “I’ll go get them some water.”

“Do that, please. Unload the polygraph too.” Foster said, slipping his phone into his pocket and giving Spider the most eye contact he’d given everyone since the pickup. He put his hands in his suit pants pockets and looked down at the four individuals, “We’re going to find out if you’re telling me the truth. I wouldn’t want to be you if you’re lying.”

...///

Bajbala peeked past the kitchen window curtains at the sound of crunching gravel breezing in through the open-concept living room. They were expected, but she would wait for them to dismount before any judgment.

The team was sporadically lounging in propped furniture about the kitchen. Not much of the small house was without loads of debris and the cold Alaskan draft. They should have moved to another location but their comms equipment was damaged and a secure channel to CORAL NOMAD was too distant.

Throughout the night priscilla and Lucky periodically checked the perimeter, likely because they didn't trust her to do it alone. A crash, exchange of fire, bomb, and knife fight later she was immaculate, a rubbing of old wood on her jacket from laying on the chest.

"Poker, I believe your friends are here." She broke the silence with a smile. Through the pane of glass musical horns mocked their solemnity.

Poker was patched through to the exit wound, bleeding settled, but he would still need a check to make sure his guts were in order. Ghost was back behind her as well. His face was closed up after an hour long stitching ordeal. It wasn't perfect, but the clean cut made it relatively easy. She shook off the feeling in her neck when he snarled through the gash as she worked on him. Grunting not in pain but anger or maybe some primal baying as he relished in victory, embracing the disfigurement through every stitch.

Ghost perked up when he heard Priscilla, rising from his seat on the hood of the ruined car. He'd put on a jacket in deference to the weather, the clean garment at odds with his ripped cargo pants and bloodied face. He hefted his rifle.

"Lucky, on me," he said. Dave fell in beside him and watched Foster take a pack of hooded and bound people into the barn. He sighed and grabbed his AK.

"Let's do this."

Sobel had his hands in his pockets as he looked towards the others. The assembled four looking like they had quite the night. So did the house. “Zeus, with me.” He looked to two other plain clothes NOMADs, faces obscured by black neck gaiters, “Face, Tripod, you’re with me too.”

The two operators nodded and followed Sobel. All of the parties involved were armed to the teeth, and after the evidence of whatever had happened last night, he didn’t blame the others. His MP9 hung from the single point sling, bouncing on his stomach as he walked. When he got to a respectable distance from THUNDER and Bajbala, he removed his sunglasses. Pale, blue eyes regarded each of them for a few personal seconds. One by one, cold predator’s eyes took them in like a butcher eyeing a line of sheep. They hung on Lucky and suddenly Sobel’s face twitched to a friendly smile as if seeing an old friend after years.

“David, hello.” Was all he gave the other man before speaking to them all, “The barn is now under mine and Foster’s purview in connection to an adjacent investigation which none of you have clearance for. Until the end of the investigation, you are to keep back from the barn or risk injury or death.”

The friendly smile was gone in an instant. He remembered hosting Dave and his team some time ago, keeping appearances and making them feel as at home as he could. But there was now something in his eyes that made him more like Poker, or the other rough and tough trigger-pullers in the Program. Nothing friendly, and Sobel was more than comfortable dropping the friendly veneer and cutting deep to the bone of the matter, “I hope I’m understood.”

"Injury. Or death." Ghost's words were muffled by the swelling of his injury and the pull of the stitches that held his face together, but there was no missing the growl in his tone. Dave returned Sobel's brief smile, but the hunted look in his eye held a hint of violence, like a man on the edge. His shaggy hair and beard were dirty from the night before, and he seemed to share Ghost's irritation in his stance and the confident grip of his AK.

"Classified, fine, I can accept that," Ghost said. "But don't threaten me." He looked at the NOMAD team. "You or your amateurs."

He paused. "Show me your faces."

Zeus rested his gloved hand on the M-4 that was slung over him and looked through the dark sunglasses, his beard covered now with a black gaiter, hardly a bit of skin visible but his nose and the top of his cheeks. He shook his head minutely, looking over the huge scarred man. The other two operators towered over him but stood back, also dressed from head to toe in tactical gear and none wore name plates. One of them, the taller of the two, wore a skull-faced gaiter and even under the bulky gear his powerful build was obvious. He looked back at Baj in a curious but flat eyed manner, then over at Ghost. He puffed slightly at the challenge but none removed their masks.

“The identities and faces of CORAL NOMAD are classified. Accept that too.” Sobel spoke, not bristling, just stating facts with his flag voice. He took a few steps toward THUNDER, his eyes mirroring Ghost’s under his Oakleys as they held each other’s gazes. The faint smell of ozone just barely noticeable hanging about him the closer he got, “And I don’t make threats. You should all get some rest, it looks like you had a rough night.”

Sobel turned away from Ghost, walking just slow enough back to the three of his own faceless killers to let Ghost know his breadth and growls had no effect on him. He turned around again, hands in his pockets, “You’ll speak to me or Foster. Pretend these people don’t exist.” He said, “Because they don’t.”

Tripod flexed as Sobel laid down the law and Zeus cut his eyes to the young operator and back to Ghost. The Mexican was much shorter and stockier than both but the dark eyes behind the loc sunglasses were quick and calculating. He turned to Sobel as the man walked away and stepped beside him, speaking in a low voice, “Jefe, we should have the medic take a look at them, they’re looking rough. I don’t want to have to shoot that big one. I only brought three magazines.”

“I’ll have Face switch with Spider then.” Sobel said as he walked to the barn.

Priscilla had slapped a stick of gum in her mouth earlier, ostentatiously chewing for the friendly encounter. She stood back, silently leaning on the same awning pole and exchanged glances with the uniformed goons, donning a half smirk for their show with her arms crossed. This operation grew more sour by the hour. She could see there were odds even between NOMAD and the assholes she was already with. Something was playing her a pawn and she was alone.

Zeus watched Sobel leave, the spooky bastard, the faint scent of ozone going with him. He turned, putting his hands on his hips and raised his chin at them, a grin under the gaiter. “Que pasa?,” he asked, looking at the four. “Y’all had a fucking night.”

Tripod said nothing, keeping the CORAL NOMAD silent squirrel image but Zeus was too gregarious by nature to keep stoic and silent long when it was not necessary. These were associated with the detainees and they looked like shit, at least one friendly voice might keep the tension from exploding.

Spider carried her medical bag, pulling the gaiter up over her nose as she made her way to the house. All that could be seen was the tops of her high cheekbones and the dark hooded eyes that peered with a sharp curiosity at the scene before the house. She stepped up, brushing past Tripod in his power stance and rolled her eyes, she could almost smell the stink of bro.

“I’m a medic,” she said simply, glancing over the rough stitching job on the big one’s face. “Don’t mind me, I’m just going to make sure it’s been cleaned properly. Who did this? What did you use?”

She looked between them, her gaze settling on the only one that did not seem hurt. Spider looked her over, a hint of appreciation on her dark gaze.

Priscilla acknowledged the tall woman with her brow and approached, stopping by her side to examine her work closely.

"A slash wound, through and to the bone. I flushed it with water and used peroxide, he also has an antibiotic. Luckily the trauma kit here was good. Even got him a tetanus shot!" She put her hands in Ghost's face and gave him a quick neutral glance to ease the invasion. "I started here... near his lip." Her finger traced along the stitching. "Three layers um, subcutaneous? Then inside his mouth and out." The stitching was amateur, but tight.

Priscilla gave a steady slap to Ghost's shoulder. "I think it looks alright! Can't make much more a monster out of you anyway, am I right?" He was probably tasting the blood that would ooze in his mouth for a week.

Spider nodded, looking at the stitching in the deep laceration that must have laid the man's face open. "Good work for what you had."

Her dark gaze met Ghost's eyes, "Any other injuries that need attention before I move on?"

Priscilla pointed to Poker with her eyes. "He's got a bullet wound through and through. Bandaged and no bleeding I can tell, but you should take a look." She left it.

Out of the barn came Foster, the suited man that looked every bit the seasoned CIA Operations Officer that everyone but Priscilla knew. Little did she know, Priscilla’s dossier was slid across his desk a few weeks before at his request. It’s a shame the team she was supposed to augment with her particular set of skills was now six feet deep in the monumental shit-show that was Alaska. Almost as bad as the HUMINT Asset purge in Syria on behalf of those chucklefucks at the DIA. Jason not counted among those, understandably. Foster’s only man on the inside in Iraq was dead and his 8 year operation was tits up, and any hope of another operation was grounded indefinitely.

His frantic and angry conversation over the phone gave everyone the idea of how he felt about all of that, even if they didn’t know the particulars. A lot of intelligence cases were bust by nature, they told everyone that on The Farm, but this was utter dogshit. He joined the gathering looking none too happy to be there, “Why is there a fucking Corolla in your living room?”

When Foster approached, Spider stood back, waiting for the case officer to finish his questions. She half listened with curiosity though her job had no business with their drama before approaching Poker about his wound.

"Because someone drove it through the fucking wall," Ghost growled. He was accepting the ministrations of the two females without complaint, the model patient. "And then blew it up."

He glared over at Tripod, meeting the man's gaze.

"I killed Bear last night," Ghost said. "From TRIDENT. Except Lucky already blew his fucking face off four days ago, so what the fuck is going on?"

Dave nodded, his face hard at the mention of Bear. The loss of his team was fresh. The loss of Ava. Seeing Foster didn't help. "He ate a burst from my AK in his fuckin' mouth. But he seemed fine last night until Ghost gutted him."

Foster nodded, “We’ve been made aware of,” His eyes flicked to Bajbala, not sure she was read in yet and then deciding it didn’t matter, “Made aware of some hypergeometric activity around the Noatak area. If it calms everyone the fuck down, this is what this adjacent investigation is about.”

“Consider this your debriefing. Fill me in on everything that happened this week, because I got a phone call two days ago saying one of my entire Working Groups got put down save for one guy, and another guy that’s fifteen countries away on indefinite standby.” Foster was fuming at the state of affairs, “Please, enlighten me as to how this all came about.”

Dave shot Foster a baffled look at the mention of hypergeometric activity but held his peace. At the mention of his team his face fell, then quickly hardened.

"TRIDENT," he spat. "Cocksuckers and their CORAL NOMAD buddies turned on us. They… They killed everybody. Just shot 'em down." He swallowed a catch in his throat. "Then…"

"Then we wiped them out," Ghost said. "Killed every one of them. Until our safehouse was attacked last night by a VBIED and a sniper, and I got to dance with Bear in the fucking kitchen."

Priscilla looked around the room at the others. No one knew what was going on –she didn't know what was happening. Foster's words were unfamiliar. She tried to ignore them for now.

"Prior to last night was our blind date. We saw through the Russian assignment, but there was room to be tracked." She passed her eyes over Lucky then spoke to both teams. "If we covered well these rogue agents of yours must have known we'd be here already, I would think. They must know a lot of things. I don't understand how I'm finding out about this now." She said disdainfully, not expecting an answer.

"Because the rogue agents are supposed to be dead," Ghost growled. He clenched a fist on the grip of his rifle.

“We knew about possible moles, but now the GRU is getting a lot more kinetic. I don’t know why, unless we’re onto something they don’t want us near.” Foster mused out loud, “First West Virginia, then Massachusetts, now Alaska. They already took out one of our team, now this.”

“It’s like they’ve got a personal fucking vendetta with us or the case we were working.” Foster shook his head, “Program CI is working through DOD and DOJ channels. Belyaev was just the first, but there has to be more. I find it hard to believe a single GRU Officer in Alaska orchestrated all of this, I want a transcript or a recording, or whatever the fuck from his interrogation.”

“As far as THUNDER is concerned, keep working closely with this asset. Dave… keep doing what you’re doing.” Foster said, then looked to Bajbala, “You. Let’s talk somewhere else.”

Bajbala tensed with his unexpected summons. She hoped he had answers as to why everything was fucked. If it was to be chewed out, she had her own words for him. She silently followed him out of the room avoiding looking at the others as she passed them.

Foster led Bajbala upstairs to one of the bedrooms. He sat at the desk and gestured for her to sit on the bed. When she did, he wasted no time in getting to what she must be wondering at all this time. “Bajbala Shirzad, Project Red Bulb asset in Afghanistan. One half of the failed Operation in the FATA of Pakistan.” Foster nodded, “Not much else other than that but black ink. At one point in time, I would’ve had my friend here to greet you too.”

“But that friend’s dead. Working Group UMBRA is now nothing but a name in my roster. The reason I’m being so forward with you right now, is because as of this moment, the training wheels come off.” Foster said, “We’ve had an eye on you for a while, and even though your exposure to the very unique purview of the Program is… minimal, you’re a good candidate.”

“I’d say you have a choice in the matter, but your paperwork’s already been faxed over and it’s waiting for your signature. So, you’re one of us now.” Foster looked Bajbala up and down, “How’s it feel? Anything yet?”

Bajbala soaked up Foster's proposition with a straight face. "I don't feel anything, I don't understand." He knew details she had nearly passed from memory. She was so young then, those days in the barren mountains with the wailing wind. His matter of fact tone crept up her skin.

"What about my position within the directorate?" She didn't grip it other than being reassigned. Posted to a new billet with the 'program'. It was deeply wrapped in mystery, she almost didn't believe the man.

“You’re still officially CIA, your position isn’t being vacated. As far as anyone knows at Langley, you’ve been indefinitely loaned out to a Joint Counterterrorism Task Force in which everything you do is classified.” Foster shrugged, “I don’t expect you to understand. No one really does until they see it for themselves, but the threats we deal with…”

“Let’s say an international threat, and we’re the ones best equipped to deal with it. Everyone outside of this Safehouse,” Foster shook his head, “They shouldn’t have to know anything about what we do or deal with. How much do you remember about Pakistan?”

Foster produced an envelope, handing it over to Bajbala. Once opened, it had a series of aerial photographs of the AO that Bajbala was operating in during Pakistan, “Maybe these will refresh your memory,” he nodded at the photos in Bajbala’s hands, “Bazir al-Khalwadi was never with the Taliban or Daesh. His activities were rogue, or so we thought. Joseph Donnelley was there.”

“The man you’re supposed to confirm is dead or not. My friend. You both helped to coordinate an executive action order on Bazir when he was compromised before we could get to him, and put the black slabs on the map for the Program.” Foster shook his head, “Anyways, you’re Program now. I want you to take Dave away from those fucking cowboys over there and restock Working Group UMBRA. After Alaska is done, just go back to SAC. Twiddle your thumbs or carry out your assignments, but just wait for a call.”

Foster produced a cheap burner phone not unlike his own from his pocket, tossing it bouncing on the bed next to Bajbala, “You and I hear this a lot, but this conversation never happened and we don’t know each other at Langley. You understand?”

The dutiful soldier in her gravitated towards the mission, the authority, the purpose it provided her. Meanwhile a deep-seated human part of her cried out to run. Foster wasn't being as forthright as he claimed, but Bajbala felt she could trust him this far. It sounded more like she had no choice; he would be in Virginia, somewhere, and he would look for her whether she wanted to be found or not.

"I understand." She said, subdued.

She slipped the photos back into the envelope and snatched the phone. They weren't something she wanted to look at with the current stress. Vague memories of the sights and scents reaffirmed themselves in her consciousness. Voices; one voice a distinctly American man whom she communicated with briefly. She wondered if he was the dead one. All evidence pointed to that fact, however, the dead were rising according to 'Ghost'.

"Then I'll speak with Dave." She stood up to Foster's desk "I do feel something. I feel crazy. Seems to be the normal thing here?" Referring to NOMAD, THUNDER and Foster sounding like a lunatic himself. The only lunatic she'll believe again.

“You get used to it.” Foster stood and straightened his coat, “I’ve got an interrogation to watch.”

>...///

A crack of light from outside shone in the darkness the lamps couldn’t illuminate. Foster stepped inside and sided up with Sobel. They watched the proceedings with sober expressions, the polygraph technician asked the detainees some simple questions to start out, Foster and Sobel only able to see the backs of the detainees heads from where they stood. A man in a priest’s clothes had just finished his turn and the CORAL NOMAD slipped the earmuffs, gag, and hood back over his head before bringing over the next. A middle-age man in civilian clothes.

“Sobel.” Foster said, the man looked over at him and Foster nodded towards the table the detainee was seated at.

Sobel nodded back and relieved the polygraph technician, sitting across from the man. He offered his hands, and the other man was hesitant even to speak. Sobel offered him a smile and said something that seemed to convince him, and he lay his palms against Sobel’s. Sobel closed his eyes and began muttering in whatever that nonsense was that wizards seemed to all know until he froze, stiff…///

Get up…

One more time, мой друг

He gasped, just as a horn blared and he saw the front of a car barreling straight towards him just before he yanked the wheel hard to the right, feeling like the wheel gave him an extra fifty pounds of resistance. The power steering was gone. A scream came from the back of the car he was apparently driving, but he didn’t have time to pay it any mind as he dramatically over-corrected the car, yanking the wheel left in a desperate attempt to right themselves, and then he was spinning like a sheet in a dryer…///

???...///

His eyes fluttered open to blurriness, greenery outside in blobs against a blue sky, sparse clouds drifting above. He forced his eyes to focus again and looked at the movement in the back. His head swam, turning round and round in his skull, pulsing painfully. He groaned, looking around himself and trying to figure out what the fuck was even happening.

“A-are you okay?” He asked on instinct, not even knowing who he was talking to, or who he was, or where he was.

“Uh huh.” Came the voice from the back, and he recognized it, just a bit.

With the recognition came a creeping feeling of anxiety as more and more came back to him. Soon, the two of them were staring at each other in the rearview mirror as they blinked away grogginess and shook their heads. For some reason, he couldn’t explain it, he was starting to feel a burning hot hatred for that face. It began to show plainly in his eyes, though he wasn’t meaning for it to. And then the other person, the woman in the back seat looking like her clothing was far too small for her, looked at him with one part recognition and another part that same burning hatred.

“Donnelley…”

He turned to look at her, snarling, “You fucking cu-“

She hit first, Donnelley not yet knowing why, but he did know it was a fight now. His nose had been bent and he held his right arm against his head to absorb the hard punches She-Ra had been throwing. He reached down to his seatbelt and unbuckled himself, suddenly falling into the roof with a grunt. He was on his back now, and before She-Ra could unbuckle herself too, Donnelley kicked her head back into her seat once, twice, three times. The force of his kicks were fueled by whatever inexplicable hatred he’d had for the woman, and the very explainable anger at having his nose broken.

He just kept kicking, again and again, his hands on the headrests of the front seats to give him leverage and some force as he roared and grunted with each one. By the time he was done, her face was a bloody mess, her lip split completely up to her red-dripping and crooked nostrils as she sucked in haggard, wet breaths through a mouth missing teeth. The muscles in her arms were tense and her hands were quaking fists, the first sign of traumatic brain damage as her eyes lolled back. With the sight of her it all came rushing back. The gunfight. Ava dead, Laine dead. And she was the one who’d dropped Queen like a stone. “Fuck you!”

He reared back another time and jammed his heel into her face once more, and She-Ra fell limp, her ragdoll arms falling to rest against the ceiling. Donnelley was snarling, his lips still curled up, “You fuckin’ bitch. You fuckin’ bitch, you killed him, you fuckin’ bitch!” Donnelley crawled his way towards her, hellbent on exacting his revenge, “You’re not gettin’ out of this fuckin’ car alive.”

He had a sick laugh bubble up from his throat and past his clenched jaw. He bared pink and bloody teeth in a death’s head grin. Donnelley unhooked her seatbelt, the weight of her falling on top of him. He tried to get her seatbelt to reach around her neck, but the length of it was too short. He felt around his waist, and another sick and hateful chuckle came up his throat. A belt. He undid it and worked it from around his waist just as she began to stir and moan, “N-nuh. Nuh, wai’.”

“Is that what he said to you?”

“P’ease.” She pleaded through a ruined mouth, bloody drool dripping from her bloodied lips. She snorted every breath in with a noise that sounded like a runny nose, a desperate and pained moan with each exhalation. Donnelley hooked the belt through the buckle and then yanked it tight, holding her head against his shins as he pulled up with everything he had, as if he was trying to pop her Goddamn head off.

“Please?” He growled, “Please? That’s all you fuckin’ got!? Beg me, you fuckin’ bitch!”

She struggled against him, trying to get her fingers underneath the belt around her neck, slapping at his thighs, clawing at him. Her silent screams cut off and only ekeing out tiny squeaks and choking gurgles. She slowly stopped her fighting the longer Donnelley kept the pressure, the slaps becoming nothing but pats. He could see it plain as day, Ava going down, gurgling as she coughed up blood. Laine just beside him, not alive to see that he was still trying to fucking get to her when he was on the ground next to her. “You fuckin’ bitch, you fuckin’ killed them.” Donnelley whimpered, and he dragged in a shaky and quivering breath, threatening to turn into a sob. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, making everything a blur. His high voice came from quivering lips, “I hope you’re in fuckin’ hell.”

He let go of the belt after he was sure she’d never wake up again and just lay there next to her. His chest and shoulders rocked by hiccups and sobs. He’d thought it was a dream, and when Ipiktok had told him he’d dreamed of the shootout… he thought it had been a dream seeing Laine and Ava dead before he woke up with Dave pressing down on him. His crying contorted his face even as he heard the window break, felt the beads of glass pepper his flannel button-up shirt and tan Carhartt vest. “Hey! Sir! I’m here to help, okay, just come towards me.” The voice told him. When he made no move to, he felt himself being pulled out by a pair of strong hands, “Hey, man, it’s going to be okay. Alright? It’s okay, just calm down.”

He was pulled to his feet and dusted off by slapping hands. He looked at the man who’d come to his rescue, Native features and dark skin, his hair slicked back. A Good Samaritan. “What about her?” He asked.

Donnelley looked at She-Ra curled up dead on the overturned ceiling of the Jeep Liberty. He shook his head and wiped at his face, “Dead.” He muttered, “I couldn’t… I couldn’t…”

Save her. Was what he wanted to say. Couldn’t save any of them, and he bent double and sank to his haunches. He stayed there for a moment until he heard the other man call out, “Hey, why does she… oh my god…” Donnelley looked over to him with wide eyes, and the man looked back in horror at Donnelley, “You…”

“No.” Donnelley shook his head. “No, it was the crash.”

“You killed…” Donnelley and the other man held each other’s eye for a long moment. Donnelley stood, his hands balling up into fists, and then the other man was on his own feet and at a dead run for his car. Donnelley was after him, tackling him about halfway up the hill back onto the Highway. “You kill-“

Donnelley jammed a fist into his face, and another, again and again. “Why,” Donnelley said with gritted teeth, “Why, man? Why are you makin’ me fuckin’...”

The last punch cracked something, perhaps his nose, but Donnelley wasn’t paying attention to where he was punching. Just that they landed. And hard. With each punch came another utterance of why, again and again, and Donnelley turned the stranger over, hefting him up until the stranger’s back was resting against his front. He wrapped one arm around his neck, grabbing the bicep of his other arm as he rested his hand against the back of his head, “I can’t have you tellin’ no one, partner.” Donnelley suddenly dropped all of his weight into the rear-naked choke, felt and heard bones crunch. “Sorry.”

He dragged the body back to the Liberty, nabbed the man’s wallet and keys, repositioned him as best he could to make it look like an accident, and made his way to the stranger’s car. He finished putting his belt back on and opened up the door to the stranger’s white, dirt-stained Toyota 4-runner, closing it after. He drew in a breath, let it out and started the car. He didn’t go just yet, couldnt bring himself to, just sat and stared at the lines of traffic headed towards… he still didn’t fucking know. He opened up the wallet and looked at the ID, Gregory Miles, Alaska. Then whatever wallet was in his pants, Samuel Teague, Alaska again. He looked at the plates of a passing car, Alaska, and another set of Alaska plates on another car.

He was still here. Still somewhere in Alaska. His eyes went to the rearview as he adjusted it, and then he saw it there. A child’s car seat, empty. He swallowed down a lump in his throat the set his lip to quivering.

He took the hand holding the mirror and smashed it into the steering wheel in a moment of violence, focusing instead on the pain in his knuckles than Laine’s dead eyes pleading for help that never came. Just pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, shifting into drive and merging onto the Highway...///

>...///

Sobel heaved in a breath like he’d just come up to the surface after almost drowning. His shoulders heaved, and he looked at the man across from him. Bearded and scarred. The man stared back, eyes dark and angry. Sobel spoke, “It’s you.”

Donnelley nodded once.

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

Poker looked around at all the carnage, “I’m green.” When no other bullets were whizzing past and no signs of a sniper were had, he shook his head at it all, “We’re clear.”

Queen. Maui. Even goddamn Tex. Poker walked past Dave, not even glancing his direction. At least he’d waited until the shooting stopped to mourn. That’s really all one could do. His eyes went to Laine’s corpse, staring at it for a moment. Then his eyes tracked Tex’s way. His gurgling, but weak breathing made the faintest sound. His fingers clutched at the dirt uselessly. Then nothing. He looked at where his eyes were pointed last and frowned, leaving Tex and Laine, and Maui, and the rest. “On me. We still got the Shaman to recover.”

Ghost joined Poker, leaving Lucky to have a moment alone. He didn't understand loss. Didn't understand grieving. But he knew that until Lucky finished doing what he was doing he would be useless. He allowed a few moments to pass.

"Lucky," he finally growled. "Let's go."

Dave held Ava until Ghost called him. Then he took a long, shuddering breath. He cupped her cheek, stroked it with his thumb, and whispered quiet words to her, too low for the others to hear, before placing a final soft kiss on her forehead and lowering her to the ground. He felt empty, hollowed out, and as he stood and looked at the blasted bodies around him he found that the only thing he really felt was hate. Deep, burning.

When he joined the others it was with a furnace behind his blue eyes.

"Let's go," he said softly.

Poker looked at the last two surviving men he could call his team. He looked past them, at all the bodies. At the people who’d simply come out to watch the firefight with implacably straight faces. Even children. One, maybe 12 years at the most, strayed too close to the carnage, stepping over one body to get to Tex. He bent down to grab something, a gun, maybe. Poker wordlessly raised his rifle and pointed it at the boy’s center mass. His face as stone cold as the Inuit peoples’. The boy caught him, froze. Then stood and walked back to his porch. Poker trailed him until he disappeared behind his front door and then lowered his weapon. “Okay.” He said, “Let’s go.”

They went down the road, following Ipiktok’s footsteps. The neat line down the dirt streets that would lead them to wherever he was shivering and hiding like a rat. After some time, being looked at by townsfolk, and expecting even more shooters to jump out of an alleyway at any second, they finally found him. It was roundabout, a huge pointless circle he’d made. Running down the street at first, then doubling back behind the houses just to get back to Yutu’s ruined house. Yutu and Charles’ bodies were gone. Dragged somewhere, and the trail led back down to the makeshift bedroom that Yutu had set Ipiktok up with.

There the bodies were, stripped naked. Something drawn or written on them in cuts that didn’t bleed. He sat there, naked as well, and swaying with his face turned up towards the ceiling, muttering something.

