“Unmask the others. Do that with them.” Foster said, pointing to the three of them sitting on the ground. The second hooded figure, smaller than the other four, was hauled to their feet and sat down across from Sobel. The hood was removed, frightful eyes slightly clouded over with the haze of some kind of substance looking forward to Sobel. “Let’s see if you’re in there.” Sobel regarded her with none of the friendliness he had the night they had met, reaching over and grabbing her hands in his when she refused to bring them to him.../// [color=1a7b30]>...///[/color] [i]An almost scenic little village nestled among the slopes and valleys of a mountain range of natural browns and tans stretched before her. Trees sparsely decorated the hills and mountainside, either in pairs or stoically alone, some were clustered into little groups of three or more; like patchy fur on a mangy animal. She could hear the faint whistle of wind through the canyons. The landscape nagged at her, the terrain familiar though she couldn’t place where for a few moments. Then it clicked, she was looking somewhere in the Middle East. Pakistan or maybe Afghanistan, she didn’t know. One mountain in particular drew her attention. It was a behemoth, looming over the village like a tyrant upon a throne. The wind began to grow stronger, rising louder and louder into her ears until she realized..It wasn’t the wind at all. Whispers. A cacophony of whispers, of what must have been hundreds of voices began to swell until she could make out the words they were repeating over and over again with increasing volume until it was a buzz in her ears. [b]“Death wakes the Sleeper.”[/b][/i] [color=1a7b30]>...///[/color] Ava jerked her head as she felt it start to fall forward. She saw herself in a grimy mirror covered in graffiti at the edges before the room started to spin. She stumbled back from the sink she was washing her hands in and pitched backwards as her legs became tangled around her ankles. A cold tile floor hit her back, knocking the air from her lungs. As hard as the floor was, it was cool and it gave her a chance to wait for the room to stop spinning. She blinked her eyes, taking in deep breaths as the disorientation faded and her mind began to clear. Or somewhat clear, she felt a headache coming on that felt like she had spent the last five minutes staying up too late, drinking too much coffee and getting too little sleep. She sniffed the air as the dizziness started to settle and she began to push herself up, frowning as the familiar scent of ozone and electrical discharge permeated the air. She looked around herself, finding she was in a bathroom that was familiar with the concept of cleanliness but didn’t seem to grasp the full concept. The tile was dirty, the colors on the small industrial squares of white and blue having faded or gone yellow. The walls might have once been white but were now a mixture of piss yellow and muddy brown. Where the paint wasn’t peeling or chipping, it was covered in graffiti. The toilet wasn’t in much better shape nore was the state of the sink but it was clearly functional. She looked up, noting an awning type window that was cracked open, letting in a very cool breeze that was likely the cause for the icy floors. As she sat there, taking in her surroundings and composing herself she sat up straight with a thrill of alarm. “Where am I?” She whispered to herself, her heart starting to beat faster as she searched through her memories. She remembered Yutu’s house, meeting Ipiktok, the SIREN Agent, the vision and then… She winced as her head throbbed when she tried to think further back. She grabbed her head and finally looked down at herself. Her eyes widened and her confusion only grew seeing she was wearing clothing that very much did not belong to her. She slowly pushed herself up to her feet, reaching up and grasping onto the sink for balance as she looked down at herself. She was wearing clothing that must have belonged to a man twice her size. The faded and sweaty smelling black long sleeve shirt fell down to her thighs like a dress, the boxers and jeans bunched around her ankles in a puddle of denim and cotton. Beyond that she found she was in shoes that must have been for an 18 inch foot and a quick wiggle of her toes revealed that she was also wearing socks that were far too big. What was going on?! Why was she in someone else's clothes and why was she in the middle of this bathroom?! Her panic started to rise and her head started to spin again, but she took in a deep breath and tried to focus her mind. [i]I can’t panic. I can’t panic. Have to think with a clear head. Need to investigate and find the others, maybe they know what happened.[/i] She continued to breathe, like she had been taught to to manage her panic attacks. She was startled when she heard the doorknob jiggle followed by a firm knocking on the door. Without thinking she squeaked out, “Occupied!” There was a pause, she thought she heard a man’s voice grumble something and then the sound of heavy boots and rattling chains walking away. Ava stood still, waiting a few breathless moments before she let out the breath she had been holding and struggled her way out of the jeans, boxers and shoes her legs were encased in. She pulled up the socks as much as she could and approached the door, pressing her ear to it. She heard the muffled sounds of heavy metal music and what sounded like a crowded restaurant. She unlocked the door and carefully cracked it open, peeking outside. She squinted her eyes as she realized that her vision wasn’t just blurry because of her headache, she didn’t have her contacts anymore. From what she could make out, it looked like a crowded bar, a dive bar judging by the low light interior and the abundance of exposed wood. She watched the crowd for a moment before shutting the door again and firmly locking it, turning and pressing her back to the door. “Okay, I...need to get out of here.” She whispered to herself, pushing away from the door and looking around the bathroom again, as though she had just missed the large man that had to have been the original owner of the clothes during her first look around. A quick sweep of the bathroom revealed that there was no sign of her own clothing, not the outfit she had last been wearing nor anything she could recognize as belonging to her. She also discovered that there was a vest that was part of her ensemble and after stripping it off, her nerves only grew. The vest was clearly a biker vest, but she didn’t didn’t recognize the symbol of the club it belonged to. What she did recognize was the word ‘Prospect’ sewn onto a patch on the front of the vest and then sewn larger onto the back. She tossed it onto the sink, and started going through the pile of jeans, boxers and boots. She managed to find a phone that was completely fried and unusable, so she tossed it onto the sink with the vest. In the pockets of the jeans she found a pack of half full, crumbled cigarettes, a few what looked like joints tucked into a little baggy and a wallet. Opening the wallet she found an Alaskan driver’s license of the man who must have originally owned the clothes, one Walter Arbeit, and frowned as she realized the wallet had cash and credit cards. She bit her lip before taking out the cash, which amounted to about sixty four bucks. She tossed the wallet with the credit cards on the sink with the vest and the phone. Through her shifting she also found a .38 revolver, tucked into a concealed appendix holster on the