Donnelley waited below deck for the rest of them to get there. He sat in his folding chair, watching Carlisle and wondering what he was thinking. He’d been blubbering when they first got to the ship, screaming about his wife and his kids. Made him want to shoot Carlisle in the face to shut him up. They all knew they’d left Carlisle’s family to die, they didn’t need any reminders of that.

Now, as Carlisle sat quietly in the small room set aside for the Program’s illegal interrogations behind the steel door, he seemed to be numb. Motionless, save for some small ticks of the head, looking around as if he could see anything through the sack, or the blacked out goggles, hear anything through the ear muffs. Almost complete sensory deprivation, isolation, nothing to go on but touch. Nothing to hear but your thoughts and your breathing. Nothing to see but darkness. He’d know soon that even when those articles came off, he’d still be all alone.

Queen stood in a corner, slouching against the wall as his head buzzed in a euphoric cloud. He had popped another Vicodin when the original didn't work fast enough even with the Xanax propelling the opiates through his system. He was now floating in a comfortably numb state. His eyelids fluttered, threatening to close and he thought he might of dozed off standing up a few times as they waited. Maybe he had slipped consciousness, he wasn't sure. 

Even when Carlisle cried about his family the guilt did not penetrate the chemical shell Queen put up to keep out the pain. He reminded himself what a piece of shit Carlisle was, how he tricked girls with modeling dreams into prostitution and then they were sold to thugs that would beat and rape them into submission, who would hook them on drugs to control them. He snorted, jerking his body from the wall as he felt himself drifting. Queen felt nothing for the hooded man as he waited for Ghost to arrive.

Ghost entered with a rustle of of bags, pushing the door open with his hip and bustling in before closing it behind him with his foot. He walked to a worktable against the far wall and deposited his burden.

"Food and coffee," he said, setting down a pair of McDonald's bags and a 4-cup carrier from Starbucks, all clutched by their tops in a big left hand. The coffee carrier held three black coffees and Ghost's personal vice: a Venti mocha frappuccino, double espresso, extra mocha, with a few dashes of cinnamon sprinkled atop the whipped cream. 

In Ghost's right hand was an altogether different object; with a loud clatter he set down a Black-and-Decker case, fresh and shiny with the price sticker still on it. 

"Where's Foster?" Ghost asked, digging around in the McDonalds bag until he found his two Big Macs and large fries. He set them down and immediately began to eat. 

"Dunno," Queen said, slurring slightly. "Jus' got up here to watch the show."

He was still dressed in the black suit minus the blazer and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Queen picked through a bag then abandoned it in favor of the coffee.

Donnelley rose and found his way over to the worktable to survey the choices in food and drink. ”Foster said he’s going to be a bit. You know how he is.” Donnelley’s brow furrowed of a sudden and he folded his arms. Something was wrong. Something was off. “There’s no McFlurry.”

Ghost shrugged. "It's McDonald's," he said around a mouthful of burger. "Icecream machine's broke."

He took another large bite and walked over to Carlisle, eyeing him thoughtfully as he chewed. 

"Got a reciprocating saw. Figured it could make stuff interesting. See how many fingers we can take before he breaks?" He glanced at Queen, then Tex. "I think three. Takers?"  

Queen dumped sugar in his black coffee, swirling it around and looked with consideration at the hooded man. "You're givin' him too much credit. This dickwart is a pussy ass modeling agent, ain't a fighter. Shit, it ain't gonna take more'n one or two. Take a thumb he'll be squealing."

He sipped the coffee and narrowing his eyes at Carlisle, trying not to think of the man's family left to die. He was sure that the man understood what had happened, at the fact he likely had no more wife and kids. He might endure the pain as a release from the emotional pain and helplessness but that was giving a lot of credit to a man that participated in the kidnapping and pimping of other people's kids. The thoughts wavered in his drug clouded mind, forgotten almost as soon as he formulated them. Blessed forgetfulness.

"Mebbe go for his fingernails first. They're fucking manicured," Queen slurred before slurping down more coffee, hoping the caffeine would help counter the powerful drowsiness brought on by benzos and opiates coursing through his blood.

“[i]Icecream machine’s broke, I’m Ghost, Patron Saint Of War.[/i]” Donnelley muttered as he unwrapped a dollar menu bacon McDouble. He sighed as he chewed, cocking his head, “Y’all know how I do things. Figure I start off slow. Ask him questions. He doesn’t give me what I need, it’s only an escalatin’ ladder of violence.”

He frowned in consideration for Carlisle’s fortitude and found himself wanting. Or Carlisle would, “I say he breaks when I push sewin’ needles under his nails.” He shrugged, “Tried and true. Worked with that Brujo we snatched in Juarez. Remember that?”

Ghost smiled fondly, nodding. "He had Cartel connections too. Sicarios. Hell of a firefight. That one was a real game." 

He reached out with his foot and prodded Carlisle's leg, smirking as the man jerked and whimpered. "This one ain't no Brujo." 