Ghost's rifle snapped up, covering the shaman. He hated witches. They cheated. They killed people they shouldn't be able to kill, turned the age-old contest of arms on its head. His finger curled on his trigger but he held his fire, waiting for a hostile act or word from Poker.

Dave joined him in his vigilance, looking at Ipiktok's face through the red-dot of his AK. Unlike the operator he was barely suppressing his shiver of disgust at what he saw, and the suspicions floating through his mind. Ipiktok was their asset, the whole reason they were here, but he'd managed to rabbit the minute bullets flew without even having a gun pointed his way.

"Was it you?" Dave growled. "Swear to God, I'll fuckin' gut you slow. Answer me!"

Ipiktok stopped his muttering, slowly opened his eyes as he looked back down to see the trio pointing their weapons at him. He looked to Dave, “Was what me?”

“You fuckin’ know what.” Poker growled, “You got a lot of people killed. My fucking team, my fucking team.”

Poker inched closer, but if Ipiktok was scared, he didn’t show it. Sad, maybe. But sadness and regret for selling them out wouldn’t get him any mercy, “I could always dump some rounds in your face and tell them you reached for my gun.”

“And what would that leave us?” Ipiktok asked, like addressing the anger of a child, “It was not me, I didn’t sell your people out. I told Donnelley-“

“I’m not him!” Poker roared, “So tell me, before I have Ghost rip your fucking head off.”

Ipiktok sighed, closing his eyes again and muttering more incomprehensible nonsense. Then he spoke low, “Forgive me.”

His hand shot towards a knife and before anyone could even get a shot off, Ipiktok plunged it into his own chest, dead center where some rune had been cut, until Poker on reflex squeezed off a tight triplet in his center mass. Ipiktok fell back, dead and still. Poker lowered his rifle, “Alright.” He said, looking at the three bodies, “Let’s get to the runway and wait for CORAL NOMAD. The real ones.”

Poker didn’t wait for acknowledgement. Just turned and left, the stairs creaking beneath his boots. They made it to the runway, taking shelter near a building off to the side of it. Just as they’d thought, there were no helicopters. The CORAL NOMAD they’d thought were here for them were fakes, though who’d sent them was a mystery. Whatever UMBRA knew lay with Dave, and Poker knew that Dave wasn’t in the talking mood. It would be an hour or so until CORAL NOMAD would show up, they saw them on the horizon, three black dots. Two Blackhawk helicopters and a V-22 Osprey with their rotors beating the air.

It took them another hour to load everything. The dead, the documents and weapons of Yutu’s house. They burned down the house, the official story probably something about Yutu leaving his gas stove on. No one would believe Noatak if they told anyone what had really happened. It was a quiet ride. The dead were in body bags in the Osprey with Ghost, Poker and Dave. “A lot of fucking paperwork.” Poker said.

"And training," Ghost grunted. "Recruiting. We have slots to fill."

He threw a small nod at Dave, who sat silently at the far end of the Osprey. He'd insisted on handling UMBRA himself, bagging each one carefully. He'd carried Ava aboard alone, and now sat alone beside her, the hat she'd gifted him in his hands. He was getting blood on it, but he didn't care.

Back at the other end of the aircraft Ghost looked across at Poker. "So? What do you think? He kept his head in the fight. Didn't break down until after."

Poker looked where Ghost had nodded. Dave. Lucky. Poker figured Lucky had earned the nickname after this. He didn’t have any ties, at least none that Poker knew of. In short, he’d be perfect once he got some training and some more killing under his belt. “I’d rather have a man who doesn’t break down at all, but I forgive him.” Poker shrugged, “I floated the offer. Up to him. I didn’t force anyone onto this fucking team.”

Brain, Maui, Queen, Tex. And many more names went through Poker’s head. He remembered how each one had died, remembered too all the careers long and short they had with THUNDER. Death wasn’t a big thing around here, “Question is, what do you think.”

"He can learn," Ghost said. It was decent praise from the big man. "He's not there yet, but I've spun him up. He listens. And he can kill."

Ghost sniffed, thinking. "Not sure about the long-term, though. Have to harden him up. I don't know if he's the kind to crack down the road and eat his gun. But he's good with explosives. Be useful until he does it."

Poker nodded. He’d known a few who’d done that. No shame, of course, what use was wasting time looking down on the weak when there was always more work to be done. Best to just leave them as bones in the ground, let the ones who’d make it make it. It’s what kept Poker alive all these years, and case in point, he still had Ghost with him. “Maybe. Of course, no telling when he will. Could just fucking do it in the bathroom when we get back.” Poker frowned in thought, weighing Dave’s grief and loss like a stock broker analyzes his portfolio, “We’ll keep an eye on him.”

Ghost nodded, leaning back against the wall of the Osprey. The shitty troop seat made his back hurt, though he'd never let it show.

"Should we make the pitch?" He asked.

Poker hadn’t taken his eyes off Dave. He took his moment, “Sure.”

>BLACKBOX
>MEETING ROOM
>7SEP2019
>0030...///

They all sat in silence. From the time they first came in from the outside world into the BLACKBOX, to the time they sat in the meeting room alone. Not a word spoken. Not even when Christian Greedy walked into the room, looking about as forlorn as Dave was. Even then, they all sat in silence. Greedy stood in the front of the room, his arms crossed as they all stewed. “Is this it?” He looked at the three people in front of him, not angry or arrogant like he was before, “Three people?”

He nodded as they kept silent, “Okay.” He shrugged, “So, we checked the bodies. The NOMAD team, or whatever the fuck they were trying to pass off as one.”

“Tattoos and features, all Slavic. Russian or not, they weren’t American. This only adds to the mounting evidence that there is a mole- or several- among the Program’s people.” Greedy spoke like it took every ounce of his being to not give up right then, “We’ve brought in Counterintelligence from the Program, leveraged every fucking favor the Directors could to focus on this with everyone from the fucking FBI, CIA, DIA, EPA and the fucking FDA, whatever acronym you fucking want. There are Russians in Alaska.”

Greedy had the first sign of anger on his face in a quivering frown, threatening to become a snarl, “We’re going to kill every single fucking one of them and let them know they’re not welcome here.” Greedy looked at them all, what meager team they were, “Seeing as you…”

Greedy shook his head, looking down at his feet before returning his eyes to them, “Seeing as you are what amounts as the only Wetwork Team or Working Group we have in Alaska at the moment… you will be my…” he made a fist and shook it, “My instruments of this righteous fucking vengeance.”

The anger guttered out as soon as it came, “The other part of this plan is going to have to wait until the other asset I’ve requested gets here. I’ve got no ETA, so you’re being put on standby.” He looked away from them, clearing his throat in his fist, “Make use of the facility. Any questions?”

Ghost stood to leave, then stopped when Dave spoke up.

"What's going to happen to…" Dave's voice broke and he cleared his throat. "What happens to my team? To their…"

He paused and collected himself. There was pain in his eyes, but he clenched his fist. "I wanna know what happens next. To the bodies, their stuff. Their families."

Greedy looked at Dave and knew that pain. No matter how many people he’d lost before, it never dulled the pain. Only thing a man could do was sit and drink and think, but not too hard. It’d kill you. And here they were, him and Dave. Two men who’d lost all their friends, “Officially…” Greedy began, “Messages will be sent down the wire, notifying their home agencies of their deaths in the line of duty. That’s no lie.”

“Their families, if they have any, will receive notification. Bodies will be transported to the appropriate burial grounds.” Greedy stopped himself there, then continued, “Unofficially, due to the nature of our work, we can’t allow their remains to pose a threat to the outside world. No telling what kind of unnatural or otherwise pathogen or virus, or… any other kind of incursion vector could be on them.”

Dave felt another pang of grief and looked down at the table. There wouldn't even be bodies in graves for him to visit. He stared at the cheap faux-wood and then stood, heading silently for the door. Ghost watched him pass, then looked at Poker.

"I'll be at the gym."

>ANCHORAGE, AK
>7SEP2019
>1930...///

A woman in a navy blue jacket slid a twenty dollar bill across a sticker riddled counter, almost avoiding eye-contact with the cashier. She closed up her purse and bagged the items herself, receiving the change and sticking it in a pocket.

“There you go, take care ma’am”

“You too” She smiled delicately at the man before exiting the gas station. She sank into the seat of a beaten silver SUV and thrummed the wheel as she started it. It didn’t get better than being paid to cruise around unfamiliar places while blasting music. Still, tension was building everyday her objective was unclear.

A codename and a touring schedule was all she gleaned from this assignment. Some Intel. It looked like a snail-mail vacation package with a promotion code. She had been in Anchorage more than a week, each day bringing a new prize in the box. She couldn’t help but feel like she was being hazed. This seemed like a single stage operation on home turf, but the details came in dubious fragments as if they were waiting for something.

In the passenger seat was a heavier coat that she pushed to the floor. Lanyard-bound credentials came loose. ‘PRESS. Priscilla West. EPA Photography correspondent’. A far cry from her real name. Bajbala, having been used strictly by one friend in D.C. it was almost more foreign to her than any alias.

An oversized envelope still lay on the seat with the tab marked boldly, ‘D&D’ for digest and destroy. It wasn’t there before. The Anchorage liaison must be in his heyday. She tore the envelope open and peeked at the contents. There were several photos of faces within a concise dossier, not immediately discernible, and a briefing document —third one of the trip. She closed it back up and left the station, it would be dark soon.

Bajbala drove north of Anchorage proper and crossed the Knik river towards the safehouse she was instructed to use. It was up a gravel path in the foothills, bringing in a good view of the city and surrounding mountains. The tires slowly crunched to a stop at the edge of the gravel road. She parked where the trees broke into a large vista and started thumbing through the documents in detail.

On loose-leaf was an address with approach instructions. Secure safehouse equipment prior to obsoletion. Live drop September 10th with a time window. Vehicle drop and footing to an old apartment complex. Double follow mitigation. Within the dossier were three men. Two were stamped with execute authority, a critical Russian agent and his de facto muscle. Other faces were linked in their pages but not priority.

The third dossier struck her as odd. An American. ‘J.D. CIA’ black-flagged with a follow-on objective pending an investigation notice,’...confirm death’ freshly dated 7SEP2019. Bajbala suspected he was something other than CIA, possibly linked with the former. Unusual but within her repertoire. She’s been an instrument to US forces abroad and now is being used to query the ranks within. It’s not often Uncle assigns domestic cases to her lot of agents. Before she could look further the supersonic crackle of afterburner rolled down from the frosted mountains. A small formation of jets passed to finish an exercise and set down at Elmendorf Air Base.

Bajbala stepped out of the vehicle to peer out into the valley. She clenched her jacket shut against the brisk wind that launched itself up against the hillside. Her black hair struggled to break free from the loosely worn scrunchy. Each passing minute the sun vanished further. To the east, the eerie beauty of the alpenglow began to melt into the darkened sky. Then the shadow of the mountains seemed to crawl from the water over the city and up her skin.

>THREE DAYS LATER...///
>SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE ANCHORAGE, AK
>10SEP2019
>0800...///

The THUNDER playlist whispered some song on shuffle from the speakers, Poker didn’t know which. Mostly didn’t care, just cared that at this point it was tradition and he’d begrudgingly bonded with the dead. Ghost was in the seat beside him and Dave was sat in the back of the Dodge minivan. It wasn’t a glamorous Not-a-Fed chariot, but nobody ever expected death to come out the sliding door of a soccer mom’s carriage. “Shouldn’t be far now.”

He’d said that ten miles ago too, but nobody said anything. Queen would’ve, Maui would’ve laughed. Tex would’ve… done whatever Tex felt like doing that day. At this point, Lucky was starting to remind him of that brooding fuck. He guessed that’s how lone survivors were, grizzled and brooding, dark, mysterious. Fucking insufferable. “Lucky, you ready for this?”

Dave nodded, his eyes glued to the passing scenery. They were plainclothes for this run, which still meant his trademark flannel and cargo pants, just with a covert vest under the shirt instead of his rig. The rig was there, though, plate carrier and pistol belt both. They rode in the floorboard next to him, beside the AK he was now lugging everywhere they went, unless orders told him not to.

“I’m ready,” he said, realizing a moment too late that they probably couldn’t see him nodding.

He was ready. The weight of the subcompact Sig in his waistband was a comfort, the Buck knife at his belt freshly honed. He’d taken one of the frags off his vest and slipped it into his cargo pocket. If things went sideways, which they always seemed to, Dave was ready.

“We shouldn’t need the long guns, but we all know how these things go sometimes.” The most ready example still hanging over them after these few days, “Looks like it’s here.”

The silver SUV was by itself on a turn-off. The gravel lot was nigh untouched, just like the road it was on. They hadn’t seen another vehicle pass them or come up behind them the entire drive. Poker didn’t bother with the blinker as he turned off the road and stopped a respectable distance away from the SUV, “Asset’s supposed to be here.” Poker nodded at the SUV, “Be real awkward if that ain’t them.”

Ghost eyed the vehicle, his hand on the grip of his Glock 19. The suppressor rode in a pocket of his cargo pants; he was ready to go loud.

“Fuck them,” he grunted. “Smile and wave, shoot them if we need to.”

He glanced back at Dave to see if the other man was paying attention and got a hard glare for his comment. Good, at least he was awake.

“Asset is female, right?” Ghost knew she was, but he was antsy. He wasn’t looking for new friends after their last op. Something stank, he wasn’t sure what it was, and it had him more on edge than usual.

“Dossier says so, briefing had it that way too.” Poker spoke, still staring at the SUV with his hand on his Glock, riding in the holster stuffed between the driver seat and center console, “Supposed to drive her to the place, get her On Target. Make sure she gets the job done, and come in with guns blazing if things go south.”

“Said she’d be alone too. Lone Wolf type bullshit.” Everyone knew Poker’s feelings about lone wolves.

“‘Til we meet her buddies,” Dave growled from the back seat.

“She fucks around we’ll drop her,” Ghost said. He glared at the SUV. “We shouldn’t even be playing taxi. We’re fucking THUNDER.”

In the woodline on the far side of the SUV Bajbala lowered a monocular, satisfied with the first glance of the minivan. The vehicle had the right plates and she was expecting the 3 stoic forms, all business. She wagered there were some big dicks behind that tinted glass considering they drove up in that thing. The brief mentioned a high risk compromise with courtesy of russian activities. If it was going to be a gang-bang the only thing waiting for them was a 30 meter cloud of CS and smoke rigged to blow from modules beneath the vehicle.

Bajbala emerged from the woods while configuring the settings on a Nikon as if unaware, a collapsed tripod was slung over her back. She paused for a moment in view some meters from the other side of the SUV and acted surprised when she looked up to the van. She tongued the gum around in her mouth and hoped they were American. Just a warm cheesy smile and a wave, the other hand clasping a keychain trigger taped to the camera that dangled from her neck.

Poker watched her approach from the woods, growling and kicking himself in the ass mentally. How he’d fallen for that and didn’t see her anywhere, assumed she was in the goddamn car. It took some effort from him to not punch his steering wheel. Or just shoot through the windshield and tag her in the forehead.

"I'm point." Ghost spat his mantra and then left the vehicle, hauling his bulk upright and then taking a few steps away so Poker could move or dismount according to his whims. Dave went with him, putting his AK on the seat and then lingering close enough to his door to snag it if need arose.

Ghost eyed the small woman for a moment. He was 240 pounds stacked in a dark grey hoodie, his face a pair of Oakleys set in a thick copper beard. He contrasted with the leaner Lucky, whose eyes were wary, untrusting.

"Good morning. You should be careful hiding like that. Lots of bears in these woods." His Pashto was clearly intelligible, if accented. The grammar was solid, his tone modulated to his best approximation of 'friendly but authoritative'.

Bajbala raised her brow at the first man out. You don’t get a body like that in this line of work unless you’re a real hitter. The kind with no other life, no family, a living weapon too honed to acknowledge they were part of some functioning human civilization. The other two men remained vigilant but visible, they looked American at least. They didn’t trust this encounter any more than she did.

“Says the bear.”

She eyed Ghost as she further approached, slipping her finger off the gas trigger. Within a few meters of Ghost she continued in an expressive, near mocking pashtun response, “Don’t worry, the eagles see them.” With one hand she raises the camera to her eye, pointedly at the bear man, and makes the shutter sound with her mouth, still smirking.

“What, are they fucking flirting?” Poker muttered just loud enough for Dave to hear. His hand tightened on the grip of his Glock when Bajbala pointed the camera at Ghost. Knowing these CIA types- the real ones, not their shooters like Tex- he knew anything could be a fucking weapon. One pulls out a lighter and it’s a goddamned flamethrower, “Hurry the fuck up, Ghost.”

Poker thumbed his throat mic for his team to hear, “Are we shooting people?”

Ghost gave the 'asset' a long stare, tensing slightly when the camera rose. He smirked to mask the brief tension, giving her the once-over behind his shades.

"I'll sign it later," he growled, then touched his mic. "We're good."

He jerked his head at the minivan, his voice all business in a heartbeat, and stayed there to watch her board the van before getting in himself. "Mount up. You're in the back. I'm Ghost, team lead is Poker. Lucky is in the back with you."

"Priscilla." She flashed her press card from under her shirt, looking at it like she needed to check, then passed him by. Each member of the escort looked cautious as if working in a warzone. The unease was contagious. Her only other possession was a handbag which was tossed into the far seat behind Poker, she gave a nod to Lucky then climbed in.

“Please,” Poker turned his dagger-eyes on this Priscilla in the rearview mirror, “Tell me you were given a fucking gun.”

“I’ve got three of them right here!” She exclaimed proudly about the team. Bajbala dropped the tripod to the floor and felt the van shift under the muscle of the other two. She went right into it, “So, I know there have been a few changes to the September seventh brief, do you know the way?” She asked Poker, leaning up between the seats.

“We’re one part taxi and one part QRF. I really hope you don’t need it.” He eyed Priscilla, she the only one not knowing what happened last time someone needed rescuing, “That part is unchanged. Program CI pulled the nearby cell towers and even ran some drones over Anchorage. Multiple coded messages are coming from a string of cellphones, likely burners all for one or two people.”

“Location data was ran through a sieve by the computer nerds and puts the targets in a trailer park. It’s smart, kinda, low-visibility but a fortress a double-wide trailer does not make.” Poker snorted and shook his head, “Fucking Russians. We’re supposed to sneak over, confirm the targets are there. Snatch and grab, liquidate in another place, preferably no witnesses.”

Poker looked at Ghost, then back at Priscilla, “Those just complicate things.”

“You and Lucky are going into the trailer park. Ghost and I are sitting in the van and looking pretty until you get back, or until we hear gunshots.” Poker finished, “Should be an easy day.”

Ghost shot Poker a knowing look. The new meat needed to be broken in. Lucky was still UMBRA, on paper, but they had a roster to fill.

“Still think it should be me going in,” he said. “We don’t need a new kid cutting his teeth on an op like this.”

“I’ve got it,” Dave growled. His Arkansas drawl was heavy. “If there’s Russians need killin’, I’m doin’ it.”

The southern man seemed to glow with ardor that reminded Bajbala of when she put a gun to use the first time; however, he was likely much less naive and hopefully more competent. He looked the part.

“Me and Lucky in the flesh then. You. Are a mountain, sir.” She motioned to Ghost with her palm. “May be a trailer park but it has ordinary, familiar, families running around, it’s right off the main roads. If they have any sort of surveillance you won’t catch them without the spotlight.”

Ghost shifted his weight, making sure that his shoulders bunched beneath the fabric of his hoodie.

“If you’re sure you’ve got it, Lucky,” he said.

“I said I’ve got it,” Dave snapped. His blue eyes flashed beneath the brim of his hat. It was the only thing at odds with the rest of his outfit, a tan ballcap with a blue brim, and an image of an identical hat on the front. A gift from Ava, his hat-hat.

Ghost shrugged. “Fine. Handle it.”

Truth be told, he wanted Lucky to do this. He needed to see the man in action. To know he hadn’t broken. Attachments weren’t something Ghost had a good grasp of, but he had seen enough to know that men who’d lost someone sometimes cracked. It made them a liability. A useful one, at times, when that crack left them with fewer scruples and a lack of fear, but still a liability.

“See?” Poker said, shrugging, “Our little boy’s got it.”

Poker looked to Bajbala, “So, we’ll need to find the controls for the cameras, or just cut the fucking power to the whole place.” Poker shrugged, “Do it at night, cut the power just as you two go in, bring them out wriggling.”

“Or just scrub the tapes for the whole day, make it look like a software fuck-up. Anybody bring any gadgets for that, or are me and Ghost going to pry open a panel and do some fuckery with wire cutters?” Poker asked.

Bajbala chimed in. “I’ve watched the site these past three days and it seems likely they have an auxiliary power source. I’d expect the cameras feed to another site as well. We should look to take him outside of the compound unless we want more Russians for Lucky's appetite.” She produced a photograph of a white toyota camry from her bag with a mild tint and grey interior. There was a small logo printed in the rear, a company vehicle, ‘Breger Pipe & Cable Solutions’.

"This vehicle here has come these days a little past noon to carry the target to some business elsewhere, I don’t know the route but it could be routine." She shrugged and nibbled up a fresh stick of gum then extended the pack out to the hard men.

"So let's take 'em in the car." Dave gave the gum an untrusting glance, then shook his head. "We could tail 'em, but they might have more guys wherever they're goin'. If you know what direction they turn we could just wait on the side of the road an' then broadside their ass when they pull up."

Ghost looked back at him, then at the other two. He simply ignored the gum; he didn't take candy from CIA strangers.

"Could work," he said. "Or we follow them to a stop, pull up beside them. Shoot the driver, grab the passenger. Like we did down South a few years back."

“Let’s do it.” Poker nodded, “You up for that, Priscilla?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just shifted into drive and put them back on the road. Poker wasn’t looking for applause or agreement, he was looking for any way to kill the people that’d taken his team. Ordered them killed like pigs. Dying was an inevitability in this kind of life. They just made the mistake of not killing all of them, and they were about to realize what happens when you fucked with Poker.

The brutes were going to get her in trouble. There weren’t many options as it was a time sensitive target.

“That would be fine. I have to say the directive emphasizes discretion, so I hope you animals don’t run in dicks too hard” She shouldered her handbag and sat back looking at each of the men. Dave was a handsome guy in a very normal kind of way, so normal he’d hold a cover well if his ‘appetite’ wasn’t mainstay. She couldn’t get a good look at Poker, just his eyes bouncing in the rear-view.

“We can be discreet,” Dave said as he checked that his AK was loaded and ready. He’d folded the stock to keep it mobile in the vehicle, and as if to emphasize his point he took a suppressor from a pouch on his belt-rig and began installing it on the weapon. It wouldn’t change things by more than 30 decibels or so, but it was the thought that counted in his opinion.

Bajbala didn’t want to ruin his fun, nor could she. It was their team, their op. She was there to fill in the cracks, round out the team’s capabilities. It may not even be permanent.

“I believe you.” She said incredulously.

The mornings were taking longer to warm as the Alaskan autumn fast approached. The trees passing either side of the van well turned into a palette of yellows on jade. It was beautiful countryside, if not foreboding as the grey clouds of the wet season fill the sky.

>1150...///

The tinted windows of the Dodge minivan kept people from seeing inside of it as they passed. Not that many were paying attention. In these parts of town people were more likely to keep their eyes pointed at their laces rather than risk getting into some kind of fight if they looked at someone wrong. Pedestrians walked past talking and laughing, or just counting cracks in the pavement, not knowing there were four people inside the minivan not five feet away clutching guns.

They were waiting for that Toyota Camry, Breger Pipe & Cable Solutions emblazoned on it. Poker checked his watch, “10 ‘til.”

His hand went back to resting on the compact MP7, his other holding a half-eaten protein bar. He took another bite, “Once we see the pickup, we’ll tail them for a mile or so and jump these fuckers.”

“Remember, it’s a snatch-and-grab,” Ghost said, more for Lucky than for Priscilla or Poker. “We take them here, then put them down somewhere discreet. If we can. If they make it hard-”

“We kill ‘em,” Dave finished. “All of ‘em.”

Priscilla put the camera strap back around her neck and fastened it snugly to her side behind the handbag. “Looks like he’s running late today.” The Russian safehouse was barely visible from the van. Several rows of stained trailers and junk sat between them. It was a big park for a modest city. “If there are more than the two of them we’ll need you, Ghost.” She said chewing her gum. One gun per body. Life or death, the Russian wouldn’t go down easy with numbers.

“Just tell me who to hurt,” Ghost said as he press-checked the chamber on his G19. Dave gave him a look; the big man wasn’t usually so talkative.

“So we’re just grabbin’ ‘em,” he said, more to remind himself than to go over the plan again. “Wave the gun around, hope we don’t hafta shoot ‘em. Yet.”

“People fight less when you take out a knee,” Ghost interjected helpfully. “Try that if they struggle too much.”

Poker was ready to put rounds through the windshield. The engine block would take it better than him if it took some bullets, and he wasn’t going out today. There was retaliation on the schedule. He thought fondly of Mexico, the time THUNDER had when they had a full roster before the CSAR Op staged out of the BLACKBOX. At least this run would be easier, less variables. Except for the one. He glanced at Priscilla, doubting that was her real name, and put his eyes back on the road.

He cracked a grin, then his grin grew when he counted heads in the approaching white Toyota Camry, “Breger Pipe and Cable Solutions,” he checked his watch, “On schedule. Two heads inside, making three when we ruin their day.”

Dave reached into his shirt, briefly fingering a St. Michael medallion he’d taken from Ava’s personal effects. He held it for a moment, then tucked it away and racked the charging handle on his AK.

“Let’s fuckin’ go,” he growled.

Priscilla put up her monocular towards the vehicle. It sat high, a light load on the suspension. Low tint and no modifications. Small arms were expected, but probably not on their laps. Something big happened the other day, out of her sector, but the ripples pulled her in.

The car rolled past some family enjoying the last throes of summer before their children would be back to school then parked, partially obscured. One of the men approached the building, disappearing through the front door. Moments later he returned with who looked like the target.

“Tall, scruffy, It’s Belyaev.” She confirmed.

“Are these the ones?” Dave asked suddenly. He looked into the rearview, seeking Poker’s gaze. “These the guys behind it?”

Poker looked into Dave’s eyes through the rearview mirror. He held his gaze, searching his eyes for any cracks or faults in his conviction. Finding none, he nodded. Just once, “Few of them.”

As Belyaev and his drivers mounted up in the Camry, Poker watched them leave. He counted to ten and then pulled into the road just behind them. They hit a stop sign and then took off from a rolling stop, Poker doing the same after seeing no other cars. They took a left, continued on straight and then took another left. There were other cars around them in traffic now, and they were all stopped at a red light at a four way intersection. Without warning, the Camry burst into movement, cutting a turn right and slamming the brakes in a gas station parking lot just to the right side of the street on the corner of the intersection.

Poker furrowed his brows, “What the fuck.” He spat, “What the fuck, did they clock us?”