pants and belt. She carefully removed it and set it to the side with the money, the cigarettes and the joints before resuming her search. Tossing aside the jeans when they didn’t offer anything else she turned to the boots. She found a switch blade with an impressively sharp blade tucked into the right boot and then in the left she found a fifty tucked into a fold inside the boot. Likely emergency funds. She added it to the pile of cash and squated there, her mind sluggishly trying to piece together what could have happened. It felt like there was a veil of drunken haziness hanging over her memories though and she was left with a current feeling of cotton head. She knew one thing, she couldn’t stay there and she couldn’t walk out of the bathroom wearing the clothes of a strange man. Particularly one she didn’t know the whereabouts of or why she was in them. Taking in a deep breath and making a plan, she picked up the switchblade and flicked it open. She trimmed off the bottom of the jeans so they would cover her legs and then she poked an extra hole into the leather belt so she could cinch the jeans around her waist. After a brief debate, she decided to forgo the boxers and tried not to think about the fact she was now going commando in a man’s jeans. She tightly laced up the boots, trying to keep them as tight to her shins as possible. She put the switchblade in the front pocket, but tucked the money into her socks to make sure she didn’t lose it. She took the cigarettes, put the baggy of joints in the pack and then tucked that into the back pocket. She didn’t know why, but she hoped it might come in handy. That left the revolver and she stared at it for what felt like minutes, her mind nagging her that it wasn’t her gun. But another part of her pointed out that she was alone, in an unknown place and she had no idea where her friends were or how she got there. Taking in a deep breath, she took the revolver in it’s holster and tucked it into place, against her stomach and well hidden under the baggy shirt. She folded up the vest and the boxers and placed them on the back of the toilet tank along with the phone and wallet. Then she dragged over the metal trash can, quietly apologized to the bar staff and tipped it over, spilling out the contents, but she could now stand on the bottom and reach the window. She climbed up on the trash can and first looked out of the window, squinting her eyes to try and make out the blurry surroundings. It looked like an alleyway, judging by the brick building across the way. She craned her head out further and didn’t see any movement or hear any voices. A glance down revealed a fairly high drop, maybe six or seven feet, but she should be fine if she took her time- A loud banging on the door behind her made Ava jump and swivel her head toward the door. “What the fuck are you doing in there!?” Bellowed a deep male voice. “You got 30 seconds to get the fuck out or we’re coming in Prospect!” Ava squeaked and with no time to waste she pulled herself up and crawled out the window, hearing the trash can tip over beneath her but not caring. The window was just big enough for her to squirm and wiggle her way through, kicking her heavy boot clad feet before she finally slipped out. She threw her hands out instinctively as she fell, landing on them and muffling a cry as her hands slammed into the pavement and she felt her left wrist roll in a bad way. She crashed down next onto her left shoulder, but did her best to roll with it, stumbling her way up to her feet and making a quick retreat further down the alley and away from the front of the business where people would see her. Ava cradled her left arm close to her chest, looking around with her impaired vision for any threat, any exit from the back alleys. She shivered as the cold started to set in, despite the sun being high in the sky. Where was she and where the fuck was the rest of her team?.../// [color=1a7b30]>...///[/color] Sobel withdrew his hands and shook them out like he’d touched a stove, the feeling of heat dissipating from his and Ava’s hands. Sobel’s eyes were bloodshot now, a trickle of blood coming from his nose. Using this much hypergeometry was taxing on the body, and worse yet, if they weren’t quick about this they’d earn the attention of something worse. Sobel had to bear it, “It’s her,” Sobel wiped his mouth off on his sleeve, “It’s Ava.” “Come on,” Donnelley placed a hand on Ava’s shoulder, knowing she’d be woozy as he was when he came out of Sobel’s magic bullshit, “Let’s get you up, come on.” Ava sniffed, shaking her head of the strange magic as she followed Donnelley’s lead and stood up from the chair. “Thanks, Sobel.” She murmured, leaning against Donnelley for support. “Next,” Sobel growled, “Hurry up!” Queen was next, rising from the barn floor to move to sit across from Sobel. He looked at the man then grinned a little, putting out his hands like he was visiting a fortune teller. The joke that he would have told died on his tongue when he looked into the bloodshot flat eyes and bleeding nose. Sobel looked like he was on the wrong end of a coke binge. Queen relaxed as much as he could and waited for the wizard to do his trick. “Hope you’re ready.” Sobel grabbed Queen’s hands, not waiting for an answer.../// [color=1a7b30]>...///[/color] “...I swear it was only once, we got drunk and her husband is out on a fishing boat. We...had sex in her marital bed, I feel kinda bad. Now she’s calling me, what should I do?” Queen blinked and rubbed the bridge of his nose, it was dark wherever here was and confined. He focused on the screen where light shifted through and he could make out a vague silhouette of a man. He reached up and pushed the little door farther to get more light. Queen’s head pounded and the stink of scorched wire was eerily familiar and beyond that it smelled like a head shop. He looked down at his hands in the dim light, he seemed in one piece just with no idea what the hell just happened. Must have been a fucking bender. “Father? What should I do, I like her and don’t want to hurt her feelings but I know it’s wrong to continue?” “Huh...oh, was it any good?” “Good? I mean, sure I guess.” “Did she let you do butt stuff? Suck your dick?” “Butt...what the…” Queen shifted, wondering at the whole absurd conversation. He reached up to tug at the tight collar and felt the stiff material. “What the fuck?” “I’m sorry that was a test, I’m sure. I swear I won’t do it again.” It dawned on Queen where he was and he nearly howled with laughter, how he got there had to be a hell of a story with a lot of chemicals. “Listen, dude. Say ten Our Fathers while you’re plowing her next time. Just make sure you know when the ship docks.” “Father...alright?” Queen got up and pushed open the confessional door and stood in awe as he looked up at the vaulted ceilings and the crucifix over the altar. There were a few people in the pews, mostly older women but the young man stepped out of the box they had both occupied. “Hey, you’re not Father Leahy,” he said, staring at the long hair and scruffy beard and the inked skin on display in the short sleeves of the black priest's shirt. “No, I’m Father Patrick,” Queen said quickly, “I’m Leahy’s replacement.” “But…” the man’s eyes widened, “Why?” Queen glanced around then reached up to smooth his collar against his throat, “That’s right, he’s been taken care of, he’ll not be back here.” The man gave him a skeptical look, “What’s going on? I never heard anything about him in a negative light, he’s been