Queen forced his eyes open, looking up from his position against the wall, "I remember. [I]La muerte no salvó a pinché puto[/I]."

The steel door clunked and squealed open on its hinges, silhouettes in the doorway that revealed themselves to be Foster and… somebody else. “Sorry to keep you all waiting.” Foster smiled, taking off his suit jacket and laying it next to the food on the worktable. The other man hung about the doorway, Donnelley squinting at him, but he did not seem to care. All that time, his eyes never left Carlisle. A tall man in a gray suit, middle-aged, and a look about him that dripped of the smug confidence in his own competence that many at the Agency had of themselves. 

“What else do we need to prepare? Or shall we start?” asked the tall man.

“Ain’t gonna introduce yourself, hoss?” Donnelley muttered, his eyes firmly on the newcomer. Who was this guy? Another Spook? His eyes went to Foster before going back to the stranger.

“No I ain’t, just now, if it’s all the same to you,” said the newcomer, head tilting slightly, his eyes still on Carlisle. His tone was conversational, even slightly bored, “Foster asked me to, ah, consult on this. Now were you all planning to begin or are we still eating dinner?”

Queen sniffed and took a sip of his coffee, sliding his eyes from the new suit that arrived with Foster  to Donnelley and back again said, "I'm just here to provide moral support. Want some fries?"

The tall man’s eyes slid from Carlisle to Queen, his eyebrows slightly raised, his expression something close to faintly amused. 

Ghost eyed the newcomer for a moment, his cold gaze taking him in, sizing him up. After a moment he seemed to come to a decision, snorting dismissively before walking back to the table and picking up his coffee. He took a long sip, set it down, and picked up his burger.

“I can do both,” he grunted. “Let’s start the show.” 

As if a flip had been switched, Donnelley stood abruptly and yanked the hood off of Carlisle, smacked the earmuffs off, and roughly grabbed his blonde hair in a fist, jostling his screaming and wincing head as he clawed the goggles away, tossing them back at Carlisle’s chest. He stood back and watched Carlisle’s bloodshot eyes pour tears as he whimpered at all of them in turn. “Why are you doing thi-Augh!”

His head snapped to the side, Donnelley delivering a backhand to his cheek and leaned close to Carlisle, hands on his bent knees. His cold voice made Carlisle give a shivering breath, “Because, I can do anything I want to in here, Gregory.” Donnelley’s eyes narrowed as he stood to his full height, crossing his arms.

Foster looked at the newcomer, face betraying no strong feelings as he sided up with Donnelley, “We’re going to ask you some questions, Mr. Carlisle. If you do not answer them, I will have my associates run all over you. They are creative.” Foster spoke like a bored accountant, a matching gaze to go with it, as if Carlisle was just another statistic, a thing to keep track of, “You can earn your freedoms back if you behave. If you are continuously difficult we will be continuously violent. Am I understood?”

Carlisle nodded emphatically. “Okay-urgh!”

Donnelley clamped a strong hand around his mouth and held a finger in his face, “I’m only going to say this once. [i]Yes or no.[/i] Not [i]okay, or sure.[/i]”

He pushed his hand off his face, Carlisle’s lip quivering as he took great pains to not meet Donnelley’s eye. What day before him disgusted Donnelley, a man whose evils outweighed his fortitude. He looked to Foster and nodded. Foster went forward with the interrogation, “The reason you are here is because the investigation into a missing child from Seattle brought to light an organization you have dealings with. The Sinaloa Cartel.” Foster laid the facts out, “You sell girls to the Sinaloa. You know names. Faces. I need you to point us to everyone you’ve had dealings with.”

“I-I can’t.” Carlisle’s lip was quivering again, “They know where I live, they’ll hurt my…”

He stopped, as if Donnelley had slapped him again, wide-eyed. He looked at the men in the room, breath held, “Where are they? If I talk, can you protect them?”

Queen shifted his gaze away when Carlisle started asking about his family. [I]Didn't he know? Didn't he understand the smell that came before...[/I]

“Far as we know your family’s still at your place, dealin’ with whoever usually shows up after a gunfight,” Ghost said. The lie came easily, though slightly muffled by a large bite of his second Big Mac. “We grabbed you, shot a couple guards, and fuckin’ left. ‘Course, I could change that.” 

“If you talk, we can do a lot for you, Carlisle.” Foster said, even going the extra step of putting a sympathetic smile on his lips.

The man who’d come in with Foster leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, eyes no longer on Carlisle but on Donnelley.

Carlisle swallowed dryly for his wet eyes, looking around the room at all the hard faces on him. “There was a guy, he had his own little gang with him, I think. I can’t remember his name.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” Donnelley asked, his eyes growing hard as he unfolded his arms, his fingers twitching for violence.

“I… I [i]can’t.[/i]” Carlisle whimpered. He looked to Foster and then the newcomer, “Please, you have to believe me.”

Foster lost his sympathetic look and locked eyes with Donnelley. There was an understanding between the two. “Why,” Foster said, looking back to Carlisle, “are you lying to me? You remember what I said? The more difficult you are, the more violent we will be.”