He looked at the red light and then back at Belyaev’s Camry, “Take them at the gas station, or try to double back and find them again?” Not giving chance for an answer, he spoke again, “I vote now.”

“Now,” Dave said instantly. He snatched up his AK and gave it a quick check. It was a last-moment decision, but he saw no reason to be subtle. They were going after three men in a public place. If people were going to see them with guns regardless, he’d rather bring what he was most confident with.

“Now,” Ghost agreed. As Dave made his preparations Ghost was making his own, unbuckling his seatbelt and making one more check of his Glock.

Priscilla was wondering who the fuck she was paired with. “They are on high alert, it could be counter-surveillance, it doesn’t mean we’re burned. Your call team-lead.” The intersection could spell trouble for them down the road, but she could see the burning in their eyes and it was more an opportunity than getting into a fight in a community.

Poker, growled, looking once more from the stop light to the Camry. He smacked the steering wheel and unbuckled his seatbelt, “Fuck it, let’s go.”

He flipped the same maneuver they did, squealing into the gas station parking lot and slamming the brakes on the driver side of the Camry, the suspension rocking forward. Poker made his move as quick as he could, untethered by his seatbelt already undone and moving to his left, the red dot on his MP7 hovering over the driver’s face, “Hands, hands!”

Ghost and Dave dismounted, splitting so as to not present a single clumped target. Ghost’s Glock was leveled at the HVT himself, the sights settled just even with the bridge of his nose.

“Hands! Hands, motherfucker!” Ghost roared.

Behind him Dave raised his rifle, sighted, and without a word cut a burst through the driver’s side window, scattering brain, blood, and tempered glass across the inside of the vehicle.

Priscilla was already moving slyly across the front of the car with a startled expression as if one of several onlookers to the men that burst from the van on the target’s side. When Lucky opened up on the driver, the passenger went into a panic and fumbled with something before trying to open his door. To his surprise she did it for him.

Patmonov, the babysitter, gripped a Sig tightly in his left hand, unable to get a proper hold in the shock. Shit was already out of control. Priscilla pulled free the integrally suppressed Makorov frame from her handbag and granted Ghost’s wish. Not even close to a djinn, she failed to cripple the Russian’s knees. Instead two rounds pulped into his thigh and groin. He grit his teeth and went red, buckling over out of the vehicle. Priscilla kicked the handgun free from reaching distance and stepped back holding the barrel pointed towards his sucking dome against the soiled pavement. Bright red spilled rapidly from the pant-tears around his knees.

“Not a good day to be Russian, friend.” She uttered in Russky.

“Jesus,” Poker spat watching what was already cutting it close spiral downward into an actual fucking shit-show. He lowered his weapon, pointing at Belyaev still in the back with his two hands shaking and eyes frantically flicking between all of them, “Get him in the fucking van!”

Ghost complied, snatching open the back door and collaring Belyaev. He hauled the man from the vehicle and dealt him a rather casual elbow in the chin before shoving his Glock into the small of his back.

“Walk,” he snapped. He glared over at Priscilla, who still stood near her squirming and moaning victim. “Will you fucking put him down? Lucky, get your stupid ass in the van!”

Dave complied easily, waiting until Belyaev had been shoved into the vehicle before getting in after him, shoving the muzzle of his AK into the man’s gut to keep him compliant as he sat down.

Priscilla planted three more bullets in his chest, a pool formed around him and his hands went limp over his popped groin. The Station was now vacant of scattered pedestrians, some leaving their cars behind to flee from this side of the street. No doubt the police would be here shortly. She set in a new magazine.

“I’m thrashing the footage.” She was curt, looking at Poker then hastily entered the gas station. Immediately she trained her muzzle on the man behind the register who seemed too busy cowering to be a threat. “Stay!” she commanded. Another person ran around an aisle and knocked several things down before running out of the store. Priscilla passed through the employee swing door and found the office. She snickered in relief seeing a glowing laptop running the security system; it was all in there. The machine was easy to rip from its wires. She then sprinted out to the van and slammed the side door shut.

“We’re clear.” With the laptop tucked under her arm, she started blowing a bubble.

“Better fucking be.” Poker stomped the gas and they came squealing back out of the parking lot of the gas station. They fishtailed back into the road and sped away as fast as the 4L V6 could throw them down the road. He’d only had Priscilla around for a couple hours, and he already didn’t like her.

Dave. Lucky, he was starting to really get stuck in his craw. There was a time and a place for high-vis shit, and this was not it. No doubt Ghost would handle Lucky. He could already hear the sirens somewhere far off, not knowing if it was police or an ambulance. “Who the fuck told you to shoot?” Poker growled, “Goddamnit…”

"What other options we got?" Dave snarled back. His blood was up, heart pounding, his hand a vice around the grip of his rifle. "We got three guys, an' only two of us back here. We gonna take the time to pat 'em all down real good, make sure nobody's got a holdout? We gonna leave one and hope he don't follow us?"

He jammed the muzzle of his gun into Belyaev's gut, more from frustration than to shut him up.

"An' we're already jumpin' out of the car with a crowd around us, wavin' pistols and screamin' hands hands. You think a few gunshots is gettin' any different a reaction?" He was not quite yelling now, his voice harsh. "They killed our goddamn people! We should be guttin' every one of 'em!"

Poker jerked his steering wheel and the van’s suspension rocked left as he turned right, “I don’t know where the fuck Tex got you from.”

"Arkansas."

"Shut the fuck up!" Ghost finally roared. It was rare that he actually shouted. It was rare that he had to. "You're done! No more talking! You fucked up and we'll discuss it later, now shut your goddamn suck and watch the detainee!"

Priscilla sat quietly chewing her gum, looking out for police or any other pursuers. Lucky may have shit the bed but it was Poker's team. He should know his guys, should've listened. They looked more like wolves snapping at each other because there wasn't enough meat. She did get the feeling earlier this was personal.

"Get us off the main roads" she interrupted. "What's the plan Team Lead?" Another bubble, getting her mind off the tension in the van.

Belyaev grunted with every pothole as the glock pressed into his bruised ribs, his jaw clenched tightly. She might not have had to shoot his partner if she didn't think he was already going to die.

“Area Kilo,” Poker said, in the middle of doing just what Priscilla had mentioned. This wasn’t his first snatch and grab. Once they were a good enough distance away he cut a left and doubled back, and then another left in an effort to head south towards the objective area that they’d use to interrogate and liquidate Belyaev, Codename BLACKFISH.

He’d angled them down towards the Highway, trying to get back onto Seward Hwy and then turn off from there, wait for things to die down by nightfall and then continue to the safehouse. They’d gotten to the last few stoplights on the edge of Anchorage, glowing red. Poker looked in the rearview as the sound of sirens grew louder, seeing the lights of a cruiser bearing down on them, “If he stops on us, let him have it.”

"Done," Ghost said. Dave looked alarmed.

"Wait, we're-"

"Shut up," Ghost snarled at him. "Watch the prisoner, shut your fucking mouth. I'm cleaning up your mess, so just sit there and fucking deal with it."

"Hold on." She said abruptly. "They don't have us yet." Poker had at least been driving carefully to avoid any more attention.

"If we make an encounter they'll have another ping on us." Ahead of them was a small plaza with a big Long John Silvers sign at the entrance. It didn't look too crowded. She didn't want anyone dead that didn't need to be. "Park in there, I'll try and deal with him." She pointed out with an arm past Poker's shoulder.

"He doesn't want it, you can put him down." She reasoned.

Ghost growled but slipped his pistol into the pocket of his hoodie.

"Lucky, hide your rifle," he said. "And keep that fucking Russian quiet."

Dave leaned down and stowed his AK. He had picked up on the tone in the vehicle, and knew he'd fucked up. Now a man's life was on the line just for doing his job. He bit back his regret, clamped it down hard. Then he drew his knife.

It was a workman's tool, a Buck 105 with a 6 inch blade and a grip of stacked leather, worn from over a decade's use in the Ozarks. The blade was slim from hundreds of sharpenings, gently feathered and sharp as a razor.

"You keep quiet," Dave growled to Belyaev. He slipped his arm around the man, slid the blade beneath his shirt and pressed it to his liver. "One sound. Just one. I swear to God you'll bleed to death before the last round's fired." He leaned a little closer, his blue eyes hard as stone. "An' I'll make it hurt."

Belyaev swallowed hard. Poker made sure he didn’t look in the direction of the cop as he depressed the gas pedal and sent them casually ambling into the parking lot of the restaurant. He kept the engine on after he’d found a parking space and laid a hand on the butt of his Glock, watching through the rearview and side mirror for the cop following them there. Poker reached for the police scanner and switched it on.

“11-54, Long John Silvers on Walter J Hickel. Vehicle is Dodge Grand Caravan, Silver. Possible relation to 10-71 at Tesco. Please advise.”

“Do not approach, additional units are en route now.”

"Fuckin great guys." She lauded. "Team Lead trade places with me and everyone stay down. Ghost I need you with me." She was already clambering to squeeze into the driver's seat past Poker with her camera dangling. She pulled off her jacket revealing a loose cashmere lightweight, then fastened her hair up with a clip from her handbag. She was readying to pass through the driver door, the windows would be dark enough to conceal the exchange.

Ghost followed Priscilla's lead, shedding his distinctive grey hoodie and hat to jam them beneath his seat. His Glock went into his waistband holster, and he mussed the hem of his shirt to hide the bulge. His T-shirt was a neutral tan, stretched tight across the chest and shoulders, the sleeves straining over biceps like boulders. Hopefully any descriptions had focused on his clothing, not his mass.

In the back seat Dave shifted his weight nervously, prodding Belyaev with the tip of his knife.

"Not one word," he whispered.

Poker settled into the back, stashing his MP7 under his seat and tucking his Glock and its holster into his waistband. He placed his low-cut ankle-boot on Belyaev’s neck, “Keep fucking quiet, asshole.”

Priscilla cracked the door and shot Ghost a confident glance. "I need you to reach for my hand out there, cool? Let's go."

He had a cliche all American mountain man look about him. Belonged on a paper towel package. Face of a killer maybe, not of a criminal. Easy pass for military; bonus that she couldn't spot nerve or worry about his hard features. She stepped out to casually meet him in front, leaving the keys on the seat.

Ghost followed, closing the door not-quite all the way.

"Left hand," he said, voice low. "I'm a right-hand draw." He cracked his most genuine smile as he took her hand, giving the cop a wave.

She clasped fingers and walked closely with him, resting her other hand upon the purse hanging from the left shoulder. Looking up a shoe and a half past his fiery beard she made some arbitrary joke about the police being here for him and chuckled with a smile, her gum still going.

Another police cruiser rounded the corner next to the Long John Silver’s, no lights or sirens, trying to give the impression this was a normal spot for them on a normal day. Across the parking lot, parked on the street, the other officer dismounted. The police cruiser stopped at the parking lot entrance and met the other officer, exchanging words with him. What they were, neither Poker or Dave could tell. Poker reached down and retrieved his MP7.

There were three of them now in the parking lot, the other two new arrivals approaching Ghost and Priscilla just as they were making their way into the restaurant. The one who’d clocked them back at the intersection hung back, his thumbs hooked in his duty belt.

“Ma’am, sir.” One of the officers called out, a tall, lanky man with clean cut hair. His voice toed the line between friendly and authoritative. His partner was a head shorter, but bald and broader, staring at them through his black shades, “Ma’am, sir, we’ve got a couple questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

Ghost turned and smiled, tugging Priscilla's hand as though bringing her to a playful stop.

"Sure, no problem," he said. His tone was light, confident but friendly, all of his skill at dissembling and blending being brought to bear. "What can we do for you guys?"

"Oh! Sure." She said quietly, backing her partner.

Priscilla stood next to him still clutching his hand. At some point earlier she pulled a phone from her purse and held it limp over the bag for normalcy. She was glad to see Ghost fit into his role and had a genuinely bright countenance about it.

“Your guys’ van happens to match the description of a vehicle somebody saw fleeing a crime scene. I know how it sounds, and I’m sorry,” he said, holding up a hand, but his partner remained stoic. The likely ‘bad cop,’ “But, I’m going to have to ask you for your IDs.”

"Oh, shit, that's not good," Ghost said. He let go of Priscilla's hand to dig a wallet out of his back pocket, flipping it open to pull two bogus ID's. They were Program stock, one a Kentucky Driver's License and the other an Army CAC. Together they identified him as a Sergeant Major Richard Grissom out of Fort Campbell, with a rudimentary paper trail that, while it wouldn't fool a deep-dive, should more than handle an NCIC check.

He passed them over with a smile. He had no choice but to trust that 'Priscilla' had a similarly intact cover, and he dredged what he'd memorized of her dossier from the steel trap of his mind.

"Here you go," he said. He affected an uncomfortable look, the demeanor of a man who knew he wasn't in trouble, but hoped he wasn't about to be overly inconvenienced. Mildly annoyed, but still wanting to be helpful. "I'm on leave right now, do you need me to get my command on the phone or anything?"

Priscilla wasn't acquainted with any sort of name so she gave him the good ol’ “babe!” Said with ebullience, giving Ghost a cheery look then back to the officer. “I swear we can’t go anywhere without something strange happening.”

Her fingers slowly snaked inside the handbag past the grip of the pistol while she denoted the type of ID he produced. She pulled a floral-patterned card wallet with little urgency and handed over a Tennessee ID, Amber DeMarco, out of Nashville; close.

The officer took both IDs and nodded, “Thanks, guys.”

He walked back to his cruiser and sat in the driver seat, looking at the IDs intermittently and then typing on the computer. His stoic partner stayed with them. Back in the van, Poker was still kneeling down in the back, clutching his MP7. He eyed the cop that went back to his cruiser and then the other one that had clocked them and started this whole thing, “I got eyes on the officer in the cruiser at our 8.” Poker muttered, “You keep the nosey fuck at our 6 in your sights. If shit pops off you’d better squeeze that fucking trigger.”

Dave grunted his assent. He kept his knife pressed to Belyaev for another moment, then sheathed his knife, picking up his rifle and pushing the barrel against the man's groin.

"I'll do my fuckin' job," he growled back. His heart was pounding and he felt sick, but he clicked off his safety even as he sent up a prayer that he wouldn't have to kill an innocent man. "I'm a fuckup, not a pussy."

“Uh huh…” Poker said, tracking the officer as he left his cruiser to get back to Ghost and Priscilla.

>...///

“Here you go, sir,” The officer said, handing back Ghost’s ID, “Thank you for service, and I’m sorry for disturbing your folks’ day. You’re free to go.”

"Hey, no problem. Thank you for yours," Ghost said as he pocketed the ID's. "You guys stay safe out there."

The officer handed Bajbala her ID, “Sorry for the inconvenience, ma’am. You guys have a nice meal.”

“Oh, that was quick. You sure you don’t want him?” She put her hand by her mouth and whispered loudly, "because I'm sick of him!” At least the one cop looked amused. “Don’t worry about it, have a good one. Gonna get some tacos!" her voice lilting as she looked up at Ghost with his shades and reached for his hand again. Just had to follow through.

Ghost followed, casually ignoring the police now that business was concluded and accompanying Bajbala to the door. He leaned over as though murmuring something intimate.

"We need to exchange backstories," he said. "Good save."

She snickered at him as they went inside. "Yeah, you'd look good in cuffs though" she menaced. They wouldn't notice the missing shrimp taco and crab cake until they got back to the van. Fucking pirates.

>...///

“Well, did everyone have fun on their fucking lunch date?” Poker asked. He’d gotten back into the driver seat since the parking lot fiasco and they were now a couple miles down the road. Poker and Lucky had shared the time Ghost and Priscilla had spent inside the LJ Silver’s quietly menacing Belyaev, and watching for cops.

"My macros are fucked," Ghost grunted. After the stress of the confrontation he'd allowed himself an indulgence, and was currently tearing his way through eight fish tacos. He hadn't eaten since breakfast; the machine needed fuel.

Behind him Dave sat in silence, his food untouched and his gun muzzle digging firmly into Belyaev's crotch. He was casually neglecting to compensate for bumps.

"I'll hold your hand next time, Poker." Priscilla stated. She met eyes with him in the rear-view mirror and toasted with her cup. It was at this point empty, but she slurped the ice for effect.

The prisoner sat frozen, focusing on keeping his balls from busting under Lucky's barrel. She placed her last taco next to his leg, done. In Russian, "have a bite, friend." Fully aware that others might not have understood.

Poker looked away from Priscilla and shook his head, focusing on the road again, “Please, refrain from speaking anything but English.” Poker said and after a moment asked, “What did you say?”

“I wouldn’t trust me either.” She slurped one last time and stuffed the cup in the Long Johns bag. “I told him to eat. I wouldn’t want to die hungry and we’re all one big family in death, right?” She said nonchalantly. She extended the offer to Belyaev but didn’t care if he missed his opportunity.

"Fuck that, he ain't kin of mine," Dave snapped. He reached over and grabbed the taco, unwrapping it before taking a bite himself. He wasn't a cruel man. Not by nature. But his hate for the Russian agents was a fire, and petty or not he was in no mood to give the man any luxuries. Instead he looked Belyaev in the eye as he ate the taco.

"You're gonna die for what you did," he said finally. "All you get to choose is whether you talk first, an' they make it quick, or they give you to me."

He leaned a little closer, forcing down the knot in his belly. "You took from me, boy. You'll pay."

Priscilla recoiled at the animal way he ate the taco and suppressed chuckling. She wasn’t about to get between them, the man wanted vengeance and he fractured an operation to make his point. She didn’t know whether to feel sorry for him in his passion, or envious of whatever bonds he had.

>ANCHORAGE SAFEHOUSE
>1245...///

The Dodge van pulled into the gravel road that led off into the hills outside Anchorage, winding up and over until it ended and the gravel pooled around a lonely barn and its accompanying small shack of a house. The gravel protested under the tires, crunching and cracking in the silence between the occupants of the van. They stopped in front of the barn and dragged Belyaev out. If he had been screaming and protesting when he went in, he simply let his feet drag on the gravel when he came out. Dejected, he let himself be thrown on his face on the floor of the barn.

While Poker worked at getting a couple lamps going, the others were tying Belyaev up to a chair. Poker walked back to the van and opened the back, coming back to Belyaev holding a very heavy tool bag filled with a great many things Belyaev immediately decided he did not want to see. Poker dropped the bag clanking on the floor and they all stood in the dim light of the lamps inside the barn. Poker looked down at the bag, then looked to Belyaev, “This bag belonged to a man I knew. He was always better at this shit than I was,” Poker shook his head and shrugged, “But since you fucking killed him in some goddamned backwater, you’ll have to bear with me for this.”

“I want you to understand something. You’re going to answer my questions, or I will let Lucky have you for a couple minutes.” Poker looked at Lucky and then back to Belyaev, “He liked Tex. He doesn’t like you. Anything you don’t understand?”

Belyaev shook his head, “I understand fully.” Belyaev was still shaking his head, “Just ask me anything and I will answer, I promise.”

Poker snorted and laughed at Belyaev, wheezing and looking at everyone while he shook a finger in the Russian’s direction like he’d told a pretty good joke, “No, see, I really don’t think you do understand.” He motioned to Belyaev, looking to Dave, “Please, help him.”

Dave looked at the man in silence for a moment. He removed his can of Copenhagen from his pocket, snapped it a few times, and took a large pinch. He'd expected to feel that hot fury. Right now he just felt… Cold.

He put the can away, situated the dip with his tongue. Then he drew his knife.

"Ya ever been huntin'?" He asked. His drawl was pronounced, his tone laconic. "I grew up huntin'. I'm from the Ozarks. Middle of the mountains, out in nowhere. Figure it's somethin' like your Siberia, without quite so much snow."

He walked over to Belyaev and crouched beside him, holding up the knife. "See, our deer up there get pretty big. Can't carry' em out all once if you're deep in the woods. Ya gotta joint 'em. Take each quarter."

He pointed the knife at the bag. "We got tourniquets in there. Tie ya off, so there's no bleed-out while we work. You answer us, or I'm gonna take you apart, piece by piece."

He fought down a sick feeling in his stomach, clenched his fists to still the shake in his hands. Then he moved quick as lightning, grabbing Belyaev's right index finger. His knife bit deep, into the joint right at the base, and he brought the razored blade around in a quick and practiced motion. Flesh parted and the man screamed, then the finger came free with a wet pop.

Dave threw it on the floor and walked away.

"That's one. For my Ava. Got five more to go. Then I start countin' again."

Priscilla heard a loud yelp from the barn, muffled by it’s damp wooden walls. She teetered on the edge of an old wooden stool, leaning on the railing of the house's porch. The others were going to work on the spy. She only held a gun to his head and a cold eye to eye while he was being tied down but the rest she wanted no part of, none of her business. They were owed this catharsis. If they needed some Russian flair to bluff some information they’d call her; otherwise, she was only interested in chatting and termination.

When they arrived Priscilla burned both Russian dossiers and trashed the laptop. She watched the footage before wiping it. What they did wasn’t smart. Hardly practical. Civilian lives were on the line, their cover in a soft compromise, and public execution.

The brief covered the mash-up task force she was to link up with but she wasn’t expecting these animals. She had no doubts about their prowess. It was the manner of handling each challenge. Even her echelon adjacent to Ground Branch didn’t get this dirty. After the snatch, if the team didn’t cooperate to deflect the cops, the mandate was to evacuate all liability. Pulling it off on all three would be a miracle and she was reluctant to even think about it.

A cool breeze meandered the clearing around the safehouse rustling the loose ends of a weathered tarp covering some rows of wood. Her gut was saying this is something deeper that she’s been cast full force. No games, no seasoning, no witnesses.

>1700...///

The barn smelled of blood. The air was rank with the dirty-metal stink of it, the dirt floor around the chair on which Belyaev had sat sodden. What was left of him was slumped back, eyes to the sky, a wet red smile gaping beneath his chin.

Dave's arms were bloodied to the elbows. He'd shed his flannel, and the white wifebeater beneath was smeared crimson where he had wiped his hands between cuts. He was sweating, both from sickness and exertion.

"I'm goin' outside. Need some air." Dave said. His voice was calm, level. Numb. He absently wiped the blade of his knife on his shirt and slid it into its soft leather sheath, then made for the door. "I'll see y'all in a minute."

Ghost watched him go, then looked around the room.

"Obviously we're burning the barn," he said. He nudged Belyaev's left shin with the toe of his boot. The cuts at the knee and ankle were respectably clean. Smooth, like a butcher's work. "I'm not a janitor."

“Safehouse is still operational,” Poker said, watching Lucky stumble outside. He remembered his first too, and if Lucky was smart he’d get used to this. “Gotta keep it clean for some other assholes. Gotta do this the old fashioned way.”

Outside, Priscilla had been pacing around the property. They were at it for nearly four hours. Lucky had it his way, if the cries didn’t tell.

“No, no. No! Just leave it in there, what’s the big deal?” She chuckled on the phone and leaned against one of the wood beams holding up the porch awning. “That’s alright, I’ll fix it when I get back.” Her friend Lauren back in D.C. was the closest she had to family in any normal sense. “Awww Picasso! Yeah he does that just make sure you get him the stick one, you know —the treat stick, whatever.”

The clacking of the barn doors opening seized her attention and she saw a disheveled Lucky exit dressed in murder. “Hey, Lala, yes. Lala I have to go, thank you soooo much again. Ok. Bye.” Her smile faded then she slipped the phone into her pocket.

“Discrete.” Sarcasm in her voice as she eyed the film of blood crusting on his hands.

Dave raised a hand to her as he walked hurriedly around the side of the barn, a hasty gesture of acknowledgement. Once he was out of sight he doubled over as his stomach purged itself of the last four hours. He heaved until he was empty, then staggered back to lean against the weathered wall.

His guts were empty, but still sour. He was sick, not just physically but at his core. Dave looked down at his bloodied hands, swallowing hard.

The first cuts had been easy. Satisfying. Cathartic, almost. But that had faded fast, and by then he was too far along to stop. In the end he'd been cutting the man just because Poker told him to, and he was too deep in to quit. It had been a relief when he'd finally been told to wrap things up and he was able to draw his knife across the man's throat.

Dave looked at his hands again, tried to imagine touching Ava with those bloodstained things, or his son, and immediately he clamped down on the thought, closing his eyes to force it away.

"Not doin' anybody any damn good," he muttered. He took a sucking breath and centered himself through sheer force of will. "Alright. Bitch later. Work now."

He thumped the wall of the barn with his fist, took one last breath, and then walked back around the corner to where he'd seen Priscilla by the porch.

She had witnessed this deliberate brutality before, had to watch, listened to the tortured screams of prisoners while she sat idle at her husband's mercy. Somehow this time seemed even more cruel; there was no jihad.

Priscilla muttered something in another language then silently watched him approach. Some of the color had returned to Lucky's face but she could smell the blood, sweat and pain. "There's a shower in the bedroom, make sure you get your nails." She feigned a smile and made a claw gesture.

Dave grimaced, not even attempting a smile. Instead he joined her on the porch, leaning his elbows on the rail. Then he stared at the barn in silence for a few moments.

"I know I fucked up," he said. He thought back on the gas station, on the vengeful burst he'd sent through the windshield and into the driver's skull. "I uh… I ain't been myself lately."

That excuse sounded lame even to his own ears and he grimaced again, waving a hand as though to rewind things.

"I'm sorry, 'bout that. For puttin' you an' Ghost in that position. I just… There's been some shit. You know?"

During the silence she garnered all of the optimism she had, at least he had some feeling other than anger. "Yeah...” A measure of compassion in her voice. “We've all been there. Even those two, maybe more than once."

Priscilla turned from him. It was sketchy business, and even if he didn’t shoot it might have been a fight anyway. It crossed her mind this assignment was clean-up for these sorts of fuck-ups; though, the situation was fucked from the start, since whatever happened to their team. She blamed herself for not protesting enough.

“Nothing happened. Three Russians died and the police are returning to their families. I would have done it differently… but nothing to be sorry for.” she said, impartial, wondering what kind of shit was had.

Dave nodded in thanks, a small bit of the day's burden lifting. There would still be a reckoning with Ghost and Poker he was sure, but at least he'd gotten one third of his apology out of the way.

"How long are you with us?" He asked, looking over at her for the first time since he'd begun speaking. "Russians probably ain't done, and I can guarantee we're goin' after whoever's left."

"I'm here to see the Russian objective through. After that... it's not up to me." She said, looking towards the ground. "I guarantee more screwing up means you'll be seeing more of me though." Priscilla smirked and twisted the heel of her boot into the dirt.

“Yeah, fair enough,” Dave grunted. He wasn’t sure what Priscilla knew, or how much he could tell her. But he felt like he owed her something. Some kind of explanation as to why he’d turned things into a shit show. He stared into the middle distance until he’d made up his mind.

“They killed my team,” he said. “All of ‘em. My...My girl, too.” He blinked rapidly, forced away tears through sheer will, and felt himself getting angry all over again. He clamped down on that, too. “I’m the only one left. So...I know it ain’t an excuse, but...Now you know.”