a blessing for Saint Anthony.” “Eh…” Queen hesitated, he hardly knew what the guy was talking about or what happened to the priest that once occupied the clothes he wore. Holy shit. Queen felt the clutch of panic, what had he done? Memories started to filter through, Noatak and the gunfight, the old shaman. Sweat popped up on his forehead and he cleared his throat, “I wouldn’t worry about it and you should go fuck that fisherman’s wife if you want. It ain't adultery if you're not the married one." He pushed past him and the older women stared at him as Queen sprinted past the holy water fountain and ran out onto the street. He looked around, saw no one from the teams and all his gear was gone. Checking the pockets of the priest's pants he found a leather wallet with the man’s Alaska ID, a red nosed blue eyed slim man in his late middle age. There was about ten bucks in small bills and a few saints cards. Around his neck was a black beaded rosary with a silver crucifix but little else. Queen started walking, looking at street signs and stores to orient himself until he found a bus stop and looked at the map on the wall of the shelter. Anchorage. “What the fuck,” he said, stress starting to knot his shoulders and he instinctively reached into his pocket. Then remembered it was not his pocket. His drugs. His fucking stash was gone. “FUCK!” he shouted, realizing what the next few days would be like unless he could score. A passer by looked at him shocked, the F bomb dropping from a priest. He stopped another person that was looking to catch the bus and forced a sing-song southern Irish accent, “Good morning, lad. I was wondering where the worst of yer unfortunate may live, where the poor and desperate might be needing to hear the good word of the Lord.” The native looking man shrugged, narrowing his gaze at Queen, “Around here, you should know that if you’re at St. Anthony’s though downtown is probably the worst. Got the methadone clinics. But you’d be barking up the wrong tree, Father. God ain’t a power up here.” Queen looked into the man’s dark eyes and saw Yutu’s ghost, the desperate helpless anger simmering there. “Bless you, my son,” he said after a moment. The man only grunted and turned to watch for the bus heading south.that would take him away from the airport and crumbling nearby neighborhood and towards the more gentrified south where he worked at a new sushi restaurant. Queen looked at him a little longer, the man was not very tall but had a decent build and Queen suspected if he was from the hood he at least carried a knife with him. But he had no car, so it was pointless in robbing him for whatever change he might have and risk injury or attention. "Do you happen to have a phone I could borrow, lad?" He asked but the man was irritated now and shook his head. "Maybe you should go back to the church, [i]priest[/i]," he looked at the tattooed arms and the unkempt hair then muttered, "Fucking junkies." Queen felt a little offended by that, how could he tell he was looking for a score and not preaching the Good Word. He knew payphones still existed and were usually at the scabbiest convenience store in the worst neighborhoods. He needed to contact Donnelley or even Poker, someone has to know what the fuck happened. Queen started walking, heading in the downtown direction so as not to waste money on a bus.../// [color=1a7b30]>...///[/color] Sobel ripped his hands away from Queen’s and pounded the table with his fists, growling. The bleeding was now coming from both nostrils, Sobel turning his head and spitting a gob of blood from his lips. He held his head in his hands, but did not yet call for the next and last of them, “Give me a moment.” “Is it him?” Foster asked. “Yes, it’s him! Everyone shut up.” The stink of ozone and electrical burn was thick in the barn now, and Sobel looked worse for wear as he panted in his seat. “Well, shit.” Donnelley muttered, his hand still supporting a swaying Ava and watching for Queen’s reaction now he was out of the stupor. “You back yet, fucker?” “Right as rain,” Queen muttered, then rubbed his eyes the heavy feeling of wanting to slip into unconsciousness still with him. He rolled his head and felt the popping of vertebrae in his neck, then glanced at Sobel, “Better than him anyway.” Laine waited for her hood to be removed, her green eyes flashing at the masked CORAL NOMAD operator they called Face, of which she saw only a nose and blue eyes behind goggles. These head games they liked to play, she thought. When she rose she saw the others, her heart jumping as she met Donnelley’s eyes even if just briefly. In the seat, the man she remembered from Idaho looked like he had been hit by a car. The comparison made her suddenly ill and she shook her head as she sat across from him. “Whatever you’re doing, you don’t need to do this,” Laine said. “We’ve been honest about who we are, they passed your little tests?” She glanced at Foster and back at Sobel, her hands laid flat but relaxed. Sobel looked back at her and sniffed up blood, “I have a job to do.” He laid his hands over Laine’s and bit back a grimace.../// [color=1a7b30]>...///[/color] Water was dripping somewhere, a steady tap tap tap in the sink and it finally drove into Laine’s consciousness as she found herself laying in a bed that smelled musty. Sweat, cigarettes, and perfume and none of it familiar. Another motel maybe, she opened her eyes, turning her head expecting to see another full sized bed but there was an open closet with bare wire hangers and a dozen sweaters and dresses hanging and more pants and stockings tossed on the floor with a clutter of shoes. Laine pushed herself up, the alarm clock blinking red 12:03PM and the smell of burning stung her nostrils. She rolled out of the bed that sat on the floor without a frame and fell to her knees, searching the wall outlet as the stink of electrical ozone faded. A chill ran down her spine and she realized she was not dressed except for a pair of panties. She touched her face and arms, her bare chest and then looked down at the cheap bright colored rhinestone studded thong. “What the fuck,” she whispered, her eyes hunting the room for any movement. “Donnelley?” Laine pulled off the strange underwear and began looking for her own clothes but there was nothing but someone else’s apartment, someone else’s life. On top of the dresser there was a red knock off Gucci purse and she dug through it. A wallet, condoms, keys, make up, a folding knife and a small pair of brass knuckles. She opened the wallet and thumbed through it, there was over two hundred dollars and an expired ID for a woman in her mid thirties. Long dark hair and high cheekbones with hollow black eyes like chips of obsidian. “Alasie Creech,” she said, softly, tapping the ID against her palm. Laine opened the top drawer, full of underwear and bras, all of them the same cheap satin and lace but there were the cotton ones for comfort. She brushed through the clothing and found a small book, a ledger with phone numbers and dollar amount estimates and a flip phone that was dead. She stared at it a moment and felt a chill again and not just from standing naked but doing so in a stranger’s home without any idea how she got there. A flash of memory, the tundra, UMBRA and Yutu. Sarah Jung’s screaming and the creeping fog. Laine dropped the cheap cell phone and looked around in horror, [i]something[/i] had happened. “Sorry, Alasie, I need to borrow a few things,” she muttered and grabbed clean panties but left the bras alone, they