Foster looked at Donnelley and nodded. Donnelley turned and rummaged around in his bag of tools and came back to the conversation at hand with a few sewing needles. “You brought this on yourself, boy. Traffickin’ girls is somethin’ I don’t much like. And I don’t like you.” Donnelley looked to Ghost, “Untie his hand, hold ‘em still.”

Ghost set his burger on the table and stretched. He made a show of carefully wiping his hands on a napkin, then strode to Carlisle.

"Bear with me for a moment," he said, locking an iron grip on the man's left hand. He undid the bindings and then took him in a simple wristlock, immobilizing the hand and splaying his fingers for Tex's attentions. "Just hold still. This won't take long."   

All the while, Carlisle was wriggling, whimpering like a dog and trying to avert his gaze though his sick curiosity kept pulling his eyes back. As Donnelley held his forefinger still he finally jerked his head away and closed his eyes at what he knew was coming. Donnelley wedged the tip of the needle under Carlisle’s manicured fingernail and pushed ever so slowly so Carlisle could appreciate his pain in full.

The man heaved in a great breath and screamed for the heavens. If he didn’t know before that no amount of praying or begging could save him, he’d get a hint now, “Talk, Carlisle,” Donnelley said in a tone that was more annoyance than malice, as if he was addressing a troublesome nail in some carpentry, “That’s all you gotta do, just talk.”

“Please!” Carlisle sobbed, “Please!”

“Please, what? Please stop?” Donnelley was still pushing the needle in, ever so slowly, milking the pain of just one fingernail, “Then talk, Carlisle.”

“They called him the doll-maker! They call him the Doll-Maker! And something in Spanish, please!” Carlisle was a blubbering mess at the last word and Donnelley let him go, leaving the needle and patting his cheek with a smile.

“There you go, friendo. Was that hard?” Donnelley chuckled, as if this was all some rough-housing between friends and Carlisle was fussing over a scraped knee. Carlisle whimpered.

Queen perked up as Carlisle began to talk and felt a prickling along his skin and he set his empty cup aside. He pushed off the wall and went over to stand near Foster. 

"[I]El Muñecero[/I]?" He suggested, digging out his pack of Kools.

“Sure!” Carlisle perked up with a bit of unexpected anger before Donnelley smacked it off of him.

Queen lit the menthol cigarette and stared at the man for a moment. This wasn't his bag but he had to know, it bothered him how Carlisle begged for his family and...he spoke up, "You remember that smell at your house? Acrid like a 'lectrical fire... something was coming. What fucking security system you got installed there?"

The man who’d come in with Foster unfolded himself from where he was leaning against the wall, suddenly attentive. He and Foster exchanged a glance before Foster’s attention turned back to Carlisle. The other man’s eyes remained on Donnelley.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you fucking [i]killed[/i] my security system, you assholes,” Carlisle swallowed, “Did you burn down my fucking house!?”

“We wanted you, Carlisle. Just you, what was that, do you know the smell? You heard the fuckin’ roars, Carlisle.” Donnelley stepped closer and pointed to the needle under his fingernail, “I’ll do that to another one you don’t tell me what you know.”

“I don’t [i]fucking know![/i]” Carlisle shook with his scream, spittle flying from his lips as he sobbed. Donnelley drew another sewing needle from his pack, but Foster held up a hand.

“What kind of enemies do you have then?” Foster asked. “Other cartels operating in the area? Armenian Mob? Who?”

“I. Don’t. [i]Know.[/i]” Carlisle whimpered, trying to sniff a rope of snot back up his nose.

Foster looked to the gray-suited newcomer and back to Carlisle, “Russians?” Carlisle stopped his whimpering and swallowed, like they had caught him lying, “From London? Yes, no?”

“Tell me about the Russians,” said the man in the grey suit, stepping forward. He sank to his haunches and put a thin hand on Carlisle’s forearm, “We both know they sent something after you, something- believe you me- that won’t stop until it finds you. Something worse than these guys. You think the needles are bad, just wait.”

The man gently lifted Carlisle’s chin so he met his own dark gaze. “Sooner or later, it’ll find you here,” he said, then nodded at the steel door behind him, “It’ll rip through that door like it’s paper, tear these goons to shreds if they get in its way, like it tore through your guards. You’ll start to feel it as it gets closer, if you don’t already.”

The man stood up, hands in his pockets, “Family’s probably safe though, for now. Probably it ignored them. It was looking for you. They sent it to silence [i]you[/i]. Only way to stop it is to know what it is, exactly. Means you have to tell me who sent it. Who’re these Russians?”

Queen backed up, now uneasy at the mystery man's assurance the monster would hunt his prey even out in the ocean on the cargo ship. Maybe it was a lie to scare Carlisle but it scared him too. The cocktail of chemicals coursing in Queen's bloodstream didn't help his sudden paranoia. His eyes darted to Donnelley then to door and back again. A door wouldn't matter if the man spoke true. 

