[h1]Chapter I[/h1] [i][b]I Did Not Come to Bring Peace... ...But a Sword... [/b][/i] [center][img]https://i.pinimg.com/736x/90/ae/4f/90ae4f504677b50f5bb3a76c6b765300.jpg[/img][/center] >BLACKRIVER COUNTY >WHITE TREE, WEST VIRGINIA >UNITED STATES >0541HRS.../// The cold winds cutting along the porch of the run-down shack of a safehouse complemented the dark iron of the clouds well. The smell of the woods and the mountain air was tainted by the smell of diesel and smoke from the nearby mines, the only thing that drowned the stench of the tireless, obstinate march of industry was the cigarette held between Joseph’s lips. He took a draw and exhaled, letting it disperse on the air, watching the cloud drift off to be lost among the morning mists. The medium-sized house had been procured a week before Joseph and Steve’s landing, the accoutrements and vehicles set up by nameless, faceless busy-bodies of the Agency. All of it- the vehicles, the house itself, the living arrangements, decorations, and the sizeable stockpile of ammunition, weapons and tactical gear- was paid for by Steve Foster’s slice of the CIA black budget offshore account, untraceable by local authorities and anyone else without proper clearance. At least it had good location, perched atop a hill where a lookout could be posted and see anyone approaching from any direction. More importantly, deep-down, in the places where Joseph refused to let soldiering and tradecraft taint, he loved to be able to see the sprawling mountains in every direction and the lights speckled about the hills and the town at night. The relatively low light-pollution lent the night sky a clear complexion, an unimpeded view of the stars when it wasn’t cloudy. Although, despite even his hardest efforts to beat back the rigors of work, the front door from the porch to the living room creaked open. Footsteps, slow. “Review the files yet?” Joseph shook his head. He could hear Foster sigh, “You know they’ll be here. You should look at their dossiers and get a feel for them.” Joseph nodded. He turned around and brushed past Foster, entering the living room where the dossiers were arranged neatly in columns on the coffee table. He took a seat and grabbed up the first one, [i]Jimenez, Jason[/i]. After a good hour of reading and review of each of the team handpicked by Steve, he leaned back on the couch, took a swig from his flask and then walked back outside, sitting on the rocking chair on the porch. “How much do they know?” “Hmm?” Steve asked, following him closely and leaning on the porch’s banister. “[i]The team.[/i]” Joseph frowned, “How much do they know?” “About the same I told you on your first.” Foster said. “Well, that [i]really addresses my concerns.[/i]” Joseph said. He shook his head and sighed, “Do they at least meet the criteria?” “All. I made sure they’re not completely blind. That McClintock fellow is a native here, part of the town.” Steve raised his eyebrows, as if that made things all better. “The rest know there’s things out there at the fringes of our sight. Things the rest of the world, the public, the average joe shouldn’t know. Just not enough to be locked up like a gibbering mess.” Foster turned around and leaned over the banister, his hands propping him up as he looked out over the town, “Pretty soon, Joseph, we’re going to be old and grey. Or at least I hope we reach that, but...” “More fuel for the flames.” Joseph nodded, more to himself than Steve, “I’ve got a few more fires in me.” “Of course you do,” Foster said, “I do too. But that time will come, where we either find a good reason to use that special bullet we all keep secret, or we accept a little house on the prairie with a comfortable sum of money lest we trip and fall and accidentally shoot ourselves twice in the chest and once in the head.” Foster didn’t have to elaborate any more. Joseph only nodded in agreement, knowing the old lions of the Delta Green pride were nearing the end of their reigns. “Well.” Joseph sighed, “Ain’t that a nice thought.”