would never fit. She found jeans and skirts too small and left them in favor of a pair of bright teal sweatpants she managed to pull up over her hips and ass. Alasie’s fat pants she realized and went back to find a top. She found a gray shirt with Betty Boop’s big head hovering over #Sassy. It was awful but it was the largest size she found in the drawers and drew it on over her head. Alasie was listed at 5’2” so the sweats scrunched around Laine’s calves and stretched tight on her hips. The shoes were too small so she found a cheap pair of flip flops. Thank god it was summer in Alaska and not freezing. She took the purse, she would find the woman and give everything back, she told herself. Laine could not look in the mirror, the truth of the situation’s weirdness hovering somewhere, as faint as the traces of ozone now were but there. A heavy knock startled her and she reached into the purse for the brass knuckles and slipped them on, hoping not to have to use it. The pounding continued and she heard a male voice calling, “Alasie! It’s Thumper, open up. Bitch, you never returned my call. I know you’re in there.” Laine moved towards the door to peer out the fisheye and saw a large squat muscular man with an impressive gut and a hell of an overbite. He knocked heavy and persistent, “Goddamnit, your fucking car is out here. Don’t pretend you’re not here, open the fuck up. I need my money!” [i]What the hell?[/i] Laine moved from the door and looked for another exit but it was a small cheap place without a second door. She slung the missing woman’s purse over her chest and squared her shoulders, Laine would have to be fast. While he knocked again, she unlocked the door and swung it open as the stunned Thumper lurched forward as Laine threw a punch with the knuckles square into his mouth, just missing his nose. There was a crack of teeth and a howl, the big man covering his bleeding mouth and staring at her, “Who the fuck are you?” He spat and began to recover, reaching for her as Laine dashed past him as fast as she could in the flip flops. She held the keys in her hand and could hear him catching up. Laine pressed the fob a few more times and an old Buick LeSabre, the mealy metallic tan color that had been rusted by the road salt beeped. Rushing for the driver’s side door, Laine jumped into the car, slamming the door just as Thumper caught up and grabbed at the handle, “Who the fuck are you bitch? Robbing my girl? Get the fuck out!” Laine started the car, only giving him a moment’s look to make sure he wasn’t going to break her window. Slamming it into reverse, she peeled out and gave Thumper the finger as he tried running after her but was quickly winded. Having no idea where she was or where she was going, she sped out of the parking lot of the Cedar Shade apartments and onto the road that went east. She drove for a while, passing more apartment complexes and parks,until she felt the chugging and sputtering. “What the hell now?” she checked the dash and cursed herself. She was on E, apparently Alasie owed money and didn’t fill her tank and wore cheap trashy panties. “Girl, what are you doing with your life?” Laine asked out loud, not sure she was talking to the missing woman. Laine was pretty sure what Alasie had been doing, the life of a small town sex worker was not glamorous. The car coasted now, the engine dead and she put it in neutral as she put it onto the shoulder of the road once the incline ended and began to rise. Putting it in park, she looked into the rear view nervously, wondering if Thumper was going to be on her ass but she did not see him. Maybe he had walked to visit his girl. What a piece of shit, she scowled at her hand, despite the brass knuckles it felt tender after hitting him in his hard face. Laine got out of the car and moved to open the back door and look around the back. She reached under the seat and felt something cold and hard, covered in plastic. Pulling it out, she expected a gun, especially after living with the likes of UMBRA and THUNDER. Instead it was a large, heavy duty ziploc bag with a 10 inch dildo and a few smaller toys. Laine stared at it for a beat and slowly pushed it back under the seat. There was nothing much else in the back seat other than some magazines and receipts and a few old blankets folded on the far side. She found she did not want anything out of that car and locked it up, walking east in her hodge podge of clothing and the flip flap of her shoes against the pavement kept the time. Laine needed to find a phone, she was still in Alaska but far from the last place she could remember. The chill crept up her spine again as pieces of memory flickered like flashing a light in a dark room. Digging into the woman’s purse she found a lighter and a pack of Merit Lights with a few cigarettes left. Better than nothing, she took one and lit it, smoking away her anxiety as she walked. Holding the cigarette between her lips, she continued pawing through the purse, finding the typical debris and small ziploc baggie with pills in it, she thought they might be oxycontin or something similar, typical small town opiates. She left them there, then found another phone and it was also useless, fried by whatever power had surged at that moment Laine awoke. A horn honked at her and she turned sharply, expecting to see Thumper but it was just a man in a pickup, “Need a ride, honey?” “I’m good, thanks,” she waved him off. “You sure? You look like you need a ride, saw your car back there,” he looked her over then grinned, leaning over the passenger seat even as he rolled along. “No, I don’t,” Laine snapped. “Whatever, bitch. Good luck,” the man stomped on the gas and left a belching blue diesel truck fart in her face.../// [color=1a7b30]>...///[/color] When Laine awoke, Sobel wasn’t even in his chair. He was a few feet away leaning with his hands against a wall and coughing up blood. He wiped his mouth off while Face and Junior helped steady him, bringing him back to his seat so he wouldn’t have to stand, “It’s her.” Was all he muttered, flashing a snarl at Foster, “They’re telling the truth.” “Somebody get Spider to look Sobel over.” Foster said, looking around at the NOMAD operators present. Laine sat in her chair as she watched Sobel struggling and pressed her hands together. They had relived her awakening and she felt still as if on a wavering edge. It felt so real and yet dreamlike, waking up once more. Pushing herself up, she went over to Donnelley and Ava, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the wall. “What now?” “Is Dave okay?” Ava asked Foster, her posture straightening as the cloudiness of the memory delving seemed to finally fade. “Dave, Avery and the rest of THUNDER; what happened to them?” She asked, a chill of nervousness running through her despite the pleasant haze of the Xanax. Laine perked up at Ava’s question, the one she was thinking about asking, slipping away with her concern with their teammates. She was certain the people they had replaced were gone, dead. No one would know what happened to them. Alesie Creech would be another missing Native sex worker and life would go on. A cold knot gripped her stomach at that and guilt dug at her. “That’s not yours to worry about. So don’t. We’ve got to place you accordingly, none of you can risk connection to anything that came out of Noatak.” Foster said, a bit callus towards Ava’s worries. “Sobel can take you back to Idaho, from there-“ “No.” Donnelley shook his head, “No, I’ve been through this shit. You’re gonna