Donnelley scrunched his face in incredulity at the man calling them goons to be torn apart, looking at Ghost and gesturing to The Gray Man. He mouthed, [i]‘The fuck?’[/i]

Carlisle shuddered, looking at the Gray Man. “They said the Russians pray to the devil. They tattoo winged hellhounds on themselves. Some of the cartel have been leaving the East Coast. It’s too dangerous.” He frowned, looked away, “Whole Sicario houses turn up dead. Torn apart.”

“What are they called?” Donnelley asked.

“T-...Tadjbegskye Bratva.” Carlisle muttered it like words of power.

Donnelley narrowed his eyes, glancing at Foster and back to Carlisle, “Are you sure it’s them?”

Carlisle nodded.

“So they sent it?” Foster asked.

“Why… why would they kill a business partner?” Carlisle cringed, “Fuck…”

"Liability now," Queen muttered around his cigarette.

“They knew we were comin’.” Donnelley growled.

Ghost’s eyes had narrowed at the stranger’s insinuation that he was on the same level as the low-rent security team that Carlisle had hired, but he let the matter lie. Tex had touched on something altogether more interesting. 

“So who told them?” He said. “How’d they know we were gonna be there? You think we got a mole somewhere?” The prospect of rooting out a turncoat almost seemed to excite the big man, and his gaze strayed towards the reciprocating saw on the table. “Or you think they got some sort of Russki fortune teller on their side, like that Cartel Brujo we axed way back when?” 

“I know someone I could put the nails to. But, maybe they do. They could get some fuckin’ monster after us, they could probably run surveillance on us somehow.” Donnelley twisted his face in bitterness, “I’ll let you know if my guy is a fuckin’ snake. Meanwhile, we sniff out these Bratva pricks. Let ‘em know who they fucked with.”

Ghost nodded with almost indecent relish, giving Tex a shark’s grin. “Killing Russians is just about the most American thing we can do,” he said. “Only thing I hate more than a militant Hajji is a fuckin’ communist.” 

“Nikolai Gorochev. That’s the name my guy gave me.” Donnelley turned to Queen. “Look him up.”

“A snitch isn’t your only problem,” said the gray man in Foster’s ear, “Clock’s ticking on our friend Carlisle. It’ll start soon.”

“Well, hoss,” Donnelley turned to Carlisle and patted him on the cheek, which he flinched away from, “You best start talkin’ quick.”

[hr]
>SS EXCELSIOR
>MESS HALL
>INTERNATIONAL WATERS
>0700...///

“Well,” Donnelley said, Foster, the Gray Man, as well as his two teammates from THUNDER, “This is all kinds of fucked. What’s y’all’s professional opinion?”

“And I still don’t know who the hell [i]you[/i] are.” Donnelley spoke to the Gray Man.

“Could say I specialize in the, ah, well, the sorta thing you all had a brush with at Carlisle’s,” said the gray man, “I wasn’t blowing smoke in there, by the way: these Russians know what they’re doing. The entity will catch up with us, even here. Doesn’t travel like we do.”

Queen slumped in his chair, his eyes half lidded and he said, "I say we dump Carlisle in the Atlantic and turn this tub south and light out to Brazil."

“Dumping your prisoner in the drink would probably solve the immediate problem,” said the gray man, “but….you still likely have a snitch feeding intel to somebody who can send nasty things at people they don’t like. Somebody who likely knows [i]your[/i] names.”

The gray man paused, contemplating his unsipped coffee. “There is another option. Not without its own risks...”

“I’m runnin’ low on patience and options, friendo.” Donnelley mooned into his black coffee before sipping at it. “Do tell.”

“We-uh-catch it,” said the gray man, “Bind it, is more technically accurate. Then, if things go right, we can force it to reveal the identity of its summoner. We might even be able to do more than that. These things are unpredictable.” 

He leaned back in his chair, dark eyes sweeping over the group, “But I won’t lie to you, the process is a nightmare. Bad as anything you’ve seen.” 

“[i]Bad[/i] is what THUNDER does,” Ghost said, his voice low. He stood against the wall, his coffee long finished, big arms crossed over his broad chest. “What you’re talking about, that sounds like magic. Brujo shit. Now, none of us are in the magic trade, so I’m gonna assume that’s where you come in.” 

He eyed the gray man, that predatory gaze locked on the stranger. The man was proving knowledgeable; given that he was also an unknown quantity, that bothered Ghost. He’d worked with Foster for years, and trusted the man’s judgement as much as he ever trusted anyone, but it bothered him to have an [i]outsider[/i] so close to THUNDER’s inner workings. 

“I dunno what Foster’s told you about THUNDER, but we’re killers. That’s what we do,” Ghost said. “So how about we do some division of labor? You figure out what MacGuffins you’re gonna need to play Brujo with this demon, or whatever it is, and we find a buncha Russians to go all Red October on? That way everybody gets to do something fun.” 