Priscilla felt for him hard. She wanted to slap him for opening that emotional door, he was dealing with a lot of trauma. She couldn't see him going to the others for support, they'd slug him in the arm and stick some chew in his teeth. There was a place for that masculine suppression, where that most efficient padding can mean survival. This was the time but it wouldn't last. Once the crew dissolves and entomb themselves in their distant homes the pain starts to leak out, tearing past the binds that keep from violence, hatred and despair.

"I'm sorry." Her hazel eyes expressed more than her flat voice. Any more acknowledgement and it could unsettle her own trauma, expose her vulnerabilities. "No matter how many Russians you get your hands on, that hole of sorrow will always be there. Just, " she produces an archaic gesture from her childhood. Kissing her fingers, to her chest, to her head. "Honor them and they'll be part of you again." Coy, from old scriptures she didn't much believe anymore.

"Until then, think you got it? Our day could be next."

“Yeah, I got it,” he said. He looked at his bloody hands again. “I need a shower. I’ll...Go do that, I guess. You take it easy.”

>POKER AND GHOST...///

Poker figured they’d earned this break. Lucky had done alright, though he’d turned pale and his zealousness for revenge had seemingly turned robotic by the sixth finger. By the time he’d given the go-ahead to slit Belyaev’s throat when they’d gotten enough information out of him, Poker was surprised Lucky didn’t just blow chunks all over his face. He’d made no move to clean up since Lucky left, and he and Ghost shared the barn in silence for a bit after the two of them had put Tex’s bag of toys away.

“Say what you want about Tex, the man knew how to break someone.” Poker said, reaching beside himself for the mug of coffee he’d gotten from out of the Safehouse, “Shame they didn’t even have beer in the fucking fridge. I’d pour some out for the three of them we lost.”

Even though there wasn’t much mourning plain on Poker’s face, he would admit that seeing the bastard that orchestrated the deaths of his and Tex’s teams had some pleasure to it, “Goddamn, how many roster changes has it been now?” He spoke to Ghost, knowing he never really grew too attached to anyone, as much as it was useful, Poker still found it a bit creepy some days, “Three? Four?”

Ghost frowned, furrows appearing in his granite face. "Full wipes? Three. Nevada, Bolivia, now Alaska. As for regular attrition I couldn't tell you."

He gave a negligent shrug. He remembered the desperate times, the life-or-death struggles where casualties mounted and THUNDER risked annihilation. The times where he got to shine.

The ones and twos, though, those ran together. They were a fact of life, a thinning of the herd, and for the most part those deaths never left any more of an impression on Ghost than the people themselves had.

"This is the first time I walked away without a scratch though," Ghost said. "I got shot the last two times."

“Yeah, I remember.” Poker winced, a hand going to his stomach as he sipped his coffee, the metallic stink in the back of his throat didn’t seem to bother him except for reminding him of other times it did, “I was right there next to you, sniper got me too. He was fucking good, even Maui had to take his time with that asshole.”

“Dying Queen’s hair black and sending him into that fucking club in Mexico. He never should’ve come out the other side of that one.” Poker snorted, “Almost didn’t, actually. You, me, and Tex had to pick him up, double back and then catch the Sicarios at a red light.”

“And then the day after, goddamn. Now that was a firefight.” Poker smiled wistfully.

Ghost nodded, his mind ticking back over the stories as Poker related them. Mexico had been a shit-show even by THUNDER standards, but one they had remarkably all survived. He had vivid memories of having a bullet hole patched up by a drunk vet in Matamoros, one who didn't seem to care that they'd liquidated twelve of his CDG employers fifteen minutes before.

"We should go back to Mexico," he said. "Once we get the new roster filled. Make it a final exam, after I have them trained. Maybe take out a Golfo boss." He paused.

"Need to find us a Mexican. Queen could at least talk to people down there."

“Yeah, teach me some of that Spanish so I know what the fuck to say when someone calls me a pinche chino.” He chuckled, remembering that Brujo Tex was taking apart in that basement somewhere in Juarez screaming that at him before he knew how fucked he was, “Maybe we should do a Sinaloa. You know, that flock of assholes Carlisle was with. I mean, shit, maybe we go to New York when things cool off and fuck with the Bratva, the, uh… Tadjbegskye.”

“That way Program doesn’t give us shit for extracurricular activities. Pin it as official business.” Poker shrugged. “Need a Mexican, another Asian too. Tired of you white motherfuckers being everywhere I look at Langley. At least Brain was half… something. Costa Rican? I dunno.”

"I'll kill more Russians," Ghost said. He put his hands on his hips. "So are we done with the split-tail out there?"

“Just about, you ask me.” Poker shook his head, “Useful though. Can’t say she isn’t smart. Real question is if she’s done with us.”

Poker looked to Ghost, “I don’t trust CIA though. We got lucky with Tex, but she isn’t Tex. I don’t know what they told her about us, but she starts acting fucky, well…” The rest didn’t need saying.

Ghost simply nodded. He was still suspicious of Bajbala. She was a solid agent, that much was clear, but the CIA was to be trusted even less than the Program itself, and she was supposed to be a wetwork specialist. Like him. Predators knew their own.

He stared at the barn floor for a moment. Poker was one of the only men Ghost came close to trusting, and that was because the man was as savage a survivor as Ghost himself.

"TEMPEST," Ghost said suddenly. "Remember them? Catastrophic security breach, three survivors."

It was a decade old THUNDER op, a cleanup among their own.

"If things look like they're headed that way, I have a...List," Ghost said. "Interested?"

Poker snorted, “More like no survivors.” His wolf’s grin was on his face remembering that Op. it was about the closest THUNDER got to being evenly matched… barring Noatak, but that was Mickey Mouse surprise bullshit that he didn’t like. Most likely because he didn’t think of it himself, “They had three of them. Priscilla only got herself. Just might shorten that list by one.”

Poker’s phone began to buzz, Foster, “Top.” He said, shaking the phone in his hand for Ghost to see, the Caller ID reading as CIAsshole, “Hello, big boy.” He said in a teasing, shit-eating tone as he walked out of the barn.

>1929...///

Sleep wouldn’t come. He’d showered away Belyaev’s blood, soaking in the hot spray until his knotted muscles had finally unwound, but Dave found that he was unable to do anything but lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. When he closed his eyes he saw the ruin he’d left in the barn, or bright blood on white snow.

With sleep not in the offing, he’d found his way to the safehouse porch. He sat in the fading light, watching the sky darken bit by bit as the sun sank.

Seeing Poker outside his plates and without a gun in his hand might have been odd for anyone outside THUNDER. Without it on, he looked surprisingly normal, like your average everyday prick you could find walking down the street. Inside a bar, maybe, waiting for a chance to come punch you in the jaw for just being there. He stood in the Safehouse doorway, looking out at the sunset and the deeply darkening sky. The velvet creeping against the bloody orange.

The two of them stayed there like that for a bit, not saying a word to each other. Just sharing the silence. Wordlessly, Poker offered something that sloshed quietly in his hands. A fifth of whiskey, halfway down. Wild Turkey, “Here.”

Dave looked at the whiskey, then took it with a nod. He took a long pull, relishing the harsh burn.

“Ain’t like my gramps makes, but it’s good stuff,” he said. “Thanks.” He passed the bottle back.

“You havin’ trouble windin’ down, too?”

Poker shrugged, not one to give in and start spilling his guts. The whole weeping into your brothers’ arms thing was something he left in the past with his badge and his gun. There was no crying in THUNDER. You just picked up a gun and made things right again. “Someone needs to mourn those assholes.” He said, pouring some out on the lawn in front of the porch, “Ghost won’t do that. Ghost doesn’t have to know I did. Long as they do, that’s fine.”

“How’s it feel, killer?” Poker asked, taking a pull of his own off the bottle and then looking at Lucky sidelong.

“Honestly? Not great, man,” Dave sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “That ain’t me. Or...It didn’t used to be. Won’t cry about it, don’t do any good anyway, but…” He shook his head. “I dunno. I’ll do what needs doin’. Same as I have been. An’ I’ll keep my head, next time. I know I fucked up.”

“Good.” Poker nodded once, nothing else for a bit. Not that there was anything else needed. Either Lucky was a liar and he’d let Ghost deal with liars like he always did, or he’d hold strong. Either way didn’t bother Poker, “Because this isn’t just about you. It’s not even some boogeyman threat to national security or about protecting the homeland.”

“It’s not even about me. So, next time you’re thinking about blowing off a little steam, scream into a pillow or punch a wall. Don’t blast someone in the face and get the cops called.” Poker turned to look at Lucky, “Maui, Queen, Tex. They deserve this. What we’re doing right now.”

“So, get your head straight. Whatever you need to do. Don’t fuck up twice, Lucky.” Poker just spoke facts, no hard feelings, just stern facts, “Make sure everybody gets to see another sunrise. I know he told you that one, he wouldn’t fucking shut up about that shit when I knew him. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Poker took another pull from the bottle and offered it again to Lucky.

Dave nodded in silence, taking the rebuke for what it was. He took the bottle and after a good slug he looked back at Poker.

“So do we have a plan?” He asked. “I mean, what’s comin’ next? I ain’t heard from Foster, I don’t know if UMBRA is scrapped, or the investigation is gonna get passed off.”

“You’re on the shelf until Foster knows what to do with you. We stay here and wait until Foster has another target for us. Those names Belyaev gave us need to be verified.” Poker took the bottle when Lucky handed it back and pulled off it, “Until then, while we’re here. Assume someone is listening.”

He didn’t have to say who. The only unknown among them, and she might’ve been CIA, but TRIDENT might have been Program until they pulled their triggers, “Get some sleep when you can.”

Poker left Dave on the porch. Minutes ticked by, the sun got a little lower, and the sky got a little darker. Around these parts, there were more trees, actual woods and everyone had learned to fear the dark in this line of work. The TV inside switched on in the living room, Poker sitting to the side of it, not wanting to let the window or the front door out of his peripheral.

Dave sat and watched the sun disappear beneath the horizon. The trees were cast in deepening shadow, until they finally vanished from view. He sighed, looking up at the moon, then felt the hair on his neck rise. He loved nature. He’d spent his whole life in it, and now his woodsman’s senses were picking up a sound that didn’t belong. The high, whining squeal of brakes.

He moved at once, going into the safehouse and beelining for his gear.

“Poker, we’ve got a vehicle somewhere down the road,” he said as he picked up his vest. “Ain’t got lights on either, an’ that ain’t right.”

Poker’s eyes went from the TV to Dave. He frowned for a second, then looked outside the window and shook his head, “No.” he looked at Dave, “Don’t think it is.”

Poker reached behind the couch and dragged his vest over, slipping it over his shoulders and buckling the side. His rifle was next to it, and with a quick brass check, he was up with Dave. “Go get Ghost.” Poker said, kneeling down behind the couch with its back to the window. Wasn’t much for cover, but concealment would have to do, “He sleeps light.”

Dave nodded, running for the back room where Ghost had made his lair. He banged the door open and pulled up short, raising a hand when he found himself unexpectedly looking down the barrel of a rifle.

“What?” Ghost growled. The big man had stripped to his boxers for sleep, but kept his rifle in the bed. Somehow Dave didn’t find that surprising.

“Got a car comin’, no lights on,” Dave said. Ghost nodded.

“Be right there.”

Dave ran back to the living room and made his way to Poker.

“He’ll be here in a minute,” he said. “You know he sleeps with that rifle?”

Poker shrugged, nodded, “Most of us do after Arkansas...” Poker chewed slowly on a stick of gum, his narrowed eyes sharp as knives as he stared almost unblinking out the window with the TV now off, “No visual. You’re sure you heard something? My show was getting good.”

“Positive,” Dave said. He’d retrieved his AK and clutched the rifle as he stared out into the darkness. “Brakes squealin’ down the road, I know that sound.”

As he was speaking Ghost arrived, dressed in cargo pants and boots and with his plate carrier on over a bare chest.

“Status?” He growled.

“Lucky heard brakes on the road about five hundred meters away, east, no headlights.” Poker shook his head, eyes still out that window and scanning, “Still no visual.”

Poker saw a flash, “Wha-“

The wet thwack that followed glass breaking had put Poker on his ass. Lucky for him, he was alive enough to start stringing together swears as he scrambled back behind the couch.

Dave swore as well, pulling back out of the line of fire.

“You hit?” He asked. He looked out into the darkness and then pulled back. “I can’t see a fuckin’ thing.” Beside him Ghost’s rifle spat twice as the big man sent a careful pair of rounds into the night.

“Aim at the muzzle flash,” he said.

“Yes.” Poker answered Licky. The sound of a car starting could be heard faintly from outside, and then a pair of headlights coming on in the distance. Back inside and behind the couch, Poker swore again, “Where the fuck’s Maui when you need his big Hawaiian ass.” His hand was covering a blooming splotch of red in his white shirt.

There was another sound, an engine revving for all it had and the living room got brighter little by little.

“Move!” Ghost’s shout elicited an immediate response from Dave, courtesy to the time he’d spent training under the big man. Both of them darted away from the window in time for a red car to come slamming through the window and wall. Dave’s adrenaline-spiked mind somehow noted that it was a Toyota, then he raised his AK and sent a tight triplet into the driver’s face.

Poker was up after the carnage of the wall had begun to settle, dust, insulation and shattering glass all around. He was still clutching his bleeding stomach as he held his sights over the driver, the sole occupant of the Toyota. He carefully advanced with the others until he could see inside, and what greeted his eyes didn’t make sense at first. All the windows were rolled down on the Corolla, and driving it was an overweight, blonde woman. He could only tell that much and only that much on account of Lucky’s big 7.62s ripping her face off. Hanging on a piece of jaw was a ribbon of silver duct tape. And in her hand was a detonator rigged as a dead-man’s switch to a backpack in the passenger seat.

“Get away!” Poker yelled as he turned and ran.

Dave swore and spun on his heel, sprinting for the hallway. He grabbed Ghost by the dead-drag of his plate carrier as he passed, hauling the big man with him in a cloud of profanity.

The light rattling of gunfire was tied with the sounds of nature in Priscilla's home country, where conflict and war persist in their thousand-year heritage. Normally, it's the call of a rooster but it barely shook her from a cold sleep. Brought on by reminiscing across from Belyaev's bagged corpse in the cooling barn and passing out. The blare of an engine and crashing pulled her out of her peace.

She jumped up from the long wooden chest she had been laying on. It took some shuffling on the ground to find her footing amidst the craggy floor. The cold started to seep in through her jacket. Priscilla pulled the makarov from her bag as she moved a distant angle around the half opened barn door, peering out into the moonlit glade from the pitch black interior. Her heart was pounding, her thoughts shifting between what, who, where.

Before Bajbala’s mind could straighten things out, another explosion blew a huge cloud of dust through the gaping hole already in the house. The windows shattered outwards from the violent change of air pressure. Poker’s ears were ringing as he stumbled into the kitchen, not even able to hear his own heartbeat or breathing. His shoulder bumped into one wall, then another. He set himself down in a corner and held his head in one hand, his head throbbing and his balance so off he couldn’t even bring himself to stand. He withdrew his sidearm from its duty holster, the FNP shaking in his hand as he tried to steady himself, “Status!” He called out, his voice still muffled to his own ears, “Lucky! Ghost!”

“We’re good!” Dave’s own voice was choked as he coughed dust from his lungs. “We’re alive!”

“Green!” Ghost snapped beside him. He hauled his bulk upright, grimacing at the sting of a dozen new minor scrapes. He and Dave both had their rifles, thanks in no small part to Ghost’s constant harping about the efficacy of slings in combat. Ghost held his weapon at the low-ready, unwilling to put himself at the mercy of an attack of opportunity. If he was going to drive a bomb into a place, it would be to storm it after. Shooters were coming, and he was going to be ready.

“Poker, what’s your status?” He shouted.

He opened his mouth to speak but the floating pieces of dirt, dust, and drywall stung bitter in the back of his throat. He coughed out, still sitting in his corner. His eyes were still blurred and stinging from the dust still hanging about. A figure in the blurriness, indiscernible except for the fact it was human. “Lucky?”

“Lucky is with me!” Ghost shouted. “He’s green! Where’s the female? Was she in the house?”

Priscilla nearly fell over with the surprise of the blast. All of the dust in the barn jumped into a cloud with the flash of light. Her gut sank.

"Damn…" she mouthed, knowing the team was still in the house. She couldn't see the damage but feared the worst and felt more to come. If she had any luck, whoever it was didn't have her in their sights yet. She waited in the dark of the barn and looked through the doors wide hinges for movement after the blast.

Ghost growled, his eyes tracking the smoke-filled ruins of the safehouse. He was stressed, pissed off, and worst of all unsure. Indecisive. Indecision killed.

"Lucky, on me," he snapped. Dave settled in beside him and the two began moving, rifles up and heads on swivels. "Poker! Moving to your POS, watch your fire!"

As soon as they entered the kitchen, they saw a man larger than Poker dressed in civilian clothes bearing down on him. Poker’s back was pressed against the kitchen sink, teeth bared and straining against the bigger man’s hands, wrapped around the hilt of a knife. The point of it glinted in the dusty moonlight filtering in from the blinds as it slowly crept closer and closer Poker’s way, “You motherfucker, fuck you.” Poker growled through his gritted teeth, “You’re fucking dead, you piece of shit.”

Ghost slung his rifle, the sling taking it clear of his hands. He rushed in, drawing his knife and bringing it forward in a sharp thrust. Whether by luck or the simple fact of the big Operator's lumbering footsteps, the man turned at the last second. His forearm moved to block the strike, catching Ghost's wrist and knocking it offline. His own blade came around and Ghost rolled his hips, grabbing the man's jacket and slinging him clear, his mass and strength coming into play as he flung the enemy away and to the ground. He took up a fighting stance, knife tucked close and off-hand slightly forward, a feral grin on his face.

"Come on, pussy," he growled. "Come on. Let's play, bitch!"

The other man was back on his feet in mere seconds, practiced movements and a practiced stance. He kept his eyes on Ghost and Lucky, the other man with his rifle still refusing to shoot. Too many variables in the room, and that’s what he was banking on, his voice muffled by the balaclava, “I’m gonna dig those fucking eyes out of your skull, Ghost.”

The man came on quick enough to rival even Poker’s speed with a knife, lunging forward at Ghost’s face. Poker himself was still holding his gunshot wound on his lower abdomen as he watched the first moves of this deathmatch.

Ghost met the first thrust with an off-hand parry, knocking the blade aside. His counter attack was quick and clean, a hard thrust that sank the Camillus to the hilt in the man's belly and then neatly retracted it. Both men moved like lightning, blades flickering as Ghost followed with a backswing aiming to disembowel the stranger. It whiffed past as the man stepped right, and his own quick counter left a deep cut across Ghost's powerful thigh. They broke apart and Ghost snarled.

"I'm gonna wear your fucking face," he said. "Strip that mask, see who you are, then cut your fucking face off."

“Maybe if that pussy over there took his shot!” With the last word came another lunge, a feint for the face and then the groin, going for the femoral artery.

Ghost watched him move, read his body and took a gamble. He raised his hand to shield his face, then pulled his foreword leg back, the blade missing him by a quarter of an inch at most. His own blade flicked out, a swift one-two swipe, and it bit twice into the stranger's forearm before it retracted.

"Don't you fucking dare, Lucky!" Ghost snapped. His blood was singing through his veins, his every sense stretched to the limit. He was alive. "Don't you fucking ruin this for me!"

“Fuck you, Ghost!” The Stranger, already bleeding from multiple, deep cuts still came at Ghost again unheeding. His knife struck out quick as a viper looking to taste Ghost’s neck.

Ghost saw the blade coming, knew there was little he could do to stop it. The strike was reckless, lightning quick, and all Ghost could do was raise his shoulder and duck his head, tucking his chin to protect his throat. The knife laid open his cheek to the bone, grating on teeth, but Ghost stepped in, unwilling to lose his momentum. His arm pistoned out and he felt the blade part flesh, felt hot blood on his wrist as he drove all six inches of the blade up beneath the man's ribs before he pulled it back.

Dave watched the contest in awe, his stomach twisting with each ugly blow. His sights followed the stranger, but he obeyed Ghost, holding his fire.

With a gasp that sounded like a tub drain sucking in water, the Stranger stumbled back, colliding violently with the kitchen counter. His shaking leg gave out on him and he sprawled face first on the floor. The gun Poker had disarmed him of before the bloody duel was inches from his reaching fingers. He drew in another wet breath and coughed, spraying bloody spittle across the floor, “Fuck…”

Ghost watched him fall with a savage satisfaction. The gash on his face stretched his grin into a leer, bloody teeth showing where the cheek had drooped. It had been a good fight. A great fight.

He dropped to a knee on the man's back, put the point of his knife against the base of his skull, then shoved hard. Sever the brain stem, end the pain. The guy deserved it after a show like that. Ghost pulled the knife free and wiped it on the man's shirt, then pulled the balaclava off.

“What the fuck…” Poker pushed off from the counter and knelt down next to the Stranger. He grabbed two fistfuls of his jacket and hauled him over onto his back. A pool of black blood spread out from the back of his neck as they all took in the face they were looking at, “Bear.”

"Oh what the fuck is this?" Dave said. He stared at the body, feeling a sense of vertigo. He'd killed that man. Blown his fucking face off for what he'd done to Ava. He raised a shaky hand and wiped at his forehead.

"Bullshit is what it is," Ghost growled. The ugly wound in his face slurred his words, helping to mask the sudden twist of anxiety in his guts. He shoved his knife into its sheath and brought his rifle around, then put three rounds in the body's skull at close range.

"Poker, you good to move? We'll stress about this later."

Poker stared down, unblinking even with the sharp cracks of Ghost’s rifle. He swallowed, “Yeah. Gotta,” he cleared his throat, shaking his head and looking at the others, “Gotta get this wound treated.”

He made his way out of the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Let’s get rid of that fucking body… we still have a Safehouse to keep.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

Through the Darkness of Futures Past…

Part III

You see me now a veteran
Of a thousand psychic wars
My energy's spent at last
And my armor is destroyed
I have used up all my weapons
And I'm helpless and bereaved
Wounds are all I'm made of

Did I hear you say that this is victory?

>NOATAK, AK
>2200...///

Donnelley’s pants were still mud-stained, though he wasn’t too inclined to change them. Not many people he had to impress here in Noatak. It was his turn to keep an eye on Ipiktok, the two of them sitting at the kitchen table. Ipiktok hadn’t said much, and Donnelley wasn’t quite in the mood to kick up any conversation. Their coffee mugs were still steaming beside them, the two of them looking in different directions that weren’t at each other.

“There’s one like me among you.” Ipiktok said, his voice cutting through the silence though it was barely above a whisper, “I can feel them. I’m sure it’s the red head, the one who is quiet.”

“Ghost? The big guy?” Donnelley snorted.

Ipiktok looked at Donnelley, his face still serious, “The girl. She is like me.”

Poker came around the corner and looked at Ipiktok like he looked at most wizards. Or anyone really, like someone he was wondering if it’d be worth killing. He frowned and shook his head, Donnelley had learned after a few years with THUNDER that Poker had no love for wizards. Donnelley and Poker caught eyes, “CORAL NOMAD is prepping a transport from Eielson Air Force Base, most likely. Said it’ll be some time before they can come up here,” Poker licked his teeth and looked at Ipiktok, “You’ll be somewhere safe after, get debriefed and three hots and a cot for a bit.”

Ipiktok did not answer, not even looking at Poker. The other man left, turning on his heel and walking out of the kitchen to go check on the others. “So, what.” Donnelley said, Ipiktok looking back up at him, “What’s your point? Because as I understand it, there’s been plenty people with plenty chances to help her with her… her dreams, and none of them did shit.”

“I can tell you care about her. I wouldn’t offer anything if it wasn’t in my power to fulfill it.” Ipiktok said, shrugging.

Donnelley held his eye, his own gaze boring into it. Ipiktok might have spun a tragic tale to Laine, but just like Poker, Donnelley had no love for wizards. He searched Ipiktok’s eyes for lies or treachery. He couldn’t find any in the slightest. “Okay.” Donnelley nodded, keying on his mic, “UMBRA 1-1, come in, UMBRA 1-4. Report to the kitchen, out.”

A few long moments ticked by before Ava carefully peaked into the kitchen, looking to Donnelley quizzically and then at Ipiktok with a bit more caution. She had been given a brief explanation of what happened, along with the rest of TRIDENT. She was more confused than anything, but glad that her friends and boyfriend had made it out the other side intact.

“Hi, um,” She said, stepping carefully into the kitchen and focusing on Donnelley. “Did you need me for something?”

“Why don’t you tell her?” Donnelley said, fishing his pack of smokes out and lighting it, his eyes on Ipiktok the entire duration.

“What was your name, Miss?” Ipiktok asked, turning in his chair to look at her.

Ava glanced nervously to Donnelley for a second then back to Ipiktok. “Rosalin Bishop.” She answered.

Ipiktok looked back at Donnelley. Donnelley shrugged, “Ask her.”

Ipiktok turned back around, coughing into his fist and looking at Ava with some trepidation, “I, um- your colleagues, Miss Heather Laine and Mister Donnelley here have told me their names.” Ipiktok frowned and looked away for a moment, “You don’t have to, of course.”

“Oh,” Ava frowned, giving Donnelley an expression of uncertainty mingled with concern. She cleared her throat, “Um, you can just call me Ava. Everyone does.” She said with a small, polite smile.

“Okay, Ava. I…” Ipiktok hesitated, trying to find the right words. How could you tell someone what Ipiktok needed to, “Well, could you sit with me, with us?”

When she did, he continued, “I’ve been told you have peculiar dreams. So do I. At times, they are more… intense, than I would like them to be.” Ipiktok looked at Ava with some sympathy, “Donnelley’s told me that some have promised things they did not deliver on. I can.”

Ava’s expression shifted from one of weary confusion to one of intense focus. Her back straightened as she slowly tensed, her hands clenching to fists beneath the table.

She didn’t even hesitate, “Tell me. Please.”

Ipiktok retrieved a pouch from his pocket, made of simple sack cloth and looking very rustic. It was held closed with a drawstring. He handed it over to Ava, reaching and leaving it next to her on the table. “Go ahead, open it.” What Ava saw inside was surprisingly mundane. It looked like a dried berry, a raisin of some sort, and the smell even wafted Donnelley’s way, “These I traded for in a place far from here.”

“They smell… good.” Donnelley sniffed at the air before taking another drag. It smelled almost fungal, an earthy kind of aroma.

“They do, but I wouldn’t eat more than one or you could die.” Ipiktok said to a suddenly suspicious Donnelley giving him a look that could kill from the other side of the table, “What I’m saying you should do, Ava, is tear away the dried meat of the fruit. Inside is a pit, crush it to a fine powder. It doesn’t matter how you ingest it. If you do that, no dreams at all will come to you next time you sleep, good or bad.”