stick us back in Langley and the CI Agents are gonna run amok with us. Happened after Chechnya, happened after Tom died.” “None of us sold anyone out! We got killed by the Russians just like Tom!” Donnelley marched towards Foster and shouldered him out of the way. The CORAL NOMAD operators were confused as to whether to raise their rifles at him or let him pass. In the end, Donnelley opened the barn door to end this stupid fucking game they were playing. Across the way was a ruined house, and so was Poker, Ghost, and Dave. Ava watched Donnelley storm out and fixed a hard glare on Foster. “I want to go [i]home[/i].” She said before following Donnelley, hoping in that direction she would find answers about what happened to Dave. She paused to look back at Foster with hard blue eyes, conveying how tired, angry and done she was with the whole situation. “Also I found official Russian documents on the GRU agents from Ipiktok’s compound, probably their marching orders to murder us! It’s on my laptop,” She threw her hands up and kept walking. “Knock yourself out!” Queen searched his pockets until he found the half crushed box of Kools and took one out. He watched the tall woman from CORAL NOMAD tending to Sobel before he glanced at Foster. As Ava left, Queen put the cigarette between his lips. "Y'know it's bad when she yells," he commented, hunting for the lighter but they had taken it away. Queen looked directly at his case officer, he had trusted him through hard times but this was another level. "Ghost out there?" Foster watched the two of them leave despite his orders, basically giving him a huge middle finger. When Queen asked his question, Foster sighed, sarcastically gesturing towards the yawning door, “Why don’t you just see for your fucking self.” He turned away and went to be by Sobel’s side, making sure he didn’t burst a blood vessel in his brain, “Go ahead.” Queen gave him a long look, then shrugged, “Would be a shame to make it this far and torture your...friend there to just have him shoot us all in the face thinking we’re something else.” Laine was watching Sobel then turned to Foster, the thoughts and distrust that had compiled since after West Virginia flooded into her mind and her face flushed hot. They had been treated like criminals, bound and gagged and frightened. Made to do near useless polygraphs which had only spiked anxiety and mistrust, then having their memories read. She took a deep breath, the desire to rip into him only dissuaded by Ava. It was enough and said it all, they were tired. She walked past Foster then glanced over her shoulder at him, “I want to talk later.” Leaving it at that, whether he would indulge her or not, she followed the other two out the barn doors. Queen watched her then looked again at Foster, “Can’t blame us can you, we died.” He followed after them, at least someone might have a lighter and maybe he could keep Ghost from blasting away at the undead. Ghost and Dave loitered outside, near the barn where Spider had been inspecting Poker's wound. The big man looked bored; now that he was no longer the center of attention he had lost interest in the proceedings and was instead alternating between keeping an eye out and mean-mugging Tripod. Dave simply looked tired. His grip on his rifle was casual enough, but the fatigue and bone-deep weariness were evident in the cast of his face and the subtle slump of his posture. He saw activity at the barn, noted people emerging, and then his heart stopped. "Donnelley?" He looked again. "[I]Ava![/i]" Ghost looked over in time to see Dave break into a run. His blood went cold and he had time to choke out a furious [i]'Lucky stop!'[/i] before he was moving as well, his rifle raised and sight locked on the ghost of his teammate. Queen’s eyes riveted to Ghost, a chill running up his spine. They would not have a second chance this time. “Ghost! Ghost, fuck off, it’s us!” He pulled the unlit cigarette from his lips and jogged forward to fall in with Donnelley. “It’s cool, man.” Donnelley had his hands up, slowly reached into his vest pocket and bit out a cigarette dangling from his teeth, “Look’it you, boy, startin’ to look like me. Shoo’.” Tex smiled into Ghost’s barrel, that old wolf’s grin hungry for violence or mischief, “Down, boy.” Ava looked up at the sound of her name in a familiar voice and her eyes lit up with joy and relief to see Dave, alive and unharmed. “Dave!” She shouted with a smile. “I know this is-eek!” She was cut off mid sentence by Dave running at her full force and pulling her into the biggest bear hug of her life, a squeak escaping her as his strong arms crushed her to his chest. She looked up at him and let out a happy sigh, whispering for only him to hear, “Hey Mountain Man, I missed you.” Dave held her tight for a moment. His eyes were wet, and he reached up to cup her cheek, looking at her face, her eyes, as though seeking anything unfamiliar. "Oh, sugar," he whispered as he pulled her close for another hug. "I don't know how, but thank you, God. I missed you." Ghost ignored Dave's happy reunion. If he got killed that was his problem now. Instead he focused on Tex and Queen, a silent pillar with a loaded gun. When he spoke it was to Tex, in rapid Pashto. "[I]Our first mission. Where did we go. Who were we there for.[/i]" He paused. "[I]Who did I watch you kill?"[/i] “[i]Tamik abd Al-Malik. Libya, Muammar Gaddafi’s Fist of Allah Commander.[/i]” Tex frowned, speaking back in Pashto, “[i]And I had to kill… I had to liquidate those... children.[/i]” Even then, he felt like the others would look at him with disgust, he knew he did that enough for himself for months after. Even if it was in Pashto, and none of them could speak it, he felt the weight of those sins lay their hands on his shoulders. He stepped forward, pressing his forehead against Ghost’s barrel, “Do I pass?” Ghost stared at him for a moment, then switched aim to Queen. "What's the first thing I said to you when you joined THUNDER?" Queen stood beside Donnelley, unaware of what he said but not unaware of what had occurred in Libya. He twirled the cigarette between his fingers, the memory of his first encounter with Ghost as vivid as anything. The screaming man and the powertool. “You said,” he lowered his voice and gave it a growling quality, “‘If you ever fuck me over, I’ll cut your head off and mail it to your mother.’” Queen smiled slightly, speaking in his normal Florida drawal, “Ankle-grinder.” Ghost eyed him. The 'ankle-grinder' was what clenched it. He'd been taking an angle grinder to the ball of a suspect's ankle, and had made the pun during a meth high. Not a proud moment. Ghost lowered his weapon. "Welcome back," he growled. “Thanks,” Queen said, a relief coursing through him he put the cigarette back between his lips, “Anyone got a light?” Ava reluctantly and gently pulled back from Dave, a glint catching her eye and she blinked seeing a familiar necklace around Dave’s neck. She smiled and patted his shoulder as she stepped back. “Look who else I found.” She joked lamely, motioning with her arms towards Queen, Laine and Donnelley. Donnelley gave Face a thumbs up and tossed his lighter back. When he heard Ava comment about the rest of them back from the dead he looked at Dave. He tapped the RealTree bill of his goddamn redneck hat and nodded, smiling, “Howdy.” Dave released Ava and wiped his eyes, then spread his arms. He was grinning now even as his eyes shined. "Hey man," he said as he threw his arms around Donnelley. He gave him a hard squeeze, and