“Cute,” said the gray man, “but you have two problems. One, the ah, [i]demon[/i] is on its merry way here right now, and your options are to bind it or to kill Carlisle before it gets here. That choice is Foster’s. Time’s ticking, though.  Second, your Russians, ah, ‘play brujo’ better than most, kiddo. If they can send what you’re willing to call a demon after a man just to keep his mouth shut, what do you think they’ll do to a bunch of meth-addled Rambo wannabees coming for them? Third problem, a bonus, is this: I need help if we’re gonna bind this thing. And you sure as shit need me to take out the Russians. They are not a problem guns and guts can solve alone.”

Queen eyed the Gray Man as he spoke with a mixture of interest and suspicion. How the hell did he know about the pregame fuel, that was something done in private with just them. And Tex. He shook his head, as the thought floated around. Tex had been gone for awhile, with other teams and now...he didn't want that doubt. It was paranoia creeping on and he pushed it back.

Queen snapped his eyes to Ghost, noting the tension running through the man like a current of electricity. The Gray Man didn't notice but Queen knew what it meant. 

"Just a suggestion," he said, gazing at the older man, "Mr Mystery, you might want to say that a little nicer, you know. Manners go a long way. So, our options are to kill Carlisle or try to catch a goddamn demon monster. Welp, I know what I'm gonna vote for. Fuck 'um."

“Agreed.” Ghost ground the word out through gritted teeth, glaring murder at the stranger in their midst. He must be useful; Foster trusted him. Ghost didn’t trust him, but he trusted Foster, and Foster wouldn’t fuck them by bringing somebody dangerous around their crew. Right? 

The big man’s jaw worked as he mentally chewed over the issue, finally resolving to let Foster steer the proverbial ship for awhile longer, regardless of the newcomer’s smart fucking mouth. He drew his pistol and started for the door.

“I’ll take care of Carlisle.” 

“[i]You’ll stay here.[/i]” Foster suddenly rose from his train of thought. “Carlisle is too valuable. We need to keep him alive until we don’t. You’ve all carried out some of the most difficult direct action and targeted killings to put those fuckers in JSOC in their place.”

He looked from Ghost to Donnelley, to Queen. “Tex has gone up against them before. In Chechnya-“

“Foster-“

“We tracked them down and-“

“Foster!” Donnelley pounded his fist on the table hard enough to overturn his coffee as he snapped to his feet, “I went to Chechnya with GRANTOR. I’m the only one came back. These Russians ain’t like those Cartel in Juarez. We need every dirty trick we can get our fuckin’ hands on.”

He looked at the Gray Man, “And I need you to not be blowin’ smoke, partner.”

Ghost stopped and looked back over at Foster, slipping his gun into its holster. The man’s praise placated him somewhat, cooling the temper that the stranger’s casual dismissal of his skills had stoked. 

“So what’s the plan, then?” He said. “We keep Carlisle alive, then whatever this thing is pops up on our boat and,” he looked at the Gray Man, “[i]allegedly[/i] kills all of us. So are we gonna be relying on his voodoo?” 

Queen pinched his lower lip, then rubbed his tattooed hand over his scruffy bearded chin. A nervous gesture, his eyes darting from Foster to the stranger then to Donnelley. "Nah, fuck this. We're sitting ducks in this fucking tub. [I]This dude [/I] is using Carlisle as bait which includes us by proxy and no thanks. Nah, no fucking thanks."

He stood up, shaking his head and he glared at the Gray Man, his breathing rapid. The Xanax tempered the growing anxiety that clutched a fist in his chest but Queen has seen things, dark hungry things raised by the Cubans. It was how the Program found him and he could never forget that night. 
 
He shifted his gaze to Tex, wanting desperately to trust his old friend. "You know what's coming."

Donnelley nodded once, “Chechnya was bad.” Donnelley looked at Foster, hard eyes gleaming from under his furrowed brow, “You brought this fuckin’ guy. I trust you.”

Foster pursed his lips, nodded and turned his gaze on the Gray Man, “We’ll do it.”

Queen shook his head, raising his hands slightly only to drop them, "Jesus fucking Christ. Fine. So what do we do?" 

[hr]

The long rasps of Donnelley’s knife hung in the still air of the interrogation room belowdeck, a nervous tick. A cigarette hung from his lip as he stared down at the task, focusing in on it in hopes of not thinking about the impending incursion. Carlisle had since stopped his crying and seemingly accepted his fate, evidenced by his silence. The rest of them hung about the room, keeping quiet as they waited.

The crew of the Excelsior had been secreted away to the saferoom inside the cargo ship, hopefully away from the danger. Donnelley didn’t know how to pilot a ship this large, a far larger vessel than a Zodiac. He set down his knife on the table and took a long drag from his cigarette before grinding it down into the metal work table.

“You smell that?” Foster asked, his head snapping up to attention as he pushed off from the wall he was leaning on.

Sure enough, the acrid smell assaulted his nostrils and only grew more choking as the time passed. “It’s time, draw the circle.” The Gray Man spoke calmly as he fished out a handful of papers from his coat pocket. “And take these.”