“If you eat the whole meat of the fruit, a dream will come to you waking or not. Whether it is good or bad is not your choice. It is useful to me as a shaman to sometimes do this. You must focus on a person or place and there is a greater chance that the vision will be relevant.” Ipiktok shrugged, moving the small sack closer to Ava, “Take the whole thing. I don’t need them anymore.” He smiled, though something was weighing it down.

Ava frowned as she looked at the berry inside the bag, carefully taking it out to look it over. After a pause she put it back and tightly shut the bag. “Thank you, I appreciate the gift.” She said, looking up and giving Ipiktok a slight smile. “So, if I use this fruit, it will help me understand...What’s happening to me?” She asked.

“Ava…” Ipiktok smiled somewhat sadly, “Those fruits in that bag will help you sleep restfully. That’s all they’ll do. That’s all they’ve done for me.”

He shook his head, “In my time, we are called seers, with an iron will and an ironclad ability to bend the world to our mind’s every fancy if we are practiced enough.” Ipiktok said, “But, in my time, people like us- born with a mind more attuned to the other side- rule with iron fists under the cruel Emperors’ reigns.”

“I can’t tell you why we were born how we were. I can tell you that we can live with it, and we can achieve so much if we use our gifts for the right things.” Ipiktok gave Ava a reassuring smile. “Perhaps you could help Donnelley here do what he’d said to me, make sure my future never comes to fruition.”

Ava looked at him with a mixture of confusion and no small amount of disquiet at what she could piece together from the context. “How do I use them?” She asked him. “If I can help with what’s happening, I want to know how.”

“That isn’t mine to teach. I was a simple slave in my time, not one of the great sorcerers. You’ll have to find someone who knows more than just the simple tricks and Seeing that I can do.” Ipiktok said, a consoling smile on his lips.

“I know someone.” Donnelley interjected, though the way he grated it out under his breath told just how eager he was to bring this someone up, “You’ve met him.”

Ava turned to Donnelley, quizzical for a moment before the realization clicked. “Oh yeah! He said he would be in touch with me after I met him.” She said, her eyes brightening for a moment before she grew sober at Donnelley’s reaction. “Do...Do you think it’s a bad idea? To learn from him?”

Donnelley sighed, a stream of smoke escaping his lips and then his nostrils as he frowned, “He taught me some things. They weren’t nice things.” Donnelley looked to Ava, noticing how her excitement had guttered out some, making him clear his throat and force himself to perk up just a tad, “But that’s between me and him. He’s good at what he does, I’d trust him to teach you what he knows about… that stuff.”

“He lives closer to where I do than you do to him. Call me up sometime, I… I can take you there, be there for, uh,” Donnelley chuckled lightly, “Moral support, or… somethin’.”

Ava smiled at him. “I think that would be a good idea too.” She shifted her attention back to Ipiktok, nodding her head to him. “Thank you for helping me.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, about what happened to your family.”

Ipiktok nodded, looking back down at his coffee before taking a small sip of it, “Thank you.”

Donnelley rose from his seat and took a large gulp of his coffee before dropping his lit cigarette into it. He put it back down and lightly touched Ava’s shoulder, “Let’s go get Pup. Come on, we hash out this trip we’re apparently going on, huh?”

Ava nodded, tucking the small pouch into one of her pockets. She got up from the table, putting a tentative hand on Ipiktok’s arm. A gesture mingled with her gratefulness and compassion for the man’s situation.

She pulled her hand back and nodded up to Donnelley.

>...///

Queen emerged from the bathroom, tugging down his plate carrier then rubbed his nose with a quick pinching motion. He passed the kitchen where Donnelley and the old shaman sat with Ava, he gave her a brief look over before through the living room to the front door. He slung his rifle over and rested his hand against it, spotting Dave and Ghost with their pile of goodies laid out on the carpet and couch.

Once outside, his bright gaze fell on Avery, alone as usual and with the same lost puppy dog expression that he recalled from the first time he had met him. It was getting better but the boy was still in a sort of limbo, not on either team yet caught up in their mess.

Queen reached into one of the many pockets and took out a pack of Kools, tapping one out as he strolled over to Avery. “Smoke?” he offered as he pulled one out between his still numb and tingling lips.

Avery had been staring at a corner, thinking about the last two firefights they’d been in within a short span of time. Thinking about Ipiktok’s family gunned down. Thinking about how they’d killed someone and were squatting in his house. Thinking about- he perked up noticing someone say something to him, looked over at the pack of cigarettes in Queen’s outstretched hand and then up to his eyes. All of THUNDER made him nervous, but Queen was alright. Donnelley was the easiest going around him, and so that helped him form his own opinion of the man, “Uh,” Avery looked at the pack again, “Sure, yeah.”

Avery pulled a cigarette out of Queen’s pack and placed it between his lips, then mimicked a lighter, “Fuego?”

Queen took out the cheap Bic lighter, some tacky Ed Hardy tiger printed on it. “Si, Papi,” he replied, lighting his own cigarette before tossing Avery the lighter.

He took a drag and watched the kid, flashing an easy smile that touched his glassy eyes. “How you holding up? It’s been a day.”

Avery took a long drag and held it for a second, letting it out with a chuckle, “Yeah, ain’t that the fucking truth.” His smile faded somewhat, “You know, when those guys in suits told me to pack my shit and head CONUS for a, uh… what did they say…”

He snorted, “A higher form of patriotism,” he chuckled, “I was kinda pissed that they had me patriotically holding a Mossberg inside a foreclosed property waiting for you guys to show up.”

“Can’t lie, I kinda miss sitting on my ass. What about you?” Avery asked, taking another drag.

Queen gazed around the small town, the people wisely staying indoors after the gunfight. Charles still lay there, covered by a flower print sheet from the house, blood blossoms drying to brown staining it. “You know, shit can get tough but I wouldn’t trade it for sitting on my ass,” he replied, blowing out smoke as he spoke. “You can’t get this sorta thing anywhere else, what could you do more than this to make your career mean something? You just gotta get past the killing, the unsettling weird shit you come across, the cover stories, and not ever being able to be honest with anyone outside your teammates.”

He met the younger man’s gaze, then put his cigarette to his lips, “I mean, shit ain’t too much different when I ran undercover with the DEA. Just more risk and higher stakes. But I get it, it’s not so much sitting on your ass as it is having a normal life. Being able to clock out.”

Queen raised his eyebrows as he took a deep drag on the menthol cigarette, the only way to slow his rambling chatter that always happened after he took a bump. “But trust me,” he said, “After awhile...you won’t be able to walk away. You might try but it won’t last. It pulls you back in, you’re privy to things no one else knows about and you can pretty much do what you want, ya dig?”

“Whatever I want except quit.” Avery smirked, nodded his head and took another long drag, “That sounds like a lot of things to get past. Even when I was envisioning myself being a super secret squirrel I was imagining us dusting terrorists.”

Avery nodded to the body next to Charles’, “Not veterans. Americans.” Avery looked away and shook his head, “I don’t know. I’m not trying to be a fucking killjoy. This is just different.”

Avery cleared his throat, looked around a bit nervously and then spoke in more hushed tones, “You have anything a little… stronger than cigarettes?”

“That is the hardest part,” he agreed, “But hell it happens with any federal agency. Americans, veterans, good people doing unlawful things. It ain’t pretty but…”

He had no real excuse, shit they had to do was tamatamount to straight murder. Like Jay, the piece of shit that he was, still died at his own hands because he knew too much.

Queen looked at Avery for a long moment, a slow smile crossing his face despite the cigarette between his teeth. “I might,” he said, glancing over the broad back of Ghost as he supervised the inventory. “Come on, let’s take a little walk around back, keep an eye out on things.”

He led Avery around to the back of the house, the yard behind it was overgrown and the skeleton of a swing set stood, long stripped of the chains and seats. Queen met Avery’s eyes and held it, his own dilated even in the shade of the wall. “This is between you and me,” he started, “Not everyone is cool with this shit, got it?”

“You smoke weed, I’ll bet,” Queen said, watching him close. “Yeah, California kid like yourself. I ain’t got it here. Need something for the nerves, for the bad feels?”

Queen slipped a hand in his pocket, feeling the plastic bag knotted at the top to hold his illicit pharmacopeia.

Avery eyed the swing set for a long moment, and then nodded. He looked back at Queen, his own smirk growing, albeit a very nervous one. He felt like a teenager sneaking out with his friends to go skateboarding and hey-mister some folks to buy them 40oz’s of whatever was cheapest, “Downers. Definitely downers.” Avery smiled, “Percs, oxy’s? Or Xanax, maybe?”

Queen grinned, denting the filter of the cigarette, “I gotchu.”

He removed the bag and opened it, taking out a smaller ziploc style bag and held it closer, making sure it was the lower dose. “Here, some Xanax.Take those the nerves right down, not too much because we’re still on to see if our date shows up. How much you usually dose?”

“I’d usually take 60 milligrams a pop when I was a kid. Figure my tolerance is lower now, though.” Avery snorted, he reached back to his wallet, and counted out how many bills he had, “How much, man? Dollar per milligram, or?”

Queen raised an eyebrow, “Well, goddamn. Guessing that wasn’t prescribed by the pediatrician. Here I am thinking I was popping your cherry.”

He chuckled and tapped out several peach colored pills and offered them. Queen glanced at him reaching for his wallet, then shook his head. “Nah, this is on me. You’re close enough to a team member, just keep it between us and start slow. You need something to get up, I got that too. Come see Uncle Queen for your candy, you’ll be alright.”

Despite the coke still in his system, Queen could feel the same desire to drown the anxiety in the pastel pills. He held off though and put the rest back into the bag and in the deep well of one of the pockets on his tactical pants. “I got connections back home, shit don’t cost me much.”

He met Avery’s eyes, an impish gleam in his own and brought the cigarette back to his lips, “The worm has definitely turned for you, my friend.”

An obscure movie quote but it tickled him to use it as he watched Avery take the xanax. He chewed one up and grimaced at the taste a bit, stashing the rest for later. He sighed, nodding his head like he was reassuring himself the nightmare wouldn’t have to be all bad. He brought the cigarette to his lips again, puffed at it a couple times, “You think I am though?” He asked, looking at the swing set, “Part of the team?”

Avery looked at Queen, “I was told to follow them, you. I mean, I been in like, what, three fucking fights already with you guys. Figure I earned it by now.” He muttered a small, “I hope.”

“Fuckin’ A you should be on the UMBRA roster,” Queen agreed, then gave him a sly look, “You’re not quite ready to dance with the big dicks of THUNDER yet but keep training with Ghost while you can. If he doesn’t kill you, he’ll make you stronger.”

He rapped Avery on the shoulder, giving him a friendly squeeze and motioned towards him with his other hand, embers of the cigarette still glowing, “Looky, you earned your call sign dude. That means a lot, you know how it be.”

Queen released him and took a deep drag, his cheeks hollowing as he filled his lungs with menthol smoke then blew it out in twin streams through his nostrils. He felt the giddiness, the need to move, to fight or fuck or do something but they were still sitting around this fucking shack with two bodies cooling. He should have taken a xanax rather than more coke, fucking cocaine. It was too easy sometimes to just cruise in it.

“Yeah, I did.” He chuckled and nodded confidently as Queen squeezed his shoulder, “Pup. I kinda like it. I think Ghost’s warming up to me, he gave me that… compliment.”

“You know, ‘you didn’t suck as much as I thought you would,” Avery mimicked Ghost’s gravelly voice, “I gotta agree with him. All this gunfighting shit is getting a little easier. Especially since my toy is kinda just, point in this direction and squeeze the trigger.”

He pursed his lips, “Is it true? THUNDER being… known. You know, a reputation for doing…” Avery racked his brain for the right words, wondering how to say what he wanted without offending Queen, “You know. Things the other Wetwork Teams might not handle so easily? Like that one thing in New York. There were people at the BLACKBOX and Langley saying ‘we’ did that.”

Queen grinned at the impression, glancing over his shoulder out of habit as Ghost hated being mocked even if it was some sort of flattery. He turned his attention back to Avery and for once took a moment before answering. It would be easy to bluster and chest thump, hell even expected but despite the chemicals and cynicism he found himself wanting to be sincere.

“THUNDER is the best, not bragging but it’s just fact,” Queen said, the pride bittersweet. “We been together a long time, most of us. Tex...Donnelley was one of us. It’s a hard task, I ain’t gonna sweeten it up, it’s ugly and dangerous but we get it done. Sometimes, folks gotta die. It ain’t their fault, but they seen or heard something we can’t let get out. This here…”

He gestured to the house behind him, “It ain’t nothing. The man went native on us, we did what we had to do and the poor cop got in the crossfire. Now there’s times where it ain’t a crossfire, it ain’t a pissed off bastard with nothing left to lose. Sometimes, it’s just loose ends.”

His sea colored eyes met Avery’s gaze as he smoked down the last of his cigarette. “We tie those up and less people on our teams die and we protect the world just a little bit more. It’s a sacrifice.”

Queen tossed the butt on the ground and rubbed his nose, squeezing the bridge of it. “But look you got me getting all heavy and shit. Just do your job, man. Keep your team alive so they can do their job and we get another sunrise. I know you heard that before.”

He grinned at the Donnelley hominy that had become something to grasp onto, simple and accurate. “When you gotta deal with your head or your heart, come see me. I know.”

Avery nodded, suddenly guilty for what he said, but regained his smile when Queen did. “Yeah, for sure, man.” Avery nodded, taking the last drag of his cigarette and flicking it out towards the swing set. “Thanks again, for the stuff.”

“Anytime,” Queen replied, “Just maintain, don’t get too heavy on it if you’re in the field.”

He smiled his sly dimpled smile and said, “You’ll be alright, I didn’t even serve, I’m just some Fed boi and here I am. We better get on back, before your Daddy comes looking for you.”

Queen hefted his rifle to his shoulder and about faced, then strolled with a lazy saunter back towards the house.

>...///

Laine stood in Yutu’s bedroom, holding the photo of his daughter still in the cheap brass frame, some of the finish worn off where hands had held it over the years. A dark skinned, dark haired teenage girl with high cheekbones and a bright smile. She sighed inwardly, recalling the photos of so many missing girls and women and how many crime scene photos of what had been left of them she had seen. There would be none for her, but the mental image Ipiktok had provided was enough.

She set it down and checked the nightstand then got on her knees and bent low to look under the bed. It was there, a metal box with a lock.

“There it is. I don’t think he’d wire something under the bed he slept in. Even ex Green Berets aren’t that paranoid are they?” Laine said as she glanced over at Donnelley standing at the entrance of the room, a hint of a teasing smile on her face.

“Can’t say I’ve ever done it.” Donnelley’s smile grew at Laine’s teasing as he stood in the doorway watching Laine go through Yutu’s things. He couldn’t say he didn’t have the same idea. Whoever had as much preparedness to at least try as he did to go up against a Black Ops kill team had to have had some interesting skeletons in the closet. “What’re you lookin’ for?”

"Whatever I can find," she replied, then bent low again, reaching for the box. Laine gave it a slight tug but felt no resistance then slowly dragged it out.

It was a footlocker style box, not dissimilar from the one that they found in Clyde Baughman's cabin which still sat in her spare bedroom office back home.

"Yutu said he was looking for his daughter, I expect we'll find his file on that. Poor girl, never had a chance," she said, examining the lock. "Find any keys on him?"

Donnelley rummaged around in his pocket and let a key dangle on its leather cord like a pendant, “Just so happens I did.”

He balled up the key necklace again and tossed it Laine’s direction, walking to the bed as she caught it and sitting on the edge next to her and the box, “Sad.” Donnelley spoke, “Yutu not knowin’ whether to believe or not believe Ipiktok’s lie. I don’t know, but maybe I’d like to hang onto a comfortable lie if it was that important to me.”

Laine unlocked the padlock and slipped it open, forcing it as it had rusted slightly. She glanced at him, then sighed, "I don't know what I'd want to believe but false hope is the worst hope. It's painful but in the end I think I'd rather know the truth, however much it might hurt. I've seen enough people that lost loved ones to some murderer and while everyone is different most people that find some closure in the locating of a body rather than never finding anything and always wondering what happened."

She pushed the lid open as she added, "But then again, I'm not a parent."

“You’re right.” Donnelley nodded, placing a cigarette behind his ear for later, “I’d want to know the truth. Find whoever did it and put ‘em in the ground.”

Donnelley watched Laine open the box and he eyed the initial contents that were laid bare for them. Papers. Lots of papers. “I admire Yutu.” Donnelley said, scanning the papers, “Ask Dave and he’ll probably have done the same thing if we walked up to his front door. I would too. Especially because I know all these evil bastards on THUNDER.”

He chuckled, “I see any of them at my front door and I’m either going out like Yutu or going out the backdoor.” He smiled at Laine, “Find anything? Or is it just old taxes?”

"I feel sympathy for Yutu because of his loss and how he felt he had to end things but I don't admire him," she said, looking up at Donnelley. "He knew Charles. But he was the first to get gunned down."

She shook her head slightly, it was of course different between their experiences but killing the tribal cop ended Yutu's heroic last stand status. "And it was lucky no one else was hit."

Laine thumbed through papers, scanning them to find anything relevant. A leather bound document holder caught her eye, the seal on the front of it was certainly nothing local or even American. It looked like some sort of sigil or coat of arms and when she opened it there was a yellowed parchment with a hand drawn map.

She flipped it over and saw the columns of writing, four in total and only two she really recognized. One had Russian cyllric and another column looked like Latin. Laine turned it back over and closed the leather binding.

Beneath it was a pistol that looked like an AK-47 had been shrunk in the dryer and an old cheap flip phone. She turned to Donnelley where he sat above her on the bed. "Oh yeah, I found some stuff," she handed him the leather folder. "Careful handling that document inside it's brittle."

She set the hardware aside and continued digging.There were a number of folders, plain manilla and dates written on the tabs. "What were you getting up to Yutu, how close did you get?" Laine asked under her breath as she opened the oldest dated manila folder.

Donnelley grabbed the old looking leather and gingerly placed it on the bed. He eyed the AK pistol and a grin broke out on his face like that of a child with a new toy. He kind of was. He picked up the AK by the grip and checked the chamber, flipping the safety on and putting it next to him, “I’m keepin’ this.” Donnelley picked up another of the manilla folders and opened it up, already whistling with appreciation, “This looks familiar.”

Laine smiled a bit at his enthusiasm over the gun but it was his whistle that made her look up. She turned though stayed kneeling, putting her hand on his thigh to lean over to see what he was looking at. "What is it?" Laine asked.

“It’s…” Donnelley shook his head and continued reading, “It’s a fuckin’ case file. Not official for any evidence room or locker, but… he really fuckin’ was lookin’ for his daughter. Says here this was in Seattle, in the 90s. He’d spend every day he had on leave going out and lookin’ for his wife and daughter. Trail went cold. Says he talked to some people who were…”

“Well, like us. They pointed him to Alaska like a fire-and-forget weapon. Linked up with some people… searched all the cities.” Donnelley read on, flipping through page after page until he got to the end, “He was doin’ the real shit. I think we just flatlined one of ours from way back.”

He slapped the folder shut and put it on the bed, rubbing his face, “God fuckin’ damnit, Yutu, you stubborn...” He mumbled, recovering himself with a sigh, “These are all case files. This house is a green box, a storage place. We should take these fuckin’ files in. Read another, see if it has anythin’ on Ipiktok or this Ithaqua.”

Her lips parted slightly as Donnelley explained what he found, the surge of regret over a wasted life and resource hit her.

“Shit,” she muttered, then turned to settle on the floor, her back against the bed. Laine opened the file in hand and began reading. Yutu had been doing the damn thing in Alaska, grinding the leg work to knock on doors of those New Age gurus and commune cults that cropped up in rural places where they would be left to do as they pleased. She read his first impressions of finding out about Ipitok and the rumors of his miracles among the indigenous community. What he heard among miners sitting around in the bars that catered to them in Noatak made her sit up.

“Listen to this,” Laine said, “Yutu spoke with miners from a place called Red Dog Mine, they spoke of something they called ‘The One who Sleeps in the Earth’ as it’s translated.”

She met his blue eyes, not doubting he was thinking of Dulane as she was. “Another mine, another Sleeper who someone wants to waken. Russians. Female sacrifices. It’s West Virginia all over again. They might be related otherwise there’s a very disturbing trend happening.”

>...///

When Queen had entered the house after his talk with Avery, he could see THUNDER clustered upstairs going through the loot. He found he did not care to participate, the gun fight against one determined native had caught him off guard, even more so Donnelley’s reaction when he tried to give him his rifle. Maybe THUNDER’s whispers about Tex going soft working with UMBRA had some truth to it, though he always defended his friend. Investigation groups were different and had a different breed of people from Wet work groups.

His thoughts rambled and he found himself at the basement door which he opened and went a few steps into before reaching to turn the light on, taking a look at the makeshift bedroom they had found the shaman in.

Ava looked down at the little pouch in her hand, contemplating what Ipiktok had told her as she wandered the house, trying to stay out of the way of the two tactical teams while looking for some place to think. She looked up as she passed a doorway, finding a set of stairs leading down and Queen on them. “Oh, hey Queen.” She said with a smile, tucking the pouch away and poking her head into the basement stairwell. “What are you looking for?”

The small voice snapped him out of the dark train of thought that the interview had brought up and he turned, smiling at Ava, “I am not sure, but glad I found you. I get tired of looking at beef in tactical gear. How you holding up?”

He stepped down the stairs to let her pass if she wanted to, taking one of the upturned crates as a seat to perch on, his boot heels resting against the side.

“Uh, okay, I guess.” She said, walking down the stairs and looking around the basement curiously. She hadn’t been down here yet. “Not feeling...great about...squatting in a deadman’s house.” She said slowly with a grimace. “Or the dead police officer. All the neighbors are probably scared to death right now.” She sat down on the bottom of the stairs. “But, no one on THUNDER or UMBRA was hurt so, that’s a good thing.”

Queen leaned forward, resting his arm on the rifle he still carried. “It was unfortunate about Charles, seemed like an ok dude. I wish Yutu’d just given us a chance but there you have it. And if those locals smart, they’ll stay scared until we leave.”

He gave her a meaningful look then studied her cute features and smiled slightly, “Always a good thing to walk away with no casualties. Considering what’s been done out here, we’ve been lucky.”
Queen waited a moment then asked, “You been talking to that Shaman?”

Ava sat up a little straighter then glanced down at her hands, rubbing them gently together. “Yeah, Donnelley called me in because Ipiktok had some stuff to say to me.” She gnawed at her lip. “He said...I was like him.”

Queen tilted his head, blinking memeishly and chuckled, “What? What does that mean, like [i[him[/i]? That’s crazy. You know what he is?”

He laughed in disbelief and looked at her again, this time with a shade of nervous energy. “What did he tell you?”

She looked up at him with a frown as he laughed. She was used to talking to her team about her dreams, to hear someone laugh about them surprised her. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” She said with a shake of her head, rubbing her hands over her face. “You don’t know, I shouldn’t have said anything.” She pushed herself up to stand. “Just, forget what I said, it’s nothing.”

Queen stood up, realizing his mistake. “Ava, I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just that...well, I heard part of the interview and I’ve met some of those shaman types before. This guy...Ava he’s not even from here. Like this time or place.”

His face sobered despite the pull from the drugs in his system to chatter and laugh at the horrifying notion that this pretty girl could be anything like the witches he had helped kill. Queen shrugged, “I’m sorry, you’re right. I don’t know anything about you. Not unless you tell me.”

The dimpled grin faltered on his face and he reached up to rub his nose briefly. “Which you don’t have to, I’m just a pipe hitter. Point and shoot.”

Ava stopped as she was turning to go back up the stairs, her stomach turning with newfound anxiety at revealing what had been a truth only UMBRA had known. She looked at him, expression hesitant with just a hint of that confusion and fear in her eyes.

“I have dreams.” She blurted out as she turned to face him. “I have dreams of things that are happening or have yet to happen, I don’t know what it is. And Ipiktok upstairs told me he has the same kind of dreams I’ve had, that I’ve been having since I was a little girl. I’ve dreamt of this Hell Hound attacking and killing people and I dreamt about Donnelley being shot in the desert.” She blinked her eyes, feeling tears sting at the back of them at the vivid memories but she kept them held back. “He said I was like him and based off of everything I’ve seen and been through, I think it’s safe to believe him.”

Queen stayed quiet as she spoke, his thoughts immediately flying to witches he had helped kill, those that were like her, like the shaman. Only they were on the other side, drawing their power from the darkest forces. True evil. Slowly, he nodded understanding, “A hell of a thing to have to go through I imagine. You uh...you alright?”
He gestured to her, the anxiety and nervousness radiating off of her. “I won’t say anything, not around THUNDER or whoever. Must be a burden, having to see those things. Like...hell hounds and friends getting hurt.”

Queen shifted his weight, then looked back at her, “Sounds pretty damn stressful.”

“I’m...Managing.” She said with a heavy sigh, running her hands over her red curls; which bounced back to their previous position after her hands passed over them. “Laine and Donelley and Dave have been amazing through everything that’s been happening to me. I don’t think I would be doing as well as I am if it wasn’t for them.” She sniffed and rubbed at her eye. “I’m sorry to unload all of that on you, it’s not something you should have to worry about. I’m not on your team.” She said with a self deprecating chuckle.

“Must be convenient to have a psychologist on the team,” he said, his smirk growing to a warm smile,, “And Donnelley, he’s good for that. Man has a heart of gold under all that prickly. He’s good to talk to, I’m glad you got him there.”

He turned his head, examining the cracks in the walls, “Me and him, we had good times but he seems to be doing well as a leader.”

Shaking off the self pity, Queen flashed a sly grin at Ava, “Did Dave tell you how much TRIDENT liked your beret?”

Ava blinked and tilted her head to the side, both at the beret question and the wistful expression that had crossed Queen’s face at the mention of Donnelley. “No? TRIDENT liked my beret? They didn’t even talk to me while you guys were gone.” She frowned. “I tried to make conversation with She Ra, ask for tips on exercise and I think she growled at me. I don’t remember exactly, I just know she was not happy I was talking to her so I left her alone.”

Queen laughed then stifled it, but his seawater eyes still sparked with amusement. “Oh darlin’, They loved it, of course because it was modeled by moi. In fact, they liked it so much they could not keep their hands to themselves.”

He glanced at her, the confusion still there and he chuckled, “Ask Dave, he knows how to make hay.”

A little pause, then he added as he looked her in the eye, “He’s a good dude, I like him. It’s good UMBRA has someone who can throw down and still be...you know, good.”

At her comment on She-Ra he waved it away, “Don’t even bother, she’s not for us mortals. Look, truth is a lot of us on wet work teams are all defensive assholes. I mean, except me. I’m amazing.”

Queen sighed as if pleased with himself, but could not keep looking at Ava while he put on his act.

Ava smiled at him, eyes brightening however briefly. “You are definitely one of a kind.” She chuckled, her expression warming as her thoughts turned to Dave. “And yeah, Dave is...a good man. Smarter than he thinks, but as kind as can be. He’s just...great.”

She shook her head and flushed, realizing she was fawning over Dave and he wasn’t even there. “But I will definitely ask him about the, um, hay? I guess?”