a few pounds on the back for good measure before he stepped away from him, holding him at arm's length. "God damn. God damn." He slapped Donnelley on the shoulder. "I like your hat." “Yeah, I know you do,” Donnelley laughed as he looked Dave up and down. “Feels like it’s been forever. I don’t even know how…” Donnelley’s voice trailed off, and his smile slipped, the aftershock of realizing his own mortality. No matter how many times he’d cheated death, this was the least in control of it all he’d ever been. He guessed he should thank Ipiktok. This is how he dreamed it’d go, he guessed. He regained his smile in step and chuckled again, “So… you been workin’ hard I see.” He nodded at the bombed out car in the bombed out living room of the Safehouse. "Gettin' 'em back," Dave said. There was a new edge to his voice, a violence in his eyes he hadn't had before. "They're back too. We'll talk about it soon, I'll hafta give y'all a...debrief, or whatever, now that UMBRA is back." Bajbala pushed through the kitchen swing door with her sweater sleeves rolled up and her hair tied back. She was drying her hands with a dishcloth and paused at the sight of the strange pow-wow, figuring them the 'detainees' NOMAD walked in. Their friendliness was perturbing, then her attention snapped to 'JD CIA' who was poking a grin around his crowd. Laine stood back, watching both the suspicious and the embracing reunions, both just as heartfelt. She waited, feeling a mixture of joy and apprehension, that same shy girl in black always standing on the fringe still lived deep inside her. Watching Dave swing Ava into a big hug, her stomach clenched and she wanted to cry and cheer for them but she stayed still with a tight smile. Her heart ached as her gaze moved to the back of Donnelley's head and down his shoulders. Laine drew her arms up and crossed them tight, blinking hard to keep the tears from spilling. Dave came to Laine next. He gave Donnelley a final pat on the shoulder, then turned to the dark-haired woman, pausing briefly to wipe at his eyes again. "C'mere," he said. He pulled her in, squeezed her tight. There was the tiniest hitch in his voice, forced down but still there, and his hands were shaky despite his efforts to quell it. "It's good to have you back. I missed all of you. Thought I'd lost you." His hug was a welcome surprise, her arms trapped between them until she dropped them and returned the embrace. Laine slipped her arms under his, grasping at his shirt. She felt him trembling and wondered if he felt her uneven breathing as she held it to force away the sobs. "It's good to be back," she said, her voice still tight. Laine had needed the hug more than she had expected and held on as long as he would let her. Dave must have gone through hell, she realized. Like Donnelley he had watched them die and unlike Donnelley had not gone with them. Dave had likely picked up their bodies, mourned them, and tried to push on after watching Ava die. His team fell around him and he was still there. Laine squeezed him tight and patted his back, "I guess we got lucky." Laine pulled back, a smile ghosting her lips at the little reference to his call sign. She remembered the night they met, his team BLACKBEARD had just been wiped in the West Virginia hills by some monster that got some of UMBRA as well. And almost took down Donnelley. She finally let go, smiling sadly as she looked up at him, "I'm sorry you had to experience this." Dave snorted, but kept his voice pitched low. "You're sorry?" He shook his head. There was a break in his voice and he squeezed his eyes shut tight for a beat. "No, no, I'm sorry. I let you guys down. Dropped the ball bad. But I've been makin' things…" He paused, stopping himself from saying that what he'd done had made things right. There was nothing right about that barn and what he'd done. "I'm not gonna fuck up like that again. Won't fail you guys again." "Dave," Laine said quietly, putting her hand on his shoulder so she could try and meet his haunted blue eyes. "Dave...no one blames you, this was not your fault. We were betrayed, and we will find out who did it. You have nothing to be sorry for, you kept going and that's all anyone could ask." Dave sniffed and nodded, cuffed at his eyes with his filthy, blood-stained flannel shirt. "Alright, that's enough," he said with a shaky laugh. "You're gonna make me cry in front of Ghost, an' I'll never hear the end of it. It's just...damn good to have you guys back." He looked over at Queen. "Even you, c'mere," he said. He opened his arms and paused, his bafflement plain. "Boy, what the hell are you wearin'?" Laine glanced towards Ghost, remembering THUNDER's existence. Queen was there with Donnelley and Ghost, and Poker. Beyond on the porch, a woman she did not recognize stood watching the whole affair. Laine glanced around, the big Polynesian guy, Maui they had called him, was absent. And Avery, he wasn't waiting for them either. She stepped aside and went over to Ava, putting an arm around her small shoulders and side hugging her. Leaning over she said, "When are you going to introduce Dave to that handsome prince you found?" Ava’s eyes widened and she started looking around the Safehouse grounds. “Oh shit, I forgot about Prince.” Queen turned when he saw Dave, then grinned around the smoldering menthol cigarette. "That's Father Patrick to ye, me lad. And I'm here, back from the dead to deal holy wrath unto the souls of the wicked and into the arses of the willing." His song song brogue fell away as he stepped forward, his Florida Panhandle drawl returning, "Well, it's a long story. Let's just say we didn't get to pick our wardrobe." He fell into the hug, gripping him tight as his thoughts flashed to places they should not but were quickly replaced with relief for not only himself but for Ava. She had worried over Dave the whole time and it had warmed even his heart to see them reunited. Queen pat Dave's shoulder and pulled back, reaching to take the cigarette out of his mouth. "I hope y'all got some beers cause we got some talking to do." Dave laughed and shook his head. "Beer nothin', I'm gonna need a bottle of black label for myself after this. We need a liquor run. An' a place to drink that ain't been blown up." Donnelley stood watching the hugs and smiles, keeping a smile on himself too. Even sided up with Poker and Ghost, the big man’s oppressive aura didn’t seem to damper him too much. Even with the unwelcome memories, but those he pushed back to where he kept the rest of them. He looked at Poker, the other man holding his hand out, and even the slightest smile on his mean face. “Guess it’s fucking true then.” Poker said as Donnelley took his hand and they shook. “What?” “Nothing fucking kills you. I saw you die.” Poker said, his eyes searching Donnelley’s, “Saw Bear die too. Until he was in our kitchen.” “No shit. I kicked that bitch She-Ra’s ass again.” Donnelley said, shaking his head. He looked past Poker to see a woman hanging about the porch staring at him, “Safehouse handler?” “CIA. You guys should be friends.” Poker smiled that wolf’s grin of his, making Donnelley wonder if he had any other personality trait other than being a mean fuck or a sarcastic one. Maybe that’s why they hated each other as much as they liked each other. A good amount for both. “Yeah,” Donnelley said, uncrossing his arms, “We’ll see.” He put on his best winning smile then and marched towards the house, eyes on the woman on the porch like he was welcoming a new neighbor to the