Donnelley took his paper and glanced at it, some words that looked to be scrawled in blood stood out on the page, though what they meant or whose blood it was remained a gut-churning mystery to him. He glanced at the Gray Man with narrowed eyes as he continued handing out the pages to the others.

Queen dozed fitfully, having swallowed another Xanax, his light snores blending with the rasping of Tex's knife. He leaned back in a folding chair, arms loosely crossed across his chest. He twitched in his sleep, a choked snort coming from him as he jerked his leg. The smell. It wasn't a dream. 

It was here, it found them. Queen felt a prickle of cold sweat and he rubbed his hands over his face. He clenched them into fists to hide the tremble as he recalled the Spanish chanting that changed to something else, dark foul language he couldn't understand. Nausea churned and he thought of the bodies he had seen. Not him, he'd eat a bullet before it came to that. 

He reached for his gun and checked unnecessarily, a round was always chambered in the 9mm ASP. Queen glanced up at Carlisle and considered him for a moment, his thumb running over small pistol’s grip. He released it though when the Gray Man approached with the paper and Queen reluctantly took it. Words in blood. Queen grimaced then slid his gun back in place.

The ship belonged to the Program, and had a sizable armory. Ghost had already paid it a visit; the man was kitted for close-combat, his thickly-muscled torso wrapped in an Army IBA hung with grenade and magazine pouches. A Saiga-12 dangled from his 1-point sling. It was commie-tech, but the man was willing to make allowances for the sake of having a compact, full-auto shotgun close at hand. 

He took the paper without a word, giving the Gray Man a hard glare and briefly imagining what the gun would do to him at such close range; the first shot to the pelvis, the rest rapidly walking their way up his torso as he fell. He allowed himself a small, cold smile. [i]Teach him to run his fucking mouth.[/i]

Ghost scanned the paper quickly and shot Tex an inquisitive look. He had never gone in for the whole magic bit. The whole thing seemed silly, despite all the evidence he’d seen to the contrary. As the electric stench grew stronger he glanced over at Queen, snorting at the stark fear he saw in the other man’s eyes. Ghost was nervous. That’s all, he told himself. Just nerves. 

He walked over to the smaller man and elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Keep your shit together,” he grunted. “We’re almost done.” 

Queen shot a look Ghost then his shotgun. He should have gone to the armory instead of taking another benzo and falling asleep, fucking priorities. Not that guns were of much use. He scratched his arm, chasing the tickling itch. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

He glanced at Tex, the naked nervous fear in his eyes despite the drugs coursing through his blood. Magic was something that both fascinated him and made him anxious, like the dark Santeria in Miami. He actively pushed away the memories as the Gray Man finished passing out the papers. Like a schoolteacher from Hell.

“[i]Salt…[/i]” Foster muttered as he took the paper from the Gray Man, bent over as he poured the salt in a circle around Carlisle, a perimeter of safety just big enough for the six of them, “You sure this is going to work?”

“Very.” The Gray Man nodded, stepping into the circle and beckoning them in with him. The smell was now besieging their nostrils, burning the backs of their throats as the whispers of hellish howling grew closer every minute, “Close your eyes if it helps, but don’t stop chanting. Once you read it once, it, ah... it won’t leave your mouth for a bit.”

Queen watched Foster pour the salt, that was their protection against the snarling roar that grew louder as the acrid stench filled his senses. He could taste it, as bitter and harsh as the air in a meth cook's lab. He looked at his paper, reading the word painted in the rusty brown of dried blood.

He closed his eyes, Queen had no desire to see what was coming, not again. The word whispered through his lips as he started to recite the word over and over. He had a strange urge to click his heels and laugh. Fucking Dorothy. There is no place like home. Close your eyes, say the magic words, and just believe, like a little kid. Only if he went home, it wouldn't be Kansas farm, but a shitty trailer park outside Tampa. 

“Y’all better sing this shit,” Donnelley grumbled as he stepped into the circle, looking around at his compatriots, “And loud.”

Queen spoke the strange word louder, as if he really believed, like a black Baptist preacher, say the [I]word.[/I] Glory Halle-loo-jah. His voice rise in strength and cadence, not caring of Ghost made fun of him, he could laugh all he wanted. Queen had a damn good reason to be afraid.

Ghost joined his comrades, holding the paper in one hand and keeping the other on the pistol grip of his Saiga. He began to recite the incantation, fighting down a shudder as the words squirmed over his tongue. The ozone stink was palpable now, so thick he could taste it, and as his voice rose and fell with the others' he resisted the urge to snap off the safety on his gun.  .

Donnelley looked to the Gray Man and around at his teammates as he recited whatever dreaded language was scrawled on the paper. To his disgusting surprise, the Gray Man was right. It felt like a manic urge to keep reciting the passage on the page. The longer it went on, the more he would receive visions of gnashing teeth, like at Carlisle’s house. He could swear he heard other, more strange and gibberish voices adding to their chants, shadows that were not there before, their own shadows bending and warping, growing and shrinking.