Ava looked up at Queen and stepped forward, her arms held out to give him a hug. “Thanks for listening to me Queen, you’re a good friend.”

Queen smiled slightly at her blushing, it was a poorly kept secret what was going on with Lucky and Ava and at some point Queen had conceded to the mountain man. “Yeah, he’s that. You chose wisely.”

The hug was a welcome surprise, even if he cursed the bulk of plate carriers between them, the physical contact was much needed. He squeezed her back, patting her hair briefly, “Thanks, Ava. I mean it, you’re one of a kind, too. Don’t feel bad if hardened cranky bastards don’t respond to softness well.”

Queen released her and gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. He started to say something but paused when he heard Maui shout about an incoming unknown. His cheer drained as he smiled tightly, and made his way up the stairs, “Duty calls. Might be nothing but stay away from windows, yeah?”

Ava’s own good mood was dosed with the chill of reality and she looked around the basement. “I think this is probably the best place for me.” She said with a nervous shifting of her feet. “I’m out of the way and less likely to get shot. Again.” She looked up at him with concerned eyes. “Be careful up there, Queen.”

>...///

The upstairs living room reminded Ghost of a Pakistani weapons market. The eclectic mix of firearms and explosives, the bullet-and-shrapnel pocked walls, the stink of gunpowder and burned Comp-B… If not for the fact that his knees felt a decade-and-change older, he could have been back on an op in Peshawar or Nok Kundi. Most of the guns even looked the part.

He reached out with a toe and nudged one of the battered AK’s. It looked like it had last seen action against the Soviets, though the Eastern Bloc lettering and their Yugoslavian provenance meant it was more likely that they’d been stacking Serbs or Croats.

While Ghost looked on, Dave was inventorying their find. He’d chicken-scratched what they’d taken on a notepad, separating the weapons by type and placing their ammunition with them. He’d set the canvas bag containing the sword off to one side after a quick peek confirmed that it wasn’t a gun, but was weird enough to show to Donnelley. Dave was excited. They’d found two Claymores and a block of C4 that he might get to play with, and several of the guns were in excellent condition.

“So what’re we gonna do with all this stuff?” Dave asked, directing the question into the open rather than at any of the nearby operators in particular.

“Figure we just,” Maui was picking at his teeth with a toothpick he’d gotten out of a box of them in his pack, “You know, have CORAL NOMAD get it. Why, you want one? What did you call dibs on?”

"Well, I'm happy with my AK, but we got them .300 Blackout rounds an' mags your guys like, so I figure we can snag some of those an' squirrel 'em away somewhere. Maybe one of the rifles, too." Dave pointed at the explosives. "I just want those. Never know when you'll need to blow somethin' up, right? I mean I can rig a bomb outta whatever's in the janitor's closet, but I like claymores."

“Cut out the middleman, yeah.” Poker was looking out the window, his Honey Badger laying in his lap while he watched their surroundings. “Hey, Lucky, you ever wanna live the easy life? With THUNDER. You don’t exactly strike me as a, uh… you know, investigative personality.”

Dave paused, looking over at Poker, noting the gaze of Maui. Ghost loomed over him, drilling him with those Oakleys.

“I uh...Dunno honestly, man,” Dave said. He frowned and looked down at the pile of weapons. “I ain’t much of a...Well, a thinker, I guess. But I dunno…” He shook his head. “I’d hafta think about it, man.”

He looked around, making sure Ava was out of earshot. “I do enjoy some of this shit, though. Probably ain’t right, but...Beats my old hobbies all to hell.”

It was true, too. Since he’d started running as security for UMBRA, he’d found that nothing seemed to satisfy him so much as actually doing his job. They’d finish a gig, he’d go home, see his boy. He’d go hang with Ava. And all of those things were great. But he always found himself looking at his AK, and looking forward to strapping it on again.

“There’s always a spot open for you. Foster poaches one of ours, I can poach one right back.” Poker chuckled that evil sounding little thing of his, not quite villainous, but like he’d heard a joke that nobody else did. “Not that I’d wanna fuck anything up for good ol’ Tex. It’s just a little lonely without some hopped up country boy to make things exciting.”

“Queen doesn’t count. He dresses too nice.” Maui chuckled as he stashed the toothpick in his jacket’s breast pocket, presumably to dispose of it later. THUNDER was exceedingly careful about how much evidence they left anywhere they went, a leftover habit that Donnelley had that anyone who’d known him for a while would notice.

“You should think about it. Not much thinking and investigating needed when the only objective is ‘kill these assholes real good.’” Poker smiled at Dave, a show of teeth more than anything friendly. “Ain’t that right, Ghost?”

Ghost nodded, still watching Lucky.

“That’s what we do,” he rumbled. “Still have to get you trained up. Work on team shit.” His mind was already planning training evolutions, thinking about the weaknesses he’d seen in Lucky’s technique and what it would take to fix them.

Dave sat back on his haunches and dug out his dip, snapping the can a few times.

“I’ll give it some thought,” he said. He packed a lip and stowed the can, looking for a distraction. It was a heavy topic; THUNDER were killers, and as much as Dave enjoyed the fight he wasn’t sure if he thought of himself as a killer. “So do we hafta tag this stuff for CORAL NOMAD, or just take what we want an’ leave the rest layin’ here?”

“NOMAD guys don’t really care about shit unless there’s a chance whatever they’re gonna be sharing their transport with is gonna eat them.” Poker shrugged, throwing a hand out at the barely sorted piles of weapons, “Take whatever you can carry, man. No telling when you need to pop someone’s grape and not have it come back to you.”

Dave looked up at Poker, processing his words. Then he sighed and picked up one of the Yugoslavian AK’s.

“I can make this thing run with a good cleanin’,” he said. Ghost kicked one of the others.

“We’ll take two AK’s,” he said. “Might need a drop-gun. Maui, do you want the VEPR?”

“Been eyeing that one.” Maui smiled.

“VEPR and some Blackout for us, AKs for you guys. I know I’m not the only one thinking it, so I’ll say this now.” Poker looked at everyone in the room, “NOMAD gets the sword.”

Maui grunted, but he knew Poker was right. Something that out of place and old was bound to have something up with it. The last time he saw some guy on a Working Group touch something old and then vomit light as he dissolved into thin air really hammered it home that CORAL NOMAD were the only ones touching anything on an Op. “You guys want anything else?” Maui asked.

“Think I’m good,” Dave said. He picked up his AK and one of the mag slings, setting them aside. “I’ll get packin’ up the explosives so they’re ready when we leave.”

Poker looked at Ghost, then Maui. The both of them knew how Poker could get with newbies and prospects. Almost a sadist with the way he poked and prodded them until he could see what they were really made of. Donnelley’s first day had ended snarling in Poker’s smirking face and having to be pulled away by Ghost and Maui. Not that he was in danger, Poker always had a knife nearby. “So, tell me about Ava. You two seem like you’re pretty close.” Poker said, picking at his nails like he wasn’t being a prying asshole, “What happens if she catches a stray, man? You think you’ll keep it together if she’s bleeding?”

Poker looked Dave in the eye, shrugging, “I’m just saying. I know Tex and that little Fed bitch are up to something whenever they’re together. In the eyes. Maybe I should start calling him Lucky,” Poker had a grin, a chuckle that seemed altogether proud and damn annoyed, with thinly veiled predatory thoughts about Laine, “I don’t want to have to worry about you two risking all of us for…”

Poker acted like he was searching for just the right way to put it, “Pussy.”

Dave paused in his work, caught off guard by the sudden turn in Poker's demeanor. His jaw clenched as his old temper flared and his blue eyes narrowed.

"Ava an' me are pretty close," he said calmly. "I'll do my job. Best help for her will be to kill the motherfuckers shootin' at us, right? Me an' her have already had that talk."

He closed the bag containing the claymores and the C4.

"But don't talk about her like she's just a piece of pussy," Dave said. His drawl was more pronounced now. "Or me an' you are gonna have a talk."

“Oh, good.” Poker said, his grin widening at the flare in Lucky’s temper as he stood. He took the few paces to get across the room and stand front and center with Lucky, holding his eye the whole time, “That’s real nice that you two got together and had that little pillow talk after the fucking was done. Let’s just hope it’s not all bullshit. You punched some idiot at a shooting range and shot at a fucking drunk Indian.”

Poker thought about clapping Lucky on the shoulder, but decided against it. He got away with it when Queen came on, but after the incident with Tex he was more conservative with things like this. “Good for you. But it takes a lot more to hang when the shit gets really real.” Poker smiled, real friendly, or as friendly as his smiles ever got, “I’ll be keeping my eye on you, Lucky, always like fresh meat.”

Dave stood as Poker approached. He saw Ghost uncross his arms and take a step closer but ignored him in favor of glaring down at the THUNDER team lead.

"Watch all you want, you'll see how I hang," he growled. "Just do it with your mouth shut. We done? Cuz I got shit to do, unless you wanna keep measurin' dicks."

“We got an unknown.” Maui’s voice cut the tension, and he was already holding his DMR at low ready, “What are we doing?”

“THUNDER 1-Actual to all stations, unknown male spotted 12 o’oclock, front of house, 300 hundred meters and closing.” Poker turned away from Dave as if they weren’t having a moment between each other a second ago, “Maui, keep your eyes on the unknown. Ghost, go find that fucking asshole Queen and tell him to stop fucking off.”

Poker looked at Dave, nodding at the stairs, “The fuck you standing there for, go get your Team Lead.”

“I’m already down here, fucker.” Donnelley rounded the corner onto the first landing, stepping down the last few steps and joining them all in the living room downstairs, “He’s just walkin’ up to the door or what?”

As Ghost left to find Queen, Dave joined the others, slapping on his helmet and snatching up his AK. He forced his recent conversation with Poker to the back of his mind, putting on his game face as he stepped up next to Donnelley.

“Maybe he wants to complain about the noise,” he murmured.

Laine followed not too far behind Donnelley, carrying her vest as she descended the stairs taking on a precursory glance at the weapons half put away. She strapped the plate carrier over the gray thermal shirt and found her small rifle where she had left it leaning against the wall. Instead of joining the men, she went to the kitchen where Avery and Ipiktok sat at the table.

“I’ll stay join you two, if you don’t mind,” she said, mostly looking at the old man.

“Oh, hey, Laine.” Avery smiled at the FBI woman as he leaned back in his chair, “Should I go to the living room with the guys?”

“Avery, where the fuck are you at?” Donnelley’s voice from the living room.

“Okay.” Avery rose and jogged into the living room, buckling his helmet and knocking his fist against it.

She smiled at Avery as he jumped up to respond to Donnelley, he really was a pup but he would grow, he was already learning the bad habit of self medicating. Maybe his time in the BLACKBOX without booze would help, being around the men of TRIDENT and THUNDER. Laine’s smile faded with that thought, teams dedicated to just the killing business made her uneasy. She sank into a kitchen chair, trying not to think about the three shots that had finished Yutu, turning her focus instead on the person approaching. It was probably another tribal cop and hoped it was not a certain stranger that liked to pop up.

>...///

Donnelley looked at Avery standing to the side of the door, the FN machinegun in his hands. Donnelley nodded, Avery nodded back and then opened the door. Donnelley stepped through the threshold and raised his hand at the stranger approaching, who walked on heedless. The stranger was still about a hundred meters away when they stumbled and collapsed on their side. Donnelley’s brow quirked in confusion, “UMBRA 1-5, on me. THUNDER 1-3, keep us in your sights, over.”

“Roger, Wilco.” Maui’s voice came back over the comms.

Avery joined Donnelley at the door and they began walking cautiously towards the stranger who’d collapsed in the road. The both of them had their weapons trained on the still form, not knowing what would greet them once they’d gotten close to this person. As they closed in on him, Avery stayed covering the man they could see now was violently shivering as Donnelley stepped over to kneel next to the person, wrapped in the tattered remains of a sleeping bag. With a glance toward Avery, Donnelley tucked his SIG to his side, adjusting the sling to let it hang at his side. He reached out and turned whoever it was over, “Star…” she murmured weakly, and Donnelley could now see it was one of SIREN, “Star…”

Donnelley recognized the challenge word and answered back, “Texas, Texas.” He wrapped an arm under the SIREN member and then his other, hefting her up and keying on his mic, “UMBRA 1-Actual, all stations. I have retrieved a member of SIREN and am inbound!”

Donnelley and Avery came careening back into the living room, Donnelley with the member of SIREN in his arms. He brought her to one of the couches in the living room and laid her down on the cushions. He unzipped and shrugged his jacket off, draping that over her legs so she was covered by more than the ragged sleeping bag she was using to wrap herself in. She looked pale, her lips drained of color and that leant her an almost cadaverous look to her otherwise attractive features. Her lips were cracked and dried blood had flaked away from them, a bruise around her left eye told of a struggle.

Donnelley knelt beside her and put a finger to her neck, feeling a soft pulse struggling to keep going, and her skin cold to the touch, “We need more covers,” Donnelley called out, “Blankets, jackets, bring them here!”

Laine was up when Donnelley returned bringing in the woman, rushing over to help. She looked pale, in shock, and shaking violently. Hypothermia or blood loss could cause it and she knelt beside Donnelley, "Any injuries, bleeding or anything?"

She pulled off her plate carrier as she spoke, touching the woman's hand. It was ice, and she glanced up at his call for blankets. If only they had a medic but Jason was off somewhere doing spook things but they did have a mountain man. Laine rose and turned, moving through THIUNDER still standing around.

“Dave, come here,” she called him over, “You know what to do for hypothermia, right?”

Laine looked sharply at him, trusting his survival skills which was the closest thing UMBRA had to a medical professional.

Dave set his rifle aside, kneeling beside the downed agent. Her skin was cold, and he clucked his tongue and looked over at Laine.

“Grab that gallon of milk outta the fridge for me. Dump it, fill it with hot water, okay? Hot. Then wrap it in a towel an’ bring it in here. Donnelley, we are gonna need them blankets, but wrap ‘em loose. Gotta have air flow,” he said. He scooted a little closer, leaning over her to look into her eyes as best he could. The best way to handle shock was to keep the person calm, focused, and preferably speaking.

“You’re gon’ be alright now,” he said gently. “Gonna get you warmed up, an’ we got three teams in this house. You’re safe. Can you tell me your name?”

The Agent’s eyes didn’t seem to focus on Dave, not answering his question. Instead she just shivered where she was, her eyes not even moving from whatever place they were staring at. Donnelley gently reached and made sure the blankets and jackets were loose around her. Donnelley’s hand brushed against her shoulder and she whimpered, making him recoil at once and he glanced at Dave. Making the woman make a sound like that put a bad feeling on him, he stood and went to see how Laine was doing in the kitchen in lieu of traumatizing the woman more.

>...///

Laine moved quickly to do what he asked, pushing through the gathered men to get to the kitchen. “Give them space,” she said while walking away.

In the kitchen, Ipitok sat alone at the table. She glanced at the old shaman and said, “A survivor came in, from one of our other groups. She’s very cold but seems unhurt.”

She spoke as she took a pot and filled it with water, setting it on the blue flame of the stove cranked up. Another smaller pot took a burner and she moved to make more coffee. After poking around the cabinets, she found a thermos and poured the remaining milk into it and began washing out the jug. She looked up as she filled the jug in the sink, catching the sight of Donnelley coming around the corner.

“How is she doing?” Laine asked as she shook the jug vigorously.

Donnelley folded his arms and leaned against the wall, shaking his head, “About the same as she came in.” Donnelley muttered, “I think you and Ava should handle her. I touched her shoulder by accident and she made out like it was a knife or somethin’.”

Donnelley shrugged, “She’s in shock, obviously. I don’t want to know what she had to do to get back here.”

“He’s out there.” Ipiktok said ominously, narrowing his eyes as he looked out the window as if who he was talking about was just outside. Donnelley hoped not. “She’s lucky she got back.”

Laine stopped shaking the milk jug, leaving the milky water where it was when she set in the sink. “Sounds like a response to trauma inflicted by another.”

She glanced at Ipiktok as he spoke, then back up at Donnelley. She studied his face, familiar and dear to her as it was but through the eyes of a stranger the large burn scar would stand out and perhaps startle. She moved a little closer to him, giving his arm a quick squeeze, “I’ve had enough experience with this, unfortunately. Hopefully she will talk. I need THUNDER out of there, even Dave might be too much. Can you finish this? Dave needs a hot water jug. Water is just starting to simmer.”

Laine wiped her wet hands on the back of her pants and marched into the living room.

>...///

Queen left the room to go down to the cellar, there was a bed down there and extra blankets for an old man living in an Alaksan basement. As he swung the door open, “Ava, you still down here? All clear.”

Ava peaked her head into view and up the stairs. “Everything’s okay? What happened?” She asked with a concerned furrow of her brow.

“Looks like a survivor from SIREN, they had a lady on their team. She’s not in great shape, exposure and cold will do that. They want blankets, figured I could strip this bed,” he said as he walked past her.

“Oh,” Ava stepped to the side to let him pass, her eyes widening. “Is there anything I can do to help?” She asked, following after him to help strip down the bed.

Queen yanked off the comforter and the top sheet, leaving the bottom with the difficult elastic corners. Bundling them against his chest, he glanced at her. “Uh, well. Probably make something warm and mild to drink, coffee is probably too strong. Maybe old boy had some tea in the cupboards.”

Ava’s eyes brightened. “I brought tea!” She said, pointing up the stairs before making for them. “I grabbed some when we got told we were coming to Alaska and I brought it in case we got stuck out in the wilderness!”

Queen grinned at her enthusiasm, “Well, there’s water put to boil.What kinda tea is it? If you have something soothing, it’ll help. What’s that one with the little daisies on the box?”

He started back up the stairs, waiting for her to come along.

She nodded energetically as she followed up after him, eager to help in whatever way she could. “Chamomile! I have that and I have honey lavender and a fruity citrusy one.”

Queen jerked his head back in recognition, “That's the one! Chamomile. My mom used to drink that all the time, she had anxiety but hated pills. She’s really into that natural healing stuff.”

He quirked a grin at the irony, then glanced over his shoulder, “A lot of weed too but when she didn’t have that it was good ol’ chamomile.”

>...///

Laine turned the corner into the living room, Dave was near the couch with the woman covered in coats and staring past the men of THUNDER that still occupied the room. She felt a surge of protectiveness and irritation that they were still there. There was no reason, other than their lack of consideration for the victim.

“Alright, everyone not Dave, get out,” Laine said, looking at Ghost and Poker, “She doesn’t need an audience. Please.”

Ghost crossed his arms and looked to Poker for direction. Dave ignored both of them. He was still talking quietly to the woman, sitting beside her, just making noise so she had something to listen to.

Poker was still leaned next to his window, making out like he hadn’t heard Laine. When it was clear that Poker didn’t give a shit about any kind of order from Laine, he pushed away from the wall and nodded upstairs for Ghost to follow, the two of them walking slow up the stairs.

Laine watched out of the corner of her eye until THUNDER moved on as she crouched next to the sofa. She looked closer at the woman, noting her condition from exposure. There was not much to see under the pile of coats but what was clear was the trauma in her eyes.

She resisted the urge to comfort, it did more harm than good to touch someone that had been physically violated, even with the best intentions.

“I’m Dr. Laine, from UMBRA. You’re safe now,” she said, kneeling down so she was not hovering over the woman. “Dave here is an expert, he’ll get you warmed back up and feeling better. No one here will hurt you.”

She smiled a little, trying to meet the woman’s gaze.

Queen left Ava at the kitchen, walking in quietly with the bedding. He placed it at the end of the sofa and glanced at Dave then Laine. “How’s she doing?”

Laine shot a look at him, piercing green eyes pinning him. “She needs quiet if you don’t mind.”

He held up his hands, slowly backing out without asking another word. Laine almost felt bad but her concern was for the SIREN ‘well being.

“You got that water heatin’ up?” Dave asked, looking up at Laine. “Ain’t really much else we can do, just try an’ keep her calm.”

“I have two burners going, Donnelley’s going to bring it,” she said, then addressed the SIREN survivor, not really expecting a reply but hating to talk around her like she was not present. “A nice hot water bottle sounds good?”

>.../// Back to the Kitchen:

Queen returned to the kitchen, whistling under his breath. “Don’t go in there.”

Ava looked away from her scavenging for mugs, finding one slightly chipped ceramic one that seemed like it would do. “I have to wait for some water to boil first.” She said with a small shrug, glancing at the stove and the multiple pots on it. “I should probably wait though.”

She looked over to Ipiktok sitting at the table and cleared her throat. “Um, Mr. Ipiktok, would you like some tea? I have a few different kinds.”

“I think the microwave works, it looks old as hell but the lights are on,” Queen suggested.

Ava blinked and looked at the microwave. “Oh...Right...I guess it doesn’t matter.” She laughed sheepishly and moved over to the sink to fill up the mug.

“I don’t think old boy was a tea kettle type,” he quipped, grinning at her reaction.

“I’m fine,” Ipiktok said, “No tea for me, thank you.”

“Do you fucking know what THUN-“ Avery walked into the kitchen, his MG still cradled in his arms, but cut his sentence short seeing Queen, “-Their… problem is?”

“Don’t worry about ‘em.” Donnelley growled and shook his head. He wasn’t there to see whatever Avery was talking about, but if it concerned THUNDER it wasn’t worth pursuing. But Donnelley didn’t see it that way, “Why?” He turned from the water and looked at Avery, then to Queen.

Queen shrugged, then glanced away, “I don’t know, I was in the basement getting blankets. I came back and they’d left the room.”

He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck through his longish hair, reluctant to bring up Laine.Though Donnelley had said nothing about her, even brought him down to the basement Queen had noticed how they looked at each other and the many times they slipped off to do some work somewhere in the Blackbox. Hell, he had given Donnelley the map after all. He had never asked about it, it was Tex’s business but he knew the look in the man’s eye when he was attracted to someone. Tattling on Laine would do him no good but Donnelley had a stare that demanded answers.

Finally he added, “I think Agent Laine doesn’t want a buncha people in there.”

The microwave beeped and Ava retrieved the mug, looking to the mug and then the tea packets she had gotten from her bag. “Should probably just give her regular water before tea.” She said to herself.

She looked up to Queen at his words and cleared her throat. “I’ll, uh, just be quick with this.” She said and made her way out of the kitchen to deliver the mug of hot water.

Donnelley watched Ava shuffle out of the kitchen, her barely concealed discomfort with the topic of conversation apparent in her face. Avery sensed the change in mood and followed her out. Donnelley looked back at Queen, “I think we both know how Poker can be.” The memory of what Poker had said about his last team that had died in Chechnya and picking Poker up off his feet to slam him against a wall was still fresh after all the years, “I don’t need him playin’ his fuckin’ games right now. Mark my goddamn words, he puts this Op in jeopardy and gets someone killed that ain’t himself, I’ll get to him ‘fore any of y’all can do a damn thing.”

The water behind him was on the edge of boiling, he turned around and transferred the water into the milk jug he’d finished cleaning out just earlier. He capped off the jug and drew in a breath, letting his shoulders drop as he exhaled. When he turned back around he made for the door, but stopped just short, looking again at Queen. Studying the man’s features, he knew those handsome cheekbones well enough to notice when Billy had something on his mind. Donnelley softened just a hair as he looked into Queen’s eyes. The history between them in their shared gazes seemed to calm Donnelley, “I just want all of us to get out of here alive, Billy.”

Queen did know how Poker could be, not just an asshole but one who could find the soft spots and sliced into them with sadistic pleasure. He was also good at his job and handled a team like THUNDER with mostly professional grace. At least for professional killers.

He let Donnelley talk, he knew their history as much as anyone and Tex’s absence from the team now had unbalanced it, at least for Queen. He nodded, “I know, same here.”

Queen glanced at the silent shaman and then back at Donnelley, the coke was still in his system but right now he wanted nothing more than to curl up and pop a few Xannies. He shook his head at the unvoiced thought and then smiled a little, “You’re running this OP, we’ll be alright.”

He paused then snapped his fingers, “Hey, Dave wanted a towel, for the jug I think.”

Queen moved with a sinewy grace, snatching a hanging dish towel from the pantry door handle and slung it over Donnelley’s arms. He met his gaze and held it, “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be doing my rounds.”

...///

Ava stopped just short of entering into the living room, looking in carefully and seeing Laine and Dave speaking in low tones to the SIREN survivor, bundled up as much as possible on the couch. “Dave?” She called out, keeping her voice low.

Dave looked over at Ava and gave her a small smile. He still wore his gear, though he’d set his helmet aside. “Hey sugar,” he said, standing up and walking over to her. He looked around, saw that they were alone except for Laine and the SIREN agent, and put a hand on her shoulder.

“How you holdin’ up?” He asked.

“I’m fine.” She said with a smile and held up the mug of hot water. “I brought this, it’s just plain water, but I thought it would help?” She looked around him to the couch. “How is she?”

“Cold,” he said. He took the mug with a smile. “But I’ll see if she feels like drinkin’. Right now we’re still tryin’a get her to talk. I think she’s in shock, but part of that’s probably the hypothermia.”

Ava nodded slowly, eyebrows creased with worry. “Well, I think the water in the kitchen is almost ready.” She said, folding her arms over her chest. “And I brought tea so I can make her some if you guys think that might help.”

“If we get her talkin’ and drinkin’ tea will definitely help,” Dave said. “Til then, if you could get that hot water into a jug or a bottle, an’ then wrap it in a towel? We can put that on her chest an’ help warm her blood.”

Laine glanced up as Ava spoke but said nothing to chase her off. Unlike the aggressively masculine THUNDER, the young woman’s gentle presence might actually help with the woman from SIREN. She trusted Dave to sort out when the woman could get water, which she likely desperately needed but warming seemed the priority.

Donnelley entered from the kitchen, his blood still hit as the water in his jug as the thought of THUNDER stoking the fire with his team flared in his mind again. He took another deep breath and shook his head, looking to the SIREN agent. Bringing retribution upstairs to Poker was far, far lower on his list of priorities than making sure they made it back home, the last member of SIREN included. He raised the jug a bit, looking from the SIREN agent who’d looked at his face like a nightmare and yelped at his touch to Dave, “I, uh,” he cleared his throat a bit, staying a respectable distance from the woman, “I got that water here.”

“Perfect,” Dave said. “Thanks, man. I’ll take it.”

He grabbed the bundle containing the hot water, feeling the warmth through the towel. As he approached the couch he held it out to Laine.

“Here, you should, uh...You should do it. Needs t’go on her chest. If ya can convince her to put it under her shirt, that’d be best, but…” He shrugged. “She’ll probably take it better from you. On her chest, or her neck if we hafta. Don’t put it on an extremity, that’ll fuck things up.”

Taking the wrapped jug from Dave, she gave him a tight appreciative smile, then glanced at Donnelley past him. “Did you want to call it in? Maybe get her name, that could help to talk to her using it.”

She looked at Dave and Donnelley, a flicker of uncertainty then she said,”Maybe step out while we get her set up? Just for now.”