neighborhood. All the while, he was wondering if he’d have to keep an eye on her. When he got to the porch he stood below it, hands on his hips and big friendly fuck-off grin, “What’s your name?” Donnelley asked, “Don’t think we’ve met before.” Her hazel eyes dropped in contemplation as she charmed up her own smile. Things still didn't make sense, but she's seen what they can do and they had her in body and name. "Nooo, we haven't." She said as she leveled her eyes back to him. It was the first greeting not sprung from haste in a leery encounter like the others. “Bajbala.” She stretched down an arm over the railing and shook his hand with a gentle squeeze. “Quite the reunion.” “Ain’t it? I’m Joseph Donnelley. Everyone just calls me Donnelley.” Donnelley lowered the intensity of his smile to a content smirk as they shook hands. Now that he was up close to this mystery woman, he looked her over. Not that he was looking for any romantic prospects other than the one fifty or so meters behind him, but just taking her in for what she was. Attractive, olive-skin, looked like the typical American person-of-color, but it was that slight bit of accent his ears perked up at. “[i]Bajbala…[/i]” he tried the word on his tongue, see how it fit his lips. “Pashtun?” Donnelley asked, “Spent some time in Afghanistan. What, uh, brings you into our pleasant company?” It was an agreeable sentiment; Bajbala had no idea how far on the spectrum of 'intense' the reunion was. She almost found hilarity in how affable he was compared to the others. “Donnelly, got it. Yes! Pashto, you speak it?” she asked, marking surprise at the chances of a third member of this team speaking her native language. She found it hard to believe his distinctly American intonation would be able to produce some of the sounds. But she knew. After what Foster told her, she could just pin that accent among the few normal and comforting sounds that met her ears in the Pakistani mountains with the serious Pazir, even garbled in radio static. “Someone decided you weren’t pleasant enough, so... we’ve been arranged.” She jested while joining her fingers together, cautious that Donnelly knew far better than her. “[i]Just a little bit.[/i]” Donnelley answered in Pashto, no doubt accented with American, “[i]My Pashto is out of practice, but I can hold my own… I think.[/i]” Donnelley smirked, huffed a chuckle through his nostrils and puffed on the still smoldering cigarette in his fingers. At her insinuation of him of all people being unpleasant in the slightest, “Who, me? Unpleasant?” Donnelley shook his head, feigning offense, he knew his reputation well, “I’m a gracious host. Fearless leader. Arranged, huh? Foster pluck you from somewhere and drop you in with us? I hear you’re… from the same places I am.” Bajbala smiled and muttered a short remark of praise in Pashto to his satisfactory response. “Pluck is a good word for it. Could have just asked me through email, instead they tell me ‘drive to Alaska, play with Russians’ —I have a new family now!” she said facetiously as if convinced by Foster’s announcement. “Yes, Ground Branch right? I’m with Special Programs,” right next door within SAC/SOG, “ or, I was.” She shook her head, not knowing where to put herself. “How much did he tell you ‘bout it?” Donnelley asked, quirking a brow. “Nothing; he told me I’m now with Working Group UMBRA and I’d better show. Professional, but a prick.” She smiled and shrugged. “You going to be tight-lipped on me too?" “Yeah, you get used to him too.” Donnelley nodded, taking a final drag from his cigarette before putting it out and stashing it in a pocket, “As much fun as it is knowin’ stuff other people don’t, it gets real inconvenient when your team isn’t on the same page as you.” “So you’re new-new. Huh. Well, I can tell you one thing. The things we deal with make the Taliban look like the lesser of two evils.” Donnelley shook his head and crossed his arms, fussed with the bill of his hat for a second, “You know I wish I knew where to start with it all, but there really ain’t a good place to. I can tell you the Russians are not our friends, like they ever were. I can tell you there’s things out there that should’ve stayed in horror movies and whatever sick imagination they crawled out of.” He frowned up at Bajbala, “There’s a lot you don’t know. And even if I did tell you all of it, it don’t make it easier when you see it. Spellin’ it out would just make me sound crazy,” Donnelley chuckled, “But at this point all of us kind of are, a little.” Bajbala gave him a nod, peering back towards Poker, Ghost. "I believe that." She murmured, anticipating the kind of crazy she was going to be after this assignment. One with no timeline or end other than, as far as she could tell, death. The ghouls of a dead team settling right back into their forsaken rhythm before her. "Russians I can handle but I don't know much about horror films, seems to be no need in this world of ours." She sighed and smiled. "So where do you fall in with all of this?" Unaware that the her and Dave were just a skeleton of UMBRA. “Suppose I’m at the wheel of this goddamn train wreck,” he chuckled, “I’m your Team Lead by the way. Hopefully I do a better job this time.” The dark humor tasted bad on his tongue the moment it left. Gallows humor was the only way to cope, but joking about his own death? That was something else entirely that he wasn’t sure if he was ready for, or ever would be, “I take it you’re not a wildman cowboy like THUNDER, else you’d be with them and not me.” He nodded, “We’re nicer anyway.” Everything was backwards. Dead, then not dead, she just had to roll with it like she usually did. "Not at all like THUNDER. My god, those guys… I play a different game." She chuckled. "Well, then Team Lead, just point me to where I’m dying." [color=1a7b30]>...///[/color] Ava looked up at Dave as they made the short walk to the barn to untether Prince from the barn, leaving the others to talk and figure out what to do with the Safehouse with a giant hole in the living room. She had questions about that, but for this quiet moment her eyes were on Dave, taking in his appearance since the last time she saw him. She had seen Dave scruffy and tired, but this was a whole new level. She could see the exhaustion in his face and way he held himself, scrapes and small bruises marred his face and hands. Dust drifted off his body from time to time, thanks to the breeze, though filth was spattered on his shirt along with stains of what was clearly dried blood. There was also a look to his eyes...one that hadn’t been there before. He looked like he had aged 5 years in the course of 4 days and Ava felt like a knife had struck her heart. Dave must have been in absolute hell since they were betrayed and murdered. Maybe he still was… She shook her head and put a smile on her face as Prince started whining and wuffing happily with her and Dave’s approach. The large dalmatian was practically dancing on his paws with his tail going a mile a minute. “So, this is Prince, though I’ve kinda been calling him Cerberus too.” She explained to Dave, motioning to the dog and yelping in surprise when she got close enough and he jumped up on her, knocking her down onto the ground. “He’s not really trained!” She laughed, covering her face with her hands and arms to protect herself from the onslaught of dog tongue. Dave followed along, watching Ava the entire time. It felt like years since he'd seen her, and he felt a catch in his throat every time the wind caught her hair or