It was as if all sound had been sucked away from the room, the air growing too light. And then a sound like a crash of thunder pierced his ears. A glimpse of something huge in the room, on all sinewy, rotted and mummified fours stalking around them made him screw his eyes shut and keep mindlessly reciting like a child and his prayer.

“Keep going!” He heard the Gray Man, Just before the thing roared loud enough to make Donnelley flinch, but he did as he was told. It was a choice between living and dying, and that’s no choice at all.

Queen felt nauseous but kept chanting, almost yelling the words as it went silent before the storm. It was here, in the room with them, he could sense the size and menace as cold fear crawled up his spine. The words tumbled from his lips, his eyes closed tight even as a sick curiosity in the back of mind whispered to look, to witness the monstrous being. 

“I’m going to trap it.” Donnelley heard the Gray Man, “Keep chanting. Do [i]not[/i] stop.”

The Gray Man began to speak something in some sort of rough approximation of a language. A gibberish falling from his mouth and the longer he went, the more frustrated the monster sounded. The air in the room began to hum, seeming almost to vibrate his skin. As the Gray Man began his chant, goosebumps raged across his skin so intensely it almost pained him. The gibberish chants from some unseen tongues came even higher, more shrill at the Gray Man’s chanting.

Donnelley risked opening his eyes, or one of them, ever so slowly. Another glimpse of the creature. Standing on all fours, ragged flesh hanging off of its bones and tendons like dirty rags. Teeth standing out in a lipless, rotted snarl, and two ghostlights set in dead sockets staring at him. Into him. Donnelley’s breath guttered out and he felt the need to run, an urge unlike any other as beads of sweat rolled across his scalp underneath his hair.

The Gray Man roared something in the same unintelligible language and the beast howled, reared up on its hind legs. Slowly, it began to dissipate like sand in wind, a low ululating thrum accompanying its slow disappearance. “Keep chanting!” The Gray Man ordered.

Donnelley looked to Queen, still stammering out the words on the page while it shook in his quivering hand. Even Ghost seemed a bit nervous, a scowl on his face. Usually when things were to be fought, it was a wicked grin. Donnelley closed his eyes again as the acrid, assaulting stench faded slowly with the beast’s body.

Queen felt himself trembling as the smell grew more rotten, fetid with death and evil. He dared a peek as well as the howl began and the sight made his nether regions clench and he wanted desperately run but he stayed put. His mouth moved without thought, forming the word over and over and he shut his eyes tight once more.  

When the noise faded and the stench receded Queen still remained where he was, the word rippling around in his brain and falling from his lips in a hoarse voice. His mouth tasted foul, like an old penny and he coughed and spat, blood mingled in the saliva. Queen frowned and coughed into his fist, another trace of blood and his worry grew. 

Ghost’s voice rasped in the sudden silence of the beast’s fading, a half-repetition of the cursed word before he faltered. His jaw was clenched tight, his lips twisted in a snarl from where he’d grated the syllables through bloody teeth. He played wild eyes around the room for a moment, his shoulders hunched. 

“Is it over?” He finally growled. There was a savage thudding in his chest that he was trying to ignore, and his hands were locked painfully around his shotgun; there was blood on the left one, where the metal edges of his Saiga’s rails had bitten into his fingers. 

Donnelley checked his teammates over, glancing at Foster and the Gray Man. Foster was bent double in a corner, retching up pink bile. The Gray Man himself had braced himself against a wall, rubbing his forehead. Carlisle was shivering in his seat, Ghost still had that scowl and Queen was coughing into his hand and looking at it worriedly. Donnelley quirked a brow and rose a fist to his mouth, letting go what he thought was a small cough instead stretched itself into a gravelly, wheezy thing. Eyes screwed shut in pain, he hacked up what looked like a blood clot. He swallowed, eyes growing wide and heart beating hard, “Oh, fuck…” he breathed, “Holy shit, I need to stop smoking. Anybody seeing this shit, oh fuck…”

Queen held his left side and coughed again, wheezing and spat out another glob of dark blood. "Shit I hope it ain't my fucking lung," he muttered, wiping at his lips.

He sagged against the wall, fighting back another cough. "What the fuck is going on," Queen asked, shooting a suspicious glare at the Gray Man. 

“It…” The Gray Man groaned, slightly stumbling over to the rest of them and rubbing at his eyes, “It’s alright. It should only be bursted capillaries in your sinuses and throat.”

“Why the fuck am I bleedin’?” Donnelley asked, voice rising with each word in anger, “What the fuck is this shit?”

“It’s what happens.” The Gray Man said, almost annoyed as if he was explaining the easiest concept to a child, “Just give yourself some time. Talk softly, and seldom.”

Ghost gritted his teeth as the Gray Man approached, a low growl building in his chest. His eyes were bloodshot, crimson orbs of hate set deep in his pale face. He had seen the creature. [i]Seen[/i] it, watched it storm around their circle with eyes pinned stubbornly open in his refusal to be cowed by any being. He could see it still, stalking them, hunting for a way to get at them. 