Turning away, she knelt by the couch and spoke to the woman, “This will help warm you up, I want to put it against your chest but it should go against your skin, are you alright with me lifting your shirt to do this?”

She set the wrapped jug on the edge of the couch, so she could feel the warmth and might allow Laine to continue. The woman did not respond, only stared through Laine to someplace far away and blinked once.

Laine made the decision for her, lifting the comforter and the jackets up enough to slide the jug against her chest, using the towel to tug up her shirt as she did, gingerly lifting just enough without exposing her breast. It would have to do, it was close to her heart. She gently touched the woman’s hand, speaking the whole time in a soft husky tone, “It’s alright, you’re safe, we’re going to help you. No one will hurt you here. I am with the FBI, you’re safe. I’m just placing this against your chest so you can get warm.”

She repeated it in a mantra, making a comfortable noise as Dave had earlier. Laine replaced the jackets, then the blanket. She sat back, to give her room after the invasiveness. Glancing up at Ava, “Let’s see about the water, I don’t know if she can swallow it. I’d rather her be able to do it herself rather than risk her choking.”

Ava nodded, taking the mug from Dave and giving him one last smile before walking over to join Laine’s side and help where she could.

>...///

The assault packs were huddled in the corner of the living room, and finding his own among the packs that looked just as bland and camouflaged as the next was a task that took a few seconds. It came down to finding the one with his specific brand of cigarettes in one of the pockets, a good find seeing as he’d left the open one in his jacket he’d so heroically forgotten. He hefted it up, walking towards the door and patting Dave’s shoulder for him to follow. Ipiktok seemed fine on his lonesome, and going upstairs with THUNDER didn’t seem a smart choice for either Dave or Donnelley. He twisted the knob of the front door and stepped outside, shrugging his pack and kneeling down over it, revealing the long range radio inside tuned to the frequency that Chris Greedy, PALADIN Main, would be on.

He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it, puffing on it a couple times while he readied to radio in their SITREP so far. He paused, glancing at Dave. He still had his back turned to him, but stood and then faced him, “Out of curiosity…” Donnelley dragged off his cigarette and clucked his tongue, “How are you and Poker and his boys gettin’ along?”

As if to make drill in his interest in Dave’s opinion, he spoke further, “Just you and me and the wind here, Dave.”

Dave shrugged a shoulder, reaching into his pocket to freshen up his dip. Poker had pissed him off, that much was for sure. For a moment he’d wanted nothing more than to take one of the loaded AK mags to the man’s teeth. But Dave wasn’t about to tell Donnelley that. Much as he liked the man, he wasn’t going to play mommy-daddy games.

“Poker’s kind of a dick,” he said after he’d packed a little more into his lip. “But I ain’t stressin’. Been around worse growin’ up. We got them weapons all sorted out, he explained how we should keep some of the ammo an’ a couple rifles in case shit gets hot. But he’s givin’ that sword to CORAL NOMAD, said it’s too fuckin’ weird for us to be messin’ with.”

Dave shook his head. “Can’t say I blame him. Weird thing t’have in a seabag, ya know?”

Donnelley nodded, feeling a cold wind brush past and the cherry of his cigarette grew brighter for a moment. Donnelley blew out the smoke, “I spent years with that guy and I don’t think the urge to crack him in the back of his head really went away.” Donnelley shook his head, “You’ll get used to findin’ weird shit. A sword’s kinda tame, you’ll find.”

Somewhat satisfied with Dave’s answer, somewhat not, he turned away again and knelt down over his pack and the radio inside of it. He keyed it on and spoke into the mouthpiece, “UMBRA 1-Actual to PALADIN Main, come in, over.” Donnelley listened for signs of life on the other end, but nothing came, “UMBRA 1-Actual, come in, PALADIN Main.”

Static, for just a few seconds, before a voice came over the weak signal. It was barely legible, but Donnelley focused on making out the words, “PAL-...-ain…-Actual…”

“Say again last, PALADIN Main, you’re comin’ in weak on the comms, over.”

“PAL-...Ahead, UMBRA 1-Ac-...”

“PALADIN Main, say again last, over.”

And then nothing but static. Donnelley rubbed at his eyes and adjusted his hat on his head, toying with the brim. He shook his head, “Interference on the comms, I’m goin’ to see if I can-“

Donnelley looked at the radio quizzically as the fuzzy static took on some sort of rhythm. One long tone, one short, one long. He listened to it repeat, and again, and again. The same rhythm over and over. It wasn’t anything he recognized in Morse code. Not an SOS, but weird nonetheless. It grew steadily louder, to the point that Donnelley could still hear it with the set a few inches from his ear. The same rhythm, over and over, long-short-long. Both of the men could hear it now, until it sounded almost like speech. “You hearin’ this?”

Dave ignored him, or never heard him at all. His eyes were fixed on the middle distance, staring not at the radio but through it, as the mellow white noise of the static lulled him. His vision doubled, Donnelley and the radio he was staring at fading beneath a rising image of the outskirts of Noatak, lit by the moon. Dave’s hand twitched and he swayed as he felt himself pulled along, the view of Noatak suddenly racing away like one of Ava’s drones. He saw the harsh Alaskan landscape passing by too rapidly to -

Come and see…

The desiccated, frozen corpse they’d found with Ava’s drone, the detail as clear as if it were lying in before him.

Come and see…

More flying snow, the landscape blurring by as though he’s got a rocket strapped to his back. The shaman’s compound looms in front of him, the corpses still floating in the air.

Come and see…

The compound vanished, replaced by the distant tundra, snow gently falling and creating a white haze in the distance.

Come and see…

Come and see…

Come and see…

Dave’s hand curled into a fist, and then suddenly he was free, the vision or whatever it was vanishing. He blinked, confused, looking around, his hand going to his pistol.

“What the fuck was that, man?”

Donnelley seemed to burst into a raucous excitement, throwing a rabid and haphazard elbow behind him as he whirled around to face Dave. There was violence in his eyes, a madness there and a sort of desperation, “Get the fuck away from me!” He was reaching out with one hand to grab at Dave’s collar and cocking back a fist. His words came out in a scream, but there was more fear than anger, “Not her!”

The hand at his collar and the cocked fist sent Dave back to countless nights spent in dingey Boone County bars. He hadn't had a proper martial arts class since the unarmed combat drills of his childhood, but he was a country boy, born and bred, and barroom tussles and nights in the drunk tank had marked many a weekend during his formative years. Dave reacted, grabbing Donnelley's collar and stepping in fast, sending the hard ridge of his forehead against Donnelley's face. He stepped in again as Donnelley reeled and stuck a leg behind his knees, grabbed him around the waist, and then took him down in a heavy bodyslam.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Dave shouted, throwing his weight atop the other man. He shoved his forearm into the back of Donnelley’s neck, pushing his face into the snow and sticking his knee into the back of his thigh. “Calm down, goddammit! It’s me!”

“Fuck you! Fuck you!” Donnelley was wriggling against Dave’s weight atop him and screaming for murder. A couple people had since come out to watch, staring out at the two men having a roll in the street, “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, motherfucker! Get away from me!”

His wriggling and thrashing continued until he lay still, breathing heavy and quick. Shallow, panicked breaths escaped his lips as he looked around, suddenly cold against his face. He was somewhere else, somewhere colder than this. Laine was there in that place, and the others, but… Donnelley’s breath hitched in his throat as his face screwed up in pain. He held his breath and let it out quivering, “Let me go, man.” Donnelley tried to get his one eye not in the dirt to look at Dave to no avail, just straining his neck, “Please, man, come on.”

He could see Ipiktok and Avery on the porch, both of them curious about the ruckus outside. Avery was looking at Donnelley with that same worried gaze that Tilly had when he’d threatened to make the school security guard eat the curb. He averted his eyes right quick, “I’m fine…”

Dave held Donnelley for another couple seconds, then rolled off of him, coming quickly to his feet. He was breathing hard from the struggle of holding the man down, and while he stood nearby he stopped short of immediately offering a hand to pick him up. Instead he watched him with a wary eye for a few moments.

“You alright, man?” He finally asked, slowly extending his hand.

“Fuck… Y-yeah.” Donnelley lay on the ground and tentatively took hold of Dave’s hand, wincing and holding his ribs as he was hauled up, “I was there. I was right fuckin’ there…”

“Right where?” Dave asked. His anger at having been swung on faded quickly; he knew he’d seen some unsettling shit, so it only stood to reason that Donnelley had, too. “What’d you see?”

From inside the house, Laine could hear a sudden flurry of cursing, the distinct country drawls made her bolt up and turned to Ava. “Watch her.”

She hurried outside, her hand checking for her Glock as she did.

Back outside, Donnelley looked past Dave and over his shoulder. Recalling, and not wanting to, “I was back in Iraq, down a hallway, and the BLACKBOX… then it was almost like here, but… colder… and Laine was…” Donnelley fell quiet, his eyes widening just a hair, “Ava…”

Donnelley sunk down to his haunches and pressed his palms in his eyes, rubbing out the sights and the memory of it, “Jesus fuck… It ain’t fuckin’ real, it’s just tryin’ to fuck with me.”

Laine caught sight of Dave getting off of Donnelley and helping him up, she shot a look at Avery who had done nothing and rushed past him. She looked at both men, their faces held no anger but wariness and fear. She slowed down and walked up to them, her eyes on Dave, “What happened? We could hear you in the house.”

She turned to Donnelley, where he crouched and her hands slipped from her hips. Laine wanted to reach out and hold him, she could feel the distress coming off of him but Dave stood there and others were watching. Instead, she dropped to one knee so she would not hover over him and put a hand on his shoulder, “Are you alright?”

Donnelley nodded, laying a hand on Laine’s and squeezing reassuredly. He rose to his feet and asked Dave, “Did you see the same thing?” He looked at the ground and then to the hazy distances so thick with it he couldn’t see the end of the block, “When did it snow?”

Dave shook his head, reaching up to run a hand through his shaggy hair.

“I dunno man. I wasn’t in Iraq, I was...Here. I saw the frozen guy, the mummified one...An’ then the shaman’s compound, an’...” He trailed off, following Donnelley’s gaze. “Then I saw that. The tundra. Out there.”

Laine looked between them, “You saw something? What like hallucinations, both of you?”

She glanced at the radio that sat silent and back at Donnelley, waiting for some sort of explanation. Laine followed their line of sight, had it been so hazy before? She did not think so but was not sure. Then she thought about the woman on the couch, she had been so cold. Freezing.

A shiver ran up her neck and she crossed her arms, holding herself.

“Let’s…” Donnelley looked around, a fog had fallen over Noatak and there was snow on the ground that none of them had seen coming in. None of them had seen it an hour ago either, “Let’s get back inside.”

“An’ maybe get our guns,” Dave muttered. He headed for the house, giving Donnelley a light thump on his vest to show that all was forgiven. “We probably oughta tell the rest of ‘em what happened, anyway.”

“Mm.” Was all Donnelley said. The sudden appearance of snow and the haziness of the already dark night made his hair stand on edge. It didn’t help that Noatak didn’t seem to be too keen on streetlights. May as well just strap their NVGs on and leave them there.

Donnelley followed Dave and Laine to the front porch. He was the first to the door, placing his hand on the knob and stopping there. He looked to Dave, about to sheepishly mutter an embarrassed apology when he heard something weighty drop to the ground inside. He threw the door open, hand on his sidearm and disengaging the lock. What he saw made him rush forward without a word, Ava lay on the wood plank floor, eyes rolling back and twitching, “Jesus, no! No, no, no, Ava!”

>...///

The wind cut through the air like a butcher’s knife, tugging and whipping her hair around her bare shoulders and across her naked body.

All around her stretched to the horizon was gray earth, shriveled and blackened shrub and jagged mounds of hills of unforgiving rocks. In contrast to this static landscape of lifeless monotone, up above the sky was a writhing mass of storm clouds. Like a turbulent black sea they swelled and twisted, ripping and tearing themselves apart only to form back together.

Yet through the storm and the barren slate of the land, there was a light. The pale light of the moon shone down upon her and the landscape; highlighting the only structure on the land.

Off in the distance, yet still looming in its size, was a ziggurat made of deep, black stone that was darker than the deepest shadow.

The wind howled, like a long wailing moan as she looked up to the moon.

It shined impassively down at her...Until a large black pupil rolled forth from behind it and looked back at her.

>...///

Ava took in a sharp breath, her eyes fluttering as they rolled back forward; looking up at the faces hovering over her. “...What happened?” She asked, her voice not pitched with fear or panic. Just, confusion.

“You fell down, sugar,” Dave’s voice was calm, though his clenched jaw showed the tension and worry he felt. He’d bulled his way past the rest of the team to scoop Ava into his arms, and he held her gently. “Looked like a seizure. You’re okay now, I’ve got you.”

He looked down at her, putting his hand on her cheek to comfort both Ava and himself. “Just relax, everythin’ is okay.”

“What the fuck was that, what’re you yelling about?” Poker descended the stairs with his rifle at low ready, Avery at his back, “Hello?”

Laine bent at the waist, her hands on her knees to look over Dave’s shoulder. “Do you have any history of seizures, Ava? Do you remember anything, a smell or taste before you blacked out?”

With concern in her eyes at the small figure cradled in Dave’s arms, “How do you feel?”

“Okay? I think?” Ava answered, her expression growing more confused as she took stock of herself. “I don’t know what happened, I was talking to the agent to keep her company and then... I felt this really strong rush of anxiety and fear and things went muddy after that. I saw shapes and colors then…” She trailed off as her eyes widened. “I think I had another vision, like the one I had when I was really sick when we were escorting Dulane, but a different one.”

Dave gave Donnelley a worried look, ignoring Poker.

“Yeah, you ain’t the only one seein’ stuff, sugar,” he said. He was reluctant to let her go, but he shifted his grip on her a little bit. “Can you sit up? You want some water? Some tea?”

Laine cleared her throat when she noticed Poker and Avery, worried that they would over hear the talk about Ava’s visions. She stood up and put herself between Ava and the staircase but let Donnelley handle his old teammate and Avery.

“Is anybody gonna answer my fucking question?” Poker asked to the room, shaking his head incredulously.

“Don’t worry about it, everythin’s taken care of. Just get back-“

The SIREN Agent sat up stock straight on the couch, heaving in a raspy breath as if she’d been holding her head under the water until she couldn’t take it anymore. At the end of the breath, she let out a shrill scream that almost bent Donnelley double and threatened to blow out his eardrums. He looked from the equally startled Poker to Laine and the others. The strangeness that seemed to be happening in quick succession like a fucked up Rube Goldberg machine was making Donnelley feel like at any second the finale of it would blow through the door and kill them all.

Instead, nothing happened. Silence, the only sound the SIREN Agent’s haggard breathing, “Where am I!?” She asked, rising to her feet but her legs gave out and she instead flailed back onto the couch, “What the fuck? What the fuck, what the fuck?”

The screaming also caught Laine by surprise, the woman reviving out of nowhere and it took her a moment to register the sudden change. She stepped past Ava and Dave and went over to the panicked woman and held her hands outward slightly, showing her she held nothing in that age old sign.

“You’re with Team UMBRA,” she said in a slow firm voice, “You’re in the village of Noatak. You’re safe.”

Slowly, Laine approached so she could be close enough to touch but kept her hands to herself. She could see fear and disorientation and the trigger for her snapping out of her catatonic state did not seem to be the moment the hallucinations had hit the men or that Ava had her vision. It was after. She glanced at the window and saw the snow falling, another shiver ran up her neck but she kept her voice even.

“Can you tell me your name? You’re part of SIREN?” Laine asked, looking at the agent, no doubt she was but maybe the name might focus her or trigger her memory.

The SIREN Agent swallowed, looking at Laine with her mouth ajar. She focused her gaze on each of them in the room like she didn’t believe any of it. She probably didn’t. Donnelley looked from Laine to the SIREN Agent, hoping she was finally lucid and wasn’t completely out of her mind. The SIREN Agent closed her mouth, then spoke to Laine, “I… I’m Sarah. I’m Sarah Jung, from Homeland Security.” She looked around, “You’re… UMBRA, and THUNDER. Where’s ARTEMIS? Where’s Greedy?”

Laine tried to hold her gaze, speaking to her in the same calm, professional tone, trying to keep the concern about the snowstorm out of mind. "Sarah, Greedy is back at the BLACKBOX," she said, not sure she wanted to drop the bomb about the Wetwork team but this was a critical moment of trust establishing with the agent.

"I'm sorry but ARTEMIS is gone," Laine did not add how they floated. "They died, they were shot at the stronghold."

“They died…” Sarah whispered to herself, looking away from Laine, she looked at her hands, then ran them over her stomach under her shirt, still trying to convince herself she was alive.

Dave stood and gently helped Ava to her feet before walking over to join Laine and Sarah.

“I’m Dave,” he said, looking down at her. “I uh, I helped with the medical side of things. I ain’t a doctor or nothin’, but survival is kinda my thing. Can you feel your fingers and toes? I need to make sure you don’t have frostbite.”

Her gaze fixed on Dave for a long while, saying nothing. She flexed her fingers and toes like Dave had asked and then shook her head, “No. No, I’m okay.” Sarah said, “Is there… no one else?”

“You came in alone,” Laine said, then glanced out the window. “The snow came again though. Do you remember anything before you woke up here?”

“We were on the outskirts of town, going farther into the countryside. There was a fog rolling in quick and then…” Sarah’s face fell into her hands, she shook her head, “Don’t make me remember… don’t make me remember…”

Laine felt that knot of anxiety, looking out the window again. The eye witness reports she’d read and the information Ipiktok gave her about this thing. It all showed signs of not just being true but that it had come, following it’s lost prey. A shiver ran through her, her scalp crawling.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s painful and frightening but we need to know,” Laine looked at Sarah then gestured at the window, “Is what came for you and SIREN, coming for us? Is that what you saw before, the haze and snow?”

Her heart pounded and she suddenly thought of Renko, his sad dark eyes and desperation. Laine felt empathy for Sarah but time was of the essence. “We have to protect ourselves.”

Sarah looked outside, getting up to stand well away from the windows out of fear, and instead leaning forward to peer through them. She held her arms around her and looked back to the others, nodding. Donnelley took that as a yes to Laine’s question.

>...///

While the others spoke and took care of the shaken SIREN agent, Ava backed away so she wasn’t adding to the crowd. She joined Ipiktok’s side and cleared her throat, looking up to the older native man. “Mr. Ipiktok, could you please help me brew up some tea?” She asked, tilting her head to the kitchen, her eyes betraying her intent to speak with him alone. “I think we might be needing some soon.”

“I can help.” Ipiktok nodded, turning and entering the kitchen while the others talked. It was apparent that something was troubling him from the furrow of his brow and his distant demeanor, though if there was, he spoke nothing of it.

Ava followed him into the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder to those not in UMBRA as she went, judging how close they were to the kitchen. Once they were alone, she took in a deep breath and picked up one of the empty pots to fill with water.

“Did you...feel what happened out there?” Ava asked Ipiktok with a disconcerted frown. “Do you know what that was?”

“I did.” Ipiktok nodded once, solemn, “I know what I dreamed of is coming to fruition. Your arrival here, Yutu’s death. The rest, I can not say.”

He closed his eyes and took a breath, “As much as I wish I could.”

Ava’s eyes snapped to him, widening in shock. “You knew I was coming?” She asked quietly. She glanced worriedly to the window before focusing back on Ipiktok, taking a step toward him. “I had a vision, when I was passed out on the floor.”

“Of?” He asked, turning to look at her.

She looked to the kitchen entrance to make sure they were still alone, then turned back to him and quickly explained as best she could, the details of the vision she remembered. “And, the strangest thing is, it was like I passed out from the fear, like a severe panic attack, but when I woke up…” She shook her head in confusion. “I was completely calm. Like, nothing happened.”

Ipiktok nodded as if Ava had told him it was very cold outside, “Dreams and visions are unpredictable. There are times where I wake up not knowing where I am, other times I have to concentrate to make sure the dream or vision does not fade from my mind’s eye.”

He folded his arms, “I can not say I’ve ever seen a place like you described. Maybe it’s an omen of some kind.”

“Maybe,” She said, her shoulders slumping slightly. She ddn’t know what answer she expected to get from the Shaman, but she had hoped it would have been more...revealing. But this was just par for the course for her.

Realizing the water filled pot was just sitting on the counter, she moved it over to the stove and flipped it on. “You said that what you dreamed of is coming to fruition,” She said, turning back to him. “I know you said you can’t speak more of it, but can you tell me why you can’t tell us more?”

“It will not turn out the way I dreamed it would.” Ipiktok said.

>...///

“All Stations, this is TRIDENT 1-Actual.” Came the voice of Bear in Donnelley’s headset. “CORAL NOMAD is set to arrive in ETA 15 minutes. We are inbound to escort and assist with asset recovery, over.”

“UMBRA 1-Actual, roger, TRIDENT. Out.” Donnelley closed his mic and looked around at them all, “Well, you heard the team comms, let’s get packed up and ready to move. We’ve got ground out there to cover between here and the airfield.”

Laine moved to grab her bag by the door, then looked into the kitchen. She muttered to no one in particular, “Do you think salt still works without the magic words?”

She went to the pantry and reached for the cardboard cylinder of Mortons and glanced around sheepishly before taking it to put in her bag. Slipping it over her shoulders, she then put the small rifle to hang over her chest.

“Agent Jung...Sarah, stay with me, if you would?” Laine said, walking back out to the living room. She wanted to keep her close not just to watch out for her but to watch her, whatever was out there had followed and Laine wanted to know more. Had to know more to piece the puzzles together.

Ava straightened as Laine brushed through the kitchen. “Wait, what’s happening?” She asked, turning off the burner and following Laine out of the kitchen, looking to Donnelley. “Are we leaving?”

Donnelley was busy checking over his weapons, putting his pack back on and buckling his helmet under his chin. He switched out his old mag for a fresh one with thirty rounds. Ava’s voice came from the kitchen and he turned to her, “Yes,” Donnelley quirked his brow at her, “Why?”

Ava glanced back into the kitchen at Ipiktok, her mind flashing over what he had said so cryptically. A vision he had that was being fulfilled and for it to go how he wanted it, he couldn’t say what it was.

Her stomach curled with uncertainty, but she turned back to Donnelley and shrugged stiffly. “Just...wanted to be sure I understood right. I’ll, uh, go get my stuff.” She said, pointing in a vague direction before heading over to the pile of gear to collect her own belongings.

Ghost was ready to leave, his pack on and gear ready. He'd filled a duffel bag with the equipment they had chosen to snag from Yutu's private armory and was supervising the other members of THUNDER as they got ready to go.

Dave meanwhile had slipped the C4 and its accouterments into his own pack, and stood downstairs near the kitchen. He caught sight of Ava and joined her as she began collecting her gear.

"Hey, sugar," he said, his voice low. "You holdin' up okay?"

Ava looked up at Dave with a small start, startled from her thoughts by his approach. “Uh, yeah, I’m hanging in there.” She said, glancing toward the kitchen where she left Ipiktok. “Just gotta get going right? Get in the trucks, go get picked up and get out of here.”

"That's the plan," Dave said. He gave her a comforting smile, suppressing his own nerves for her sake. "We got a lot of guns around us. Two shooter teams, an' one of 'em is THUNDER. An' I'm here. Everything's gonna be okay."

Ava gave him the best smile she could muster. “Yeah, it will.”

Queen arrived in the living room where people were gathering, giving the once near frozen agent now up and awake the once over before hooking his rifle over his chest. “Well, are all the scouts ready?”

He watched Laine move to gather Agent Jung and turned to Donnelley, stepping over to him, “We taking the old man with us?”

Or leaving him for Coral Nomad, he almost said but kept his grim joke to himself. If anything got the shaman it had better be them and not whoever else was chasing him.

“Yeah, we’re takin’ him.” Donnelley nodded, “Some people wanna talk to him about what he knows.”

Donnelley left it at that if Queen hadn’t been told the old man was a fucking time-traveling sorceror slave from the dark future. He looked at the man himself for a few long moments, watching him stand in the kitchen, his hands folded in front of him as he looked out the window. He’d lost his home, his family. His world. If UMBRA and the Program were his only hope, well, they’d make sure he saw another sunrise just like everyone else, “Ipiktok.” The man looked at Donnelley as he called his name, “You’re up front with me.”

Ipiktok nodded, siding up with him as he opened the door to the outside and felt the rush of cold move past him to swallow whatever warmth was in Yutu’s house. TRIDENT was a little ways down the road, walking with another four person contingent all dressed in Multicam uniforms, masked and faceless. “The buggies!” He heard Bear call out, “Check your buggy!”

Donnelley looked back and nodded to the buggy, watching Avery walk past him to check the vehicle out. “Oh, fuck.” He heard Avery, “Fuck. Fuck!”

“Avery, what?” Donnelley looked at Avery with confusion as he watched the younger man hold his helmeted head in his hands.

Avery stood back up and threw a hand towards the vehicle, “Tires are slashed.” He said, walking back towards Donnelley, “I wouldn’t be surprised if it won’t even start. We were sabotaged.”

“Russians.” Donnelley growled. He rolled his shoulders and walked on towards TRIDENT and the CORAL NOMAD operators. “Your buggy?”

“Fucking slashed, no battery.” Bear spat, “We’re walking to the runway. NOMAD’s got a chopper. Keep your heads on a swivel, whoever did it is still here.”

“Yeah, they’re still here because they fucking live here.” Avery said, looking around at the houses. No one was on their porches, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have their faces pressed against their windows waiting for the show. Waiting to catch them on either side like a Taliban ambush on either side of a valley road.

At least, that’s how Donnelley felt. But his team didn’t need that. They couldn’t stay here, they had to move, ambush from the townsfolk or not. “Form up, columns. Maintain your spacing and keep your eyes and feet moving.” He turned to his team and THUNDER, “Let’s go.”

He placed a hand on Ipiktok’s shoulder and pushed him along gently as they began to walk and form up in their columns. CORAL NOMAD was on one side with TRIDENT, UMBRA and THUNDER on the other. They walked in silence, every one of them eyeing the mist and hoping to either see nothing in it, or see what was in it before it was too late. Their boots crunched into the snow and the frozen dirt of the road, the sound insulated by the thick fog around them.

Laine kept her Magpul in hand, her finger resting on the trigger guard as she walked behind Donnelley, Sarah beside her. She kept watching the fog then would check on the woman beside her. She was still in rough shape, the cold not helping her condition or the level of exhaustion she must still be at.

“We’ll get there, just keep moving. One foot in front of the other,” Laine encouraged. “And tell me if you see anything that might be familiar...to what you saw.”

The feeling that this thing had followed Sarah Jung was still strong, whether it was right or wrong. Everything had swept in fast once the SIREN agent showed up in the front yard. Now sabotage on top of everything, but they had given them the excuse they needed. They had killed two of their own and left them laying out while taking their time inside Yutu’s house, they had certainly won no hearts and minds with the locals. They owed them nothing, not even against the Russians.