the sun kissed her face. She was beautiful. She was back. The whining dog caught his attention and he grinned as it tackled her to the ground. He knelt and wrapped his arms around the dog, roughing his fur. "Hey there, Prince," he laughed as the dog turned its attentions to him. Ava crawled out from under the dog now that he had turned his attention to Dave. She sat up with a sigh and adjusted the crappy reading glasses back on her face. “Yeah I don’t think he was trained at all, his old owners had him chained up to a doghouse and there were a bunch of divots in the ground where he just dug and dug for something to do.” "Poor fella," Dave said. He had his chin in the air to avoid Prince's flailing tongue. "You're a good boy, you don't deserve that." “He does not.” Ava agreed, smiling as she watched Dave interact with the dog. Hopefully that helped with the shock of everything. She pushed herself up and walked over to unhook Prince from the old pipe he had been tethered to. “Soon as we get out of here I’m gonna find out how to get him to Virginia, I should be able to find a good home for him there.” She smiled and scratched his black, floppy ears. “Hmm, he looks a bit like Pongo from the old Disney movie now that I think about it.” She smiled as Prince licked her hand. “We could also call you the Canine Formerly Known as Prince.” "We could," Dave agreed. He ruffled the dog's ears, happy to simply sit there petting a dog with Ava. Happy not to be fighting. To not be killing. He'd killed five people in three days. Six counting the grenade he had chucked at Yutu. He was just tired. Ava noticed Dave not getting up and taking his que, she sat down on the ground as well, looking down at her sandaled feet. Her toes were caked with dirt and mud and her feet hurt something fierce so she didn’t mind the sit. She watched Dave pet Prince, the dog eventually settling down enough to lay still and accept the affection; resting his head on Dave’s leg. Her mind raced with questions and concerns, but she didn’t voice them. Not now. Not yet. Dave needed this moment, this quiet moment to just...breathe. Ava reached over, placing a hand on Dave’s arm and giving it a warm, comforting squeeze. She smiled at him, her thumb rubbing back and forth before moving her hand away to run over Prince’s back. He smiled at the touch, reaching over to take her hand. Their backs were to the others, so he gave it a squeeze, enjoying the contact. "I'm so glad to have you back, sugar," he said softly. "It's been… It's been hard. We'll talk about it, but…" He swallowed hard. "I've just…" Dave took a shaky breath. "I've just missed you so damn much." He held her hand for another few minutes, then stood and stretched, using the moment to wipe his eyes. "C'mon," he said. "We oughta get back." She looked him in the eyes and gave his hand a hard squeeze before he pulled way. “Yeah.” Ava agreed, taking in a deep breath and standing up with Prince’s lead in hand. “I’ve missed you too.” She smiled and ruffled Prince’s ears again as the dog looked between them, a large doggy smile on his face in anticipation of going for a walk. “Come on, let’s see if we can rustle up some food for this good boy.” [color=1a7b30]>...///[/color] Queen watched Dave and Ava go fetch Prince, a slight smile on his face as he recalled the wild flight with the dog in tow. He reached up and tugged at the stiff collar, pulling it free and he rolled it in his hands. Stuffing it in a pant pocket, he made his way towards his team lead. He could see Poker and Ghost there but no Maui and Queen sighed inwardly. He pushed the smile and rolled his shoulders, strolling up with his hands out. “Still kicking, boss,” Queen said, then looked over at the carcass of the car stuck in the house. There would be work to do. He put his hands in the pockets of his slacks, feeling the priest collar and beneath it, the small bag of coke. “Oh yeah?” Poker turned to Queen, looking him up and down and smirking a little at his priest outfit, “What bachelorette party did they drag you out of, you cretin?” Queen flashed a toothy grin, then squeezed the coke bag before reaching up for his rosary beads, twirling them. “Hell, I don’t even remember. That’s how you know it must have been good. What y’all been getting up to while I was dead?” He said it casually, but it still made an impact on him, the ripple of reality stretching through him. It was fucking weird. Poker shrugged at Queen’s question, “Making more dead people.” “We killed three Russians in Anchorage. Well, one of them was in the barn, but three Russians.” Poker said it like it wasn’t a huge ordeal, killing three people. It probably wasn’t to him, “Like Lucky said, we’ve been getting them back for Noatak.” “Save me some,” Queen said, then glanced up at Poker’s hard features, “Maui?” Poker looked back at Queen, his frown deepening a bit, “We loaded him on the chopper and watched them take his body.” He said, “And he isn’t with you.” Queen nodded slightly then glanced back over his shoulder the road. They had appeared in different places and circumstances, like someone had taken them and scattered their bodies across the city. There might still be a chance, maybe he was in Anchorage and they just never crossed paths. He turned back, “Well, who knows. Maybe he popped up surfing some sweet waves.” He found the half crushed box of Kools and fished out another cigarette, furrowing his brow. Even the Russian had found them, Maui should have if he had made it. Queen said, “I’m gonna find a light, need to burn one before Foster rounds up the class.” He walked away unless Poker called him back, heading into the barn where he found the CORAL NOMAD operators hanging around and Sobel and Foster off aside. “Any y’all gotta light? Or maybe you could give me my shit back, like my lighter. That tackle box.” His pale eyes flicked over their masked faces. The tall female glanced down at the shortest of the soldiers and he only stared back from behind the wrap around Locs. “Tackle box?” Zeus snapped his fingers, “The effects, right. Guess we won’t be having a bonfire after all.” He sent Junior to the last SUV to bring out the items that had been confiscated from them when they had been bound and hooded. The short Mexican handed him the old fishing tacklebox and a heavy bomber jacket and a few other items. “I need to sign for it or something?” Queen asked dryly Zeus shrugged, “You sure you want your name on that?” “Did you go snooping?” “CORAL NOMAD ask no questions, [i]hermano[/i],” he replied, a glint off his sunglasses from the overhead lightbulb was the only indication of a movement of his head. Queen looked him up and down and then over at the tall female medic, “Shame about the masks.” Zeus grinned under his gaiter, “They only pick the pretty ones for the Working Groups.” Queen snorted a laugh and took the items, hunting a spot behind the barn where he could take stock of his goodies. He had taken a count in the SUV of the various benzodiazepines and opioids, hoping the labels of bottles were accurate and not filled with other things though at a glance he recognized most of the shapes and colors of the pills. He took a Xanax bottle, one of two 1mg he had inventoried then searched for the other. “Huh...ask no questions, sure,” he muttered, but it was odd. Most that might steal pills would go for opiates or the stronger dosages. Queen glanced up, a worried frown flitting over his face. He locked it and tossed the jacket on, tucking the tacklebox under one arm to head back to the house.