>1730…/// The SHO was screaming down the mountain highway, taking turns with screeching wheels. The sun had gone down, swallowed by the peaks until they made it into White Tree’s border. Sparse driveways miles apart and the husks of old cars slowly being reclaimed by the vines. When they got to a suitable clearing in the side of the highway he almost shot off the side of the road and into the mountain forests, slamming his foot into the brakes and skidding into the dirt and gravel. The only light was the SHO’s headlights as Donnelley grabbed Hubert and dragged him out of the car, throwing him into the ground. Hubert clambered away from Donnelley until he caught up with him, the metal and polymer of the Glock jabbing into the back of his neck, “Tell me everything.” “What?” “Tell me what you told the other guy!” Donnelley roared, “Who did you sell the drugs to?” “Levy! Doctor Levy!” Hubert screamed, “Don’t do me like Jay! Please! I don’t have Clem, I don’t have Jay!” “How do you know it was her?” “What?” “How. Do. You. [i]Know![/i]” “Because the Russians wanted us to sell to her! They set it up!” Donnelley growled, lifting Hubert up and shoving his face back in the dirt, “Gary Bruster, what were you planning?” “Nothing! I swear to fucking [i]god![/i] Did he put you up to this!? Did he hire you to kill Jay and come after us?” Hubert asked. Donnelley pressed the barrel of his handgun into Hubert’s neck, “That was [i]all[/i] Jay. He brought this shit on himself when he tried to have us killed for investigating Maria’s death.” “That was Levy too! It wasn’t us! The Russians wanted us to kill you and kill Levy!” Hubert was breathing hard, his breath blowing up dust, “It was makin’ things hard for business in the end. He’s goin’ to burn you, you know that? Gary’s goin’ to fuckin’ sell you the fuck out. Probably already has, tyin’ loose ends.” “Trust me, partner.” Donnelley shook his head, “I’m better at it. Tell me what the Russians are up to, Vera Corp and the Bratva.” “Ask Gary. Him and his fuckin’ Club are in bed with them. They killed the fuckin’ Warden. Good ol’ Eric McKenna, he’s trustworthy, he’s good for it.” Hubert chuckled, “Ask about David Dulane in White Tree.” “What do they say about Dulane?” Donnelley hissed, voice cold. Hubert snorted and laughed, “The Sheriff ain’t on vacation, I’ll tell you that.” “What does that mean?” Donnelley growled, jostling Hubert’s head in the dirt, “What the fuck does that [i]mean?[/i]” Queen watched from beside the car, standing with Renko. When Hubert laughed he stepped forward, giving Hubert a swift kick against his kidney. “What’s funny? Better start asking questions or we’re gonna lose interest in you. Maybe McCune’s tired of the trunk.” He squatted down on the other side of Hubert, “Getting cocky now that you ain’t about to die of thirst, better remember what that felt like.” Hubert writhed on the ground, recoiling from Queen’s kick that no doubt compounded on the stress that dehydration had done on his kidneys. Donnelley watched impassively. Hubert dragged in a quivering breath, “Vera Corp’s got labs at the old MacOnie mines, near the old manor.” Hubert wheezed, “The Sheriff went in and a fight started over somethin’, the mine guards took him. Breckenridge Security, some Blackwater type motherfuckers.” “Grabbed one of the miners, disappeared the both of ‘em. They break people at that manor. Anybody fucks up bad enough, they go to the manor.” Hubert grunted, trying to shift on the ground, “Sheriff and Dulane went in. Dulane came back out… [i]scrambled.[/i]” “Talkin’ about makin’ a promise. Sayin’ death wakes the Sleeper, about how our skin ain’t our own, and other crazy ass shit.” “What’s in these labs?” Donnelley hissed. “Never been stupid enough to have to go in one. Some of our boys say they got scientists doin’ experiments on miners and whoever the Bratva don’t like.” Hubert tried looking at Queen and Donnelley, but Donnelley’s weight on him wouldn’t let him, “Maybe I can, I dunno, maybe I can sneak you in.” “You know, they always try to bargain.” Donnelley said, “Jay tried to pay us off. And a whole lot of other shitheads tried too. What you don’t understand, is we don’t do it for the money.” “Okay? What’s it gonna be then?” “We do it to see pieces of shit like you die. You ain’t never gettin’ found by your family, boy.” Donnelley lifted himself up and Hubert flopped on his side and seeing Donnelley sight up, he opened his mouth and shook his head to protest, “This one’s for Maria.” Donnelley’s Glock barked into the night, once to blow the back of Hubert’s head out, and the other two leaving hollowpoints in his heart. [i]Our skin ain’t our own,[/i] the words left Queen feeling a crawling sensation up his neck and scalp, the memory of incense wafting was so strong he almost turned to see where it came from. The confessional booth and another man’s life he had inhabited. He glanced down at his bare arm, the black and bright colored ink distinctive but he had to look. Queen could hear Hubert pleading, sneaking them in to surely rat them out after and leave them to the tender mercies of whoever broke Dulane and made black cauliflower sprout from a man’s skin. When Donnelley spoke he looked up, in time to see him raise his gun. The honed instinct said this asset had used up his usefulness and was no longer needed and Queen stood by as the shots rang out. He sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Well, that’s one.” Donnelley slipped his Glock back in its holster, tucking the