Ghost followed at the rear of the column, his eyes combing the landscape and his rifle ready. He was mildly annoyed at having been denied point, but he could deal. The possibility of another gunfight with GRU had him as close to giddy as he ever got, and he wasn't going to let a mild insult like being stuck at the back ruin his anticipation of a good time.

Up front with Donnelley Dave was in a different state of mind. He was stressed; a long walk through thick fog in a potentially hostile neighborhood wasn't his idea of a good time, particularly with Ava and Laine in tow.

The latter was what clenched it. He felt the same nervous excitement he had been feeling lately, but it was subdued by his worry for his friends. They weren't combatants, competent though they may be, and knowing that their safety hinged on his own abilities had him feeling the pressure. He kept his eyes on the landscape, resisting the urge to check on Ava as they moved.

Ava held her Magpul like Dave had shown her, her eyes sweeping the icy, fog covered neighborhood as they walked in tense silence. Only the faint rush or wind and the crunch of boots on snow broke the oppressive quiet.

She tried to keep her hands still, unsure if it was the cold or the fear gripping her that made them want to shake. Her mind flashed back to the cabin, her second day with UMBRA. The shoot out at the cabin, being shot in the gut; the pain, the fear all came rushing back as she became keenly aware of the scar on her stomach.

She could remember the sharp coppery smell of the blood all too well.

Donnelley walked on, eyes scanning, mind screaming at him as he tried to quiet it. Who knew how this place felt about Yutu. Who knew how this place felt about them. Matter of fact, it probably didn’t fucking matter since they’d gotten a coo killed and the White Men Waco’d one of them. If Donnelley was in their shoes, what’s slashing some tires and sabotaging some vehicles in the face of the Federal Government grinding their faces in the dirt once again. Ipiktok cleared his throat and Donnelley looked at him, “Joseph.”

“Ipiktok.”

“I had a dream about how this would go.” Ipiktok said, some sadness to his voice. Before Donnelley could say anything, Ipiktok spoke first, “It does not go well, but… this was part of it. I told Ava, but I did not tell you until now, because that is not how the dream went.”

“Okay?” Donnelley was getting nervous, his eyes more erratic as they flitted about. He could feel his heartbeat quicken, his hands start to sweat under his gloves.

Ipiktok leaned close, nodding to the CORAL NOMAD Operator walking alongside them, “Shoot him.”

“What?”

“Shoot-“

“I heard you, you crazy fuck.”

“What’s he saying?” The NOMAD operator asked. Donnelley could see the other man’s blue eyes show pale in the hole his balaclava had. Donnelley looked at the man’s trigger finger, seeing it was squarely ready to fire, his rifle at low ready.

Donnelley didn’t answer. Just stared at him and stopped walking. The NOMAD operator narrowed his eyes, “We’re not at the helicopters.”

“What’s the hold up!?” Bear asked from farther down the line. Still, Donnelley didn’t answer.

“I didn’t hear you guys come in.” Donnelley muttered, knowing damn well he knew what a fucking Blackhawk sounded like. “I didn’t hear rotors.”

Everything was quiet then. Nothing but Donnelley’s heart in his ears. Ipiktok was right. The NOMAD operator made a flinch of movement but Donnelley already was reaching down to his sidearm and praying to fucking God he still had a sub-one-second draw time. Everything seemed to move slow, like he was underwater or in a dream, and as soon as he had his shot, he squeezed two rounds at those fucking blue eyes and watched the Operator drop with his left eye a gaping, leaking hole. It was quiet.

And then so very loud.

The world grew deadly quiet for what felt like an eternity, but could have been no longer than the space between heartbeats. Ava watched Donnelley whip up his firearm as fast as a viper and shoot the NOMAD agent at point blank range.

Before she could react, before she could even fully process what she just saw, her world exploded with white hot pain. It stabbed through her chest, beneath her collarbone like a dagger. She staggered and then another explosion of pain in her neck sent her diving to the ground out of some instinctive survival mechanism to get down and find safety.

Then, she couldn’t breathe. The taste of metal and copper started to fill her mouth as she tried to desperately suck in some are, staring up at the sky above with wide eyes, everything blurred by tears brought on by the pain.

Everything was muffled around her, sounds were happening, something was happening but she couldn’t hear it over her own wet gasping breaths and the blood rushing in her ears.

Someone. She pleaded, trying to form the words but all that came out was a sputtering gasp of blood. Help.

The scent of copper was heavy in the air.

Dave heard the shots, saw the NOMAD suck lead. More gunfire erupted and he turned in time to see Ava go down in a spray of crimson. Shots from another NOMAD cracked past his head and he roared, a wordless expression of rage, and opened fire on full auto. Three shots went wide, the next four slammed into the NOMAD operator's face and pulped his head like a dropped pumpkin. Then he turned on Bear, his grey-blue eyes murderous.

The cold air was suddenly alive with the hiss and zip of shots fired and Laine was raising her Magpul as she saw Sarah crumple, the blood and brains spattering her with a hot spray. Laine screamed something wordless terror and anger, her shots towards the CORAL NOMAD going wide as he dodged aside and shot back. The impact on her upper thigh as the bullet entered and cracked her femur made her fall and the next shots struck her plate carrier and her neck, high near her jaw.

She gasped, reaching to grab the wound as she rolled on the cold hard ground but the exit blew a hole out the opposite side of her throat and she felt the heaviness settle on her, a great pressing. Laine tried a few gasps but it failed, her green eyes wide as she searched for Donnelley and grew dull as the life leaked out of her, her hand slipping from her neck to her chest.

Queen had no time to react or realize when it came, She-Ra had waited until he turned to say something and she fired, striking him between the eyes. He dropped like a puppet with his strings cut and the last fractured image his mangled brain processed was sunlight winking off crystal windchimes before the darkness took him.

Ghost watched it happen, saw She-Ra put Queen down with a single shot to the T-box. Quick, professional. He allowed himself a moment of grudging respect even as he felt the fury of betrayal well up in him. His rifle snapped up and he put a single shot through her right eye, leaving a bloody crater in her face as the heavy bullet crashed through the back of her head in a blooming flower of brains and blood.

Poker himself didn’t know exactly why the shooting had started, just that Tex had started it. In all matters of life and death, Poker did what he always did and sided with the men he knew and respected. Without question, as soon as bullets were flying, he turned on his heel and ducked down to one knee, wasting no time in sighting up and simply putting a three quick rounds punching through that insufferable fucking Ranger’s face. What was left of it was a gaping crater that’d collapsed his entire nose and left cheekbone, his eye flopping as he fell.

Ipiktok was running. Tex couldn’t blame him, he would too if given the chance. Before coming back with more friends and more guns. But he didn’t seem to have many friends out here. He barely had time to process everything going on, but the smell of copper and gunpowder brought a sick thrill, sobered by watching Laine drop just before Queen. If he was a weaker man, he might’ve frozen and screamed to the heavens, asking why.

The only sound from him though, came from him turning at the waist and raising his SIG in the same split second. He watched one of the other NOMADs sight up on Dave, but a squeeze of his trigger put the man to rest, pink mist shooting from his neck first and then pulping half his face. He turned again to the Operator next to his dead friend, but he pitched back, punched hard once in his plate and another stole his breath, useless gasps as he sucked blood. His throat burned, and he could feel hot blood filling his mouth as his eyelids, his body, everything grew heavier and heavier despite the panic and the rage.

Dave missed Donnelley saving his ass. He missed Queen falling, and Donnelley going down right after. All he saw was Bear.

His AK rattled, five rounds stitching their way up the bearded man's body. Two struck armor, one his throat, and the next two slammed through his face, tearing his jaw away in a cloud of blood, Dave's roars of anguish and hate still sounding.

Poker pivoted again at the hip, his rifle still up and catching Moon slipping as he watched Rooster die. A small twitch of the lips, something akin to a sick grin flashed over his face as Moon looked at him just before two of Poker’s round crunched through his skull, bits of teeth flying from mangled lips and the other leaving his forehead leaking dark blood.

As Bear collapsed, sucking blood through the shredded horror of his ruined mouth, Ghost tracked to the right and settled his sights on the next NOMAD in line. A crisp double-pop burst from the fat suppressor at the end of his rifle and two rounds sank into the man's temple, bursting from the other side of his skull.

He scanned, spotting no other threats, but kept his rifle up.

"I'm green," he said after a moment.

As the last two bodies dropped Dave dropped with them, hitting his knees beside Ava. He felt his heart lurch as he looked down into her open eyes, and he scooped her up and clutched her to him. He held her tight, silent, his eyes closed as he crushed her body against his, ignoring the warm blood that ran onto his arms and chest.

The Elder Scrolls: Stormcrown Interregnum

Big Jan the Manly Man

“Everyone gets their’s... sooner or later.”

Name: Janus Kresimir Ex Pallido

Nomme de Guerre: Havel

Age: 42

Gender: Male

Race: Colovian Imperial

Appearance: When one looks at Jan, there’s no doubt why he was called Big Jan, or Havel, which means Ox in Old Waldic-Colovian. His muscles are well-developed despite his age and though he moves slow and keeps an aloof look to him, one finds that he can explode to violence at the snap of a finger as a well-trained war hound. Even so, he only shows it in moments where he’s cornered and forced to take matters into his own hands.

He was the main laborer and weapons instructor of Captain Killian’s Company, colloquially called Killian’s Cutthroats for their deeds during the Stonehaven Rebellions, entangling the King of Rihad’s forces in unconventional warfare behind their lines. Because of his former station and the experience it brought, he makes his days building fences and patching up things, as well as a little maintenance for tools and the like when not teaching peasants and ditch-diggers how to kill. This has kept him healthy and strong, sinewy cords of old muscle, broad shoulders and thick forearms. His blonde hair has started graying in strands from the past stresses of his life and the abuse of alcohol. Somehow, though, he’s managed to keep a more youthful visage. Janus blames it on his stress-free lifestyle.

He stays to himself mostly, never doing too much work lest it be expected of him, and never too little lest he be chided. For his intimidating breadth, he keeps a lazy smile on his face for whoever chances a talk with him on a fine day. Although he cuts the image of a brute, or a do-nothing, those who have experienced the things Janus has can see it in his eyes. A sharpness there, a thing as sharp as blades, and as watchful as a hawk. A warning, or a threat. But Janus smiles, and shares a joke or two, laughing from the belly, content with a spot under a tree and some wine.

If anyone has been to Eastern Hammerfell before and seen some of the Colovians that call it home, they’ll instantly recognize the tattoos he keeps on him, and he takes great pains to keep them hidden. A menagerie of different pictures and sayings, all dedicated to the patriotism the Colovians of Sutch Barony and Stonehaven keep for the Empire. Whether a permanent message of patriotism and solidarity with the downtrodden Imperials of Rihad’s far-flung Colovian diaspora or a brash taunt to his old enemies, the Crowns, he wears them with fondness as a former Stonehaven Irregular.

He hides these tattoos under loose-fitting garments, the most infamous ones on his palms, a drop of blood on each fingertip and a larger one on his palms. A fingertip for one kill each, a drop on his palm when the bodies he’s left outnumber ten. On the back of his right hand is a Ladderman’s tattoo, first up the ladder during a siege and five stars encircling the ladder to signify he’s survived it five times. A long-sleeved linen shirt of a neutral color is usually the order of the day, and from the rest of his ensemble, one could think he was trying to look as unremarkable as he could. Even his six-foot-six frame is shrunken down to a slightly shorter six-four by his slouch.

Personality: Lazy do-nothing.

A stinking drunk.

Unflinchingly polite.

Capably violent.

Janus may be a simple wanderer, but there was once a preacher that walked in the footprints he’s left from Hammerfell to here. That priest of Stendarr would shake his head and offer absolution to the man he’d become, bottle in bloodied hands. A fall from faith had seen the naïveté of the young priest clipped away like angel’s wings and put a sword in his hand and vengeance in his heart.

For what more reason should a man have a loss of his faith than the loss of his home.

The years have worn away at him, and now all the faith in the good of the world he once had was a casualty of a war that took everything from him. Prone to sardonic quips and scathing remarks, it is as if the whole of the world was naught but a cruel joke. He makes for a steadfast companion and a good friend to those who’ve sought out and chosen him, for the seeking and choosing of friends is something he has no want for these days. He just settles for whoever stays.

Any humor out of him is sardonic, and not really for anybody else but for him. A way to deal with stress and what life offers, but he maintains an aloof and care-free image despite. Like the man, all his weapons are utilitarian. Even his sword, old and storied as it is, holds no runes carved in it and is set with no jewels. As simple and forward as his fighting style. He holds no qualms with killing, and holds only to two rules- quick hands and long patience. Even with such a seemingly passive demeanor, ask some of the shallow graves from Stonehaven to Rihad if he’s willing to die for someone else’s convenience. A survivor, a killer; patient and strong-willed.

A functioning alcoholic, quiet, and polite despite it all, there are flashes here and there of the old Janus. The man who wanted for nothing more but crops to sow and reap, a wife, and a daughter. One just needs to keep a watchful eye and open ears for him. He may say he’s washed his hands of the blood now, but he knows as well as anyone; he is what he is.

History: For a veteran of a lost and hopeless war, one could say Janus has taken it relatively well. Born among the rabble in the Dock District of the Imperial City, where he fell in with street urchins stealing for meals and fun, he and his Legionnaire father were at constant odds. His father, a low-ranking Legion man, couldn’t keep his son in line and fulfill his duties to the Legion at the same time. They lived almost entirely on his father’s wages, as his mother couldn’t find work in the city. Too little jobs, and too many asking for one. He was six when the first of the mines opened up in Stonehaven and pulled his father away from home. His mother, brother, and himself went with him soon after, looking for a new home and better prospects in Stonehaven.

His family moved to the mountain pines in the high country of Eastern Hammerfell where a diaspora of Colovians lived in the Rihad Kingdom, spending their days in the new mines for pay. There he made his days tending the sheep and goats on the family farm when he was old enough. The first of the protests over low pay and lower working conditions happened in a mine near Bell’s Gate, resulting in the deaths of twenty miners and the wounding of three of the King’s men. His father was there then, and he was there too when the elders of Bell’s Gate and the other mining towns of Eastern Hammerfell held a meeting to address the killings.

As young men do before they have an idea of the realities of war, Janus fantasized about it. He’d daydream at his father’s swords on the mantle, wondering what it would be like to take up a weapon and go off to fight. His father would know the answer for him soon enough, the first Stonehaven rebellion just over the hills, slowly rising like a new day’s sun. The color of gold and blood.

The world he lived in had been embroiled in war from the time he’d been a toddler. It had never touched him, but when he’d visit town, he could sometimes see the pillars of black smoke far off on the horizon. He heard the songs in the taverns, about brave men dying in the fields and just how manly an occupation was the soldier’s. Niklaus, his younger brother, wanted to be just like father. No one could blame him for wanting that life. Adventure, travel, a righteous cause. His father and many younger men just like Janus and Niklaus had taken up a weapon for the Stonehaven Irregulars, a ragtag people’s army of farmers, tradesmen, miners, and bandits that stood against the Crowns ever since the first skirmishes over the lands of Stonehaven and Sutch.

He didn’t understand the history behind the fight, just that it was happening and had taken his father’s love away from him. At the young age of ten, he and his best friend Boian, had been clacking sticks together like swords when one of the Redguard children in Bell’s Gate had begun pestering them. The Redguards had no love for the Imperials. The long memory of the Redguard remembered the days when Yokudans and Colovians would shed each other’s blood, and the hatred had been renewed after the onset of the rebellions, which had seen many Redguard travelers dead and a Redguard town already burned.

When the young Redguard Hazmid and his friends pinned Boian to a tree, Janus bit the ear off one and took a rock to Hazmid’s head. Hazmid fell into a coma and never woke. Janus was taken under the wing of Father Valdir of Stendarr’s church there in the Colovian town of Bell’s Gate. It was an arrangement his father had with Father Valdir to keep Janus’s nose clean. Valdir had told him it was the only way to repent for his sins and find forgiveness in Stendarr’s light, and so Janus begrudgingly gave as little effort to the priesthood as he could.

Janus was called a killer, hissed at. Fighting and war had lost its gleam then. It was with the priesthood that he learned to heal the sick and preach to the congregation. As he grew a few years older, his eyes roamed for more things than the clergy. As boys do at that age, they’d chase girls and get in trouble for drinking. He and his best friend Boian would do both with each other, though Boian was always the more handsome of the two. With better looks came bigger ways to get into trouble, and Janus followed after without a thought spared to regret.

As the years went on, the pillars of black smoke grew closer. You could smell the burning farms on a breeze some days. Boian had left town at the age of seventeen to join the Irregulars, leaving Janus to preach alone. At times, the wounded would come to town and ask for his and Father Valdir’s healing and prayers. They would give them freely, but Janus always dreaded the day he would see Boian or his father coming back home with the wounded. Or the dead.

When the day came that his father rode home with his Company, mother wept and scolded him for his lost arm. His father had earned a promotion for his heroism, but a position at the rear at Bell’s Gate for his debilitating wound. And for his trouble? A great many bottles and anger that spilled over too often. His father grew more distant, and the times he came close would be thunderous with yelling. Janus and Niklaus would spend more time away in town with Father Valdir, seeking shelter from their father’s tyranny. Soon enough, Janus found a girl. Although he had never wanted to be a farmer, he figured he could endure it with Nika. They moved to a farm a few miles down the road from Bell’s Gate.

When the wars grew more ravenous, they crept close and closer still to Bell’s Gate. Janus and Nika were awaiting their child and young Janus soon was cradling a bundle of bloody, screaming beauty. With the birth of his child came the renewal of his faith in the Nine. But to see innocence made flesh in that baby squirming in his hands made him feel like a hypocrite for the wrongs he’d done long ago. If the pain reached his face, it did not bother his wife much. Life went on, Janus sowing and reaping the seeds of his labor. Nika raising their child all the while. The seasons came and went, and tiny Ilda had learned to crawl and then to walk.

As much as he should’ve been happy, should’ve been content, he’d always felt different from the rest. His life not one he’d ever aspired to, but perhaps resigned himself to. It was the life a good man wanted, wasn’t it? One evening, the smell of burning timber seemed too close as he tended the fields a ways away from his farm. That day, the pillars of black smoke were too close. Timber burning filled his nostrils and the screams of his wife cut through the otherwise still air. When he made it to the farmhouse to find it wreathed in flame, he knew his fears were as real as the house the inferno ate. No tears came, no painful sobs wracked his body. Only a subtle realization. He grabbed his knife and hatchet and left his farm. His home, his family, his town, all of it gone. Eaten by flames.

He made it to his childhood home to find his parents and his brother had met the same fate. His father had made a last stand before he was felled, six corpses for his one. And that old saber still clutched in a stiff fist. He took it, rummaged through his ransacked childhood home and left that place in a longcoat and sash, saber on his hip. He looked every bit the thing he had tried to avoid all his life. A Stonehaven Irregular, a soldier, a killer.

He met the Irregulars along the road out from Bell’s Gate, their response too late to help anyone. Boian was with them, and that night, Janus wept into his best friend’s arms that he had not been able to save his family. The Stonehaven Irregulars of Bell’s Gate marched on, Janus the most ready to repay a debt of blood. Years passed, men died, and Janus had not been among them. They campaigned for years, but only choosing to fight small skirmishes and strategic night raids. There was no lack of killing for Janus, but every one corpse walked away from was the same lesson until it became less about revenge and more just a routine. No amount of death would make his life whole again.

It would be late into his career as an Irregular, working his way up from Private to Lieutenant when Baron Boleslaw Szizjek of Sutch approached the Stonehaven Irregulars, a proud Colovian of old blood himself was the Baron. Janus heard about the meetings between the Baron and the Irregulars’ highest officers only though rumors, but their strategies and objectives seemed to change. More brutal, more wanton. Janus came to feel that they were becoming what they were fighting against. They cascaded from Patriotism into an ultranationalist fervor not against only the Crowns, but Hammerfell as a whole. It would be one of Janus’ greatest failures that he did not protest more vocally, or simply sheathe his sword forever and walk away from it all. Word came down through the ranks of their big objective. They were to take Rihad. The Companies of the Irregulars were recalled to southern Hammerfell for the effort and an army proper was made of them.

A series of raids and skirmishes, burning the fields that supplied Rihad’s food stores. Soon enough, the Baron of Sutch had seen they were capable soldiers and added his own men to the Irregulars’ forces. Supplied with better troops and equipment, as well as siege equipment, they went on to capture and hold five of Rihad’s forts and castles. It was during these months on campaign that Janus would earn his Ladderman’s tattoo. By the end of that long campaign, Rihad was in sight.

High time that the Stonehaven Irregulars marched on Rihad, if it were not for the reddening sky and the worsening smell of rot and sulphur the closer they came to Rihad. They hadn’t gotten past first of the forts defending Rihad when they were set upon by beasts none of them had seen before, hellish things that crashed into their formations and harassed them all along the way. Three times they turned away attacks until night came. With the night, there were more terrifying things stalking the dark. Only more of the men were killed, and they made the decision to depart their campaign come morning.

Their food stores were tainted and destroyed in the night attacks. When the sun first began to rise, the Irregulars were already breaking camp and readying for the march home. Their fiercest enemies yet met them on the road, a small contingent against an army of Irregulars two thousand strong should’ve been laughable odds. But these towering warriors adorned in black and spiked armor cut through them like a ship through water. They withstood wounds no mortal could, treating missing limbs like trivialities.

Janus hid among the dead for hours until the Devils went back from whence they came. Slinking away covered in the blood of other men when nightfall came again, he hid in farmhouses and barns, drifting from tavern to tavern until he eventually made it back to some semblance of civilization, a village far from the mining towns of Rihad, back in Cyrodiil proper. It was there he knew the war that had been so important to him and his people meant fuck all to anyone outside of Rihad. He wasn’t hoisted up and carried by crowds as a true patriot and champion of Colovian strife, but pushed to the gutter to eke out a most modest living. His tattoos meant nothing here in Cyrodiil, the red sash of the glorious ranks of the Stonehaven Irregulars and peculiar curved sword at his hip were symbols of nothing. He took whatever work he could, his sense of pride and honor drowned in ale and whiskey.

He’d become a mercenary, his only loyalty to gold and just as fickle. He’d learned quickly to survive, putting himself first in all things, especially work. He had no love for the Fighter’s Guild, not wanting to be tied down with rules and subject to hierarchy. This led to him being only contracted by the lowest of the lowest. When the call to arms was sounded for every sellsword, volunteer, and Legion man to defend Cyrodiil from an onslaught from Oblivion, he answered, if only for the promise of good and steady pay. When the Champion of Cyrodiil up and fucked off forever after the last of the gates were closed and left to crumble, he returned to his work with quite the reputation for his deeds during the Siege of Anvil.

With an overabundance of young men and women left scarred by the Oblivion Crisis, a penchant for violence, and a war to look for Cyrodiil became a land of warring bandit clans. There were no shortage of contracts, and most of them taken by one clan as ample reason to wage war on another. Janus was no stranger to a skirmish, and it was a dirty life ahead of him before he was found by Mattiel. Waylaid on the road and left for dead by the very men he’d called his Road Brothers, Mattiel had seen something in him.

The rest was history. Mostly a history of more violence now sanctioned by the State. Treasoners, spies, bandit chieftains, all died the same when you earned their trust and put a knife through their neck when they weren’t looking. Of course, that never happened. After the Oblivion Crisis he retired to a lonely cabin on the border of Skingrad County. Tax-men came, burned it down the night after he refused to pay them a single septim, and he narrowly escaped the flames.

...Or that is what he tells of his escape and his reason for joining Isobel and her rebellion...

Attributes:
Major: Speed
Minor: Luck

Skills:
Expert:
One-Handed; Janus worked tirelessly to master the art of fighting with the sword both on horseback and on foot. Should the situation arise that he has it in hand, he is more than capable of showing his opponent(s) the mistake of standing against him. Likewise, he has no fear of a sharp blade and has quick hands with his knives, and is able to fight with them just as well. The preferred mounted warfare style did not favor shields, and so he has learned to rely on speed, evasion, and skill.

Adept:
Hand-to-Hand; Someone as big as Janus hardly needs finesse to bludgeon someone with his fists, but years of bare knuckle fighting in bars and the ring to earn money or respect has taught him some dirty tricks through hard-earned trial and error. Grappling is enhanced by his size and strength, learned from necessity from the lighter armored irregular forces against the heavily armored Redguard foe.

Marksman; You can trust him to make a long shot with a short bow, hold under pressure and drop men like flies in the heat of battle with them shooting back. He’s a good enough shot.

Sneak; Whether cold camping in the mountains or laying low in towns, Janus knows how to wage a guerrilla war. The tricks of rangers in the mountains and the forests were taught to him at a young age and he knows how to stay unseen in crowds just as well.

Restoration; As all the Priesthood of Stendarr, Janus used to freely offer healing services to the people of Bell’s Gate. When he became an Irregular, his talents were of much use and he never fell out of practice.

Journeyman:
Destruction; On the same note, small but useful tricks were taught to him by battlemages he’d meet on campaign.

Spells: Flames
Firebolt
Frostbite
Ice Spike
Healing
Fast Healing
Heal Other

Equipment: Armor and Weapons: When the time comes to defend himself, Janus only has his dirty but meticulously maintained arming coat to rely on, always keeping back from the fight until it gets dire enough. He takes his moment and lends overwatch, a scout and skirmisher armed to the teeth with a menagerie of short blades. His legs are protected only from the elements by Redguard Hakama pants with leg wraps from below his knees into simple leather shoes.

When he must leave a man leaking, he takes to his knives and hatchet. A collection of blades long and short, three in total, growing from a whittling blade with a cutting edge no bigger than his forefinger to a heavy chopping knife. His hatchet has a gull wing style head of steel, simple, but deadly. A good match for Janus.

Kept sheathed and hidden away in his belongings, and probably forgotten, is his old curved sword. A Hammerfell style weapon, adopted from and evolving alongside the Ra Gada blades the Colovians first crossed steel with, and made more heavy and straight by the Colovians that settled in Eastern Hammerfell, resulting in a hand-and-a-half length hilt with a gently curved single-edge blade. He is, or at least used to be, a terrifying sight with it, the curved blade always on the move as he cut through foes on foot or slicing through them on horseback.

Clothing:
When not in combat, and he tries to stay away from needless violence if he can help it, he walks camp with a long sleeve shirt to cover his heavily tattooed body, thick leather gloves that have seen their share of work on his hands to cover the ink his shirt does not. He always has at least one of his smaller knives on him should the need arise that he needs to cut a rope or somesuch task that needs a sharp blade. The knife is usually tucked and hidden underneath his red sash, now playing belt, one of the few leftovers from his old life. The longcoat he only dons when it gets cold enough.

Belongings: 100 septims kept in four coin purses. Maps of the local area.
Flint and steel.
Tinder.
Dried rations for three days.
Whetstone.
A handbook on edible and medicinal plants.

Birthsign: The Lady

Miscellaneous: Anything you want to mention but haven't been able to cover yet.

The Elder Scrolls: Stormcrown Interregnum

Oh yeah, and I’m here too