“What was it?” He rasped. The big killer released the bloodied rails of his shotgun and grabbed their guest by the collar, twisting his fist tightly in the fabric. His bloody gaze bored into the Gray Man’s, blood running from between his teeth to stain his copper beard. “What [i]was[/i] it, witch?” 

If the Gray Man had anything to fear from Ghost’s fist wrapped in his collar, he only showed it in an annoyed gaze at the ironing he’d have to do later. “It was a being. Something that lurks beyond our view. Not like something beyond our horizon, or even like the atoms in the blood running down your [i]chin.[/i]” he curled his lip in contempt, “Something beyond our very concept of reality as we know it. And it won’t stop until it gets,” he slid his eyes from Ghost to Carlisle, “What it’s been sent for.”

Donnelley risked a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, hard eyes staring back at the big man, though his fingers buzzed with the barely restrained aggression. It made him return his own in his gaze, Tex baring bloody teeth, “Stand down, man.” He growled, shaking his head slow, left to right, “We ain’t each other's enemies. It’s what it wants.”

He lifted his hand from Ghost’s shoulder and held his palms up as he took a tentative step back, glancing at Queen and back to Ghost like a tamer and his lion, “Ain’t no lone wolves.” Tex growled and looked around the room, holding each of their gazes.

Ghost held the man’s collar for another few seconds, just long enough to make it clear that he’d let go because he wanted to, not because he’d be told to. His hand was shaking, and he quickly returned it to the shotgun; he’d been scared. Badly scared. Fear was anathema to him, and everything in his body screamed for violence, for him to lash out not only at the [i]being[/i] that had frightened him but at everyone who had seen his fear. His bloodshot eyes spoke murder, but he stepped back, mastering himself with a visible effort of will. 

“No lone wolves,” he snarled. He eyed the Gray Man a moment longer, making it clear that he didn’t consider him part of their little pack. “So what do we do now?” 

Queen was looking at the blood in his hand when Ghost shouted at the stranger. He wiped it absently on his dress slacks before stepping over to them. He visibly shuddered when the Gray Man spoke, the brief glimpse of the stalking rotting creature was all he got and it was more than enough. The last part caught his attention and he rolled it over in his buzzing mind.  [I]It won't stop[/I].

"Wait, what the fuck do you mean by that?" Queen finally asked once Ghost stood down. "The fuck you mean it won't stop until it gets what it wants? We just got rid of it, right? All the chanting, the salt?" 

His pale eyes darted from the Gray Man to Donnelley, looking for assurance. "It's gone, right? It's fucking gone. Bound or whatever."

Paranoia reared its ugly head and Queen turned quickly, glaring at Carlisle. "And if it is coming back, then give it what it fucking wants. Give it this piece of shit and I'll fucking find these Russians myself."

He jabbed a finger into his chest, his gaze wild and full of fear. "Tex, man. Let's fucking get rid of the bait."

Tex looked between his team and the Gray Man, folding his arms tight. If his face did not betray his thoughts, the soft growling in his throat as he sighed would. “‘Less you got some real good fuckin’ reasons, looks like you’re outvoted, partner.”

Foster sided up with the Gray Man, hard eyes staring back at Tex and the others. Tex’s lip curled, looked like Foster had picked his side in this and he didn’t know what hurt more, the fact he chose the wrong one or the fact that Tex expected it. The Gray Man sighed, shaking his head, “We know how to stop, or I do-“

“We’re not doin’ this shit again!” Tex screamed, a vein standing out in his neck, “He’s a goddamn liability! He’s a goddamn beacon for that fuckin’ thing.”

“Donnelley…” Foster held his hand up, “Look, we both know the risks involved with harboring a source, alright? We stopped it this time, there’s a way.” He too had a smear of blood across his chin, a trickle of it wiped at minutes ago, “If there’s a way to stop it, there has to be a way to keep it off of our trail-“

Carlisle’s head blew bits of brain out the opposite side Tex had his gun aimed. [url=https://open.spotify.com/track/7myoGGz89DV68WbRDHNA5P?si=AkjihSU9Qfq9o7Kw8qd-6A]The man holstered his weapon, a cold, furious hiss coming from him, “Just found it.”[/url]

Tex turned away from Foster and the Gray Man’s gawking, stunned faces and left the door open behind him. The insinuation that he should risk the lives of his teammates for a child snatching piece of shit wasn’t right. 

There was a long silence after the gunshot, broken only by the ringing tinnitus hum brought on by gunfire in enclosed spaces. A few moments later it was broken by a rough cough of laughter, then another. Ghost looked from the ruin of Carlisle’s head to the stunned indignation on the Gray Man’s face and laughed, long and loud, pausing only to spit a glob of blood at the corpse’s shoes as he passed it on his way out of the room.

END CHAPTER I: SILENCE BEFORE THE SOUND...