tail of his coat over it to hide it once more. He turned for the car, opening the trunk with the key fob and McCune’s struggling form and muffled screams were evident just as soon as the trunk door flipped up. Donnelley grabbed him and dragged him over to Hubert’s corpse, a halo of dark blood blooming from him, “You wanna see a dead body?” McCune was dropped next to Hubert and looked at Donnelley with a fair bit of anger that dissipated into a startled and helpless yelp when he saw Hubert’s dead eyes staring through him. McCune tried to wriggle away until Donnelley ripped the duct tape from his mouth, “Help! Hel-guh!” Donnelley’s Glock plugged his mouth, and the old police sergeant looked back at Donnelley with a newfound obedience, “One reason. That’s all I need to not give Hubert another friend in hell.” He slowly withdrew the Glock from McCune’s mouth and let him clear his throat, “I’m in charge of security for Nikolai Gorochev’s daughter and her husband.” Donnelley quirked a brow and looked to Queen, “Alright.” Queen tucked his hands halfway in the pockets of his jeans, watching the scene with a feigned casualness. He glanced around, listening for anything that might alert him to approaching vehicles or footsteps. “So where are they?” Queen asked, with a little shrug. “They gotta place in the hills?” “The manor, the MacOnie manor.” McCune said, looking between Queen and Donnelley. “How many do they have with them?” Renko asked, suddenly taking an interest, “Who is at the manor besides them?” “Natalya and Viktor Ivanov. The head of their personal protection detail is a man named Vyacheslav Demid.” McCune said, “We received them months ago, the River Valleys Retreat meeting was postponed indefinitely.” “Because of us?” Donnelley asked. “And the GRU.” McCune nodded at Renko, “Bratva and GRU don’t get along.” “This is true.” Renko said, “My mission here is to keep Americans from the Bratva. The GRU wants what the Bratva found in Blackriver for themselves.” Donnelley looked to McCune, “I got your wallet. I got your address. I know you have a wife and a daughter.” “You fuckin’ wouldn’t!” “You don’t know what the fuck I wouldn’t do, McCune. Push me.” Donnelley narrowed his eyes, “How close are the Bratva to Levy?” He stepped over, roughly turning McCune onto his face and kneeling with his knee on the side of his head. He took his Glock and wiped his own prints off of it as best he could before pressing it into McCune’s hands, wrapping his fingers around it before placing it in a plastic evidence bag just large enough to fit the Glock, “How’s the Department and the missus and little girl goin’ to react knowin’ you killed Hubert for the Bratva?” “Fuck you!” McCune spat, a hollow little thing seeing the position he was in right now. “Just remember I’ve got this gun and your prints any time you think about steppin’ off the path I want you on.” Donnelley shifted to straddling McCune’s back, pressing his forearm down into the back of McCune’s neck, leaning down to whisper, “And just remember I know where the missus and that little girl live.” McCune was silent and Donnelley leaned closer, “Push me, McCune.” >…/// They crept to a stop along the road to Levy’s practice. They hadn’t seen another car at all on the roads, almost like Blackriver had up and left overnight. The sky and everywhere around the a thick, black sheet, the sounds of crickets and owls permeated the dark night. Donnelley cut the engine and opened his door, going to the backseat where his and Queen’s plate carriers were. He slipped his over his shoulder and rapped his knuckles on the patch like he’d done plenty of times before, [i]Night Time is the Right Time.[/i] Donnelley slipped the TP9’s sling over his head, the small machine pistol kept on his lap the whole drive into Blackriver. He looked to Queen with a quiet burning tenacity in his eyes, “You ready, partner?” Queen tightened the strap of the carrier, the patch with the yellow smiling face cynical and bright against the charcoal gray material. The CZ Scorpion hung over his chest and he looked at Donnelley, then put a gloved hand on his shoulder giving him a squeeze. “Let’s go find this bitch. I got you.” He pulled up the gaiter, THUNDER’s trademark skull that covered the lower half of his face and the dark baseball cap turned backward covered his dark blonde hair. Donnelley nodded, clapping Queen on the shoulder and putting his Thrasher cap over his head. They advanced on Levy’s Quonset hut, about a hundred meters down the road. They crouched among the trees, no light coming from the hut. “Perimeter clear. No visual.” He said, “I’m point, moving to front door.” After some time, they made their approach on the hut, each covering their sectors to the door. Donnelley felt around the cracks in the door jamb, not feeling any apparent signs of traps. He stepped aside for Queen to kick in the door. When he was ready, he pat Queen’s shoulder. When Queen booted in the door, the two rushed in, Donnelley in the front. They went around the room with their flashlights the only thing penetrating the thick darkness, checking the cabinets and behind tables until Donnelley made his call, “Clear.” He whispered into his mic, “Door front. Stack.” Donnelley pat Queen’s shoulder again, the other man checking the doorknob before twisting it and throwing it open. What greeted Donnelley inside was a wall of polaroid pictures, the room evidently a photo development room, “Small room, clear.” He spoke, going to the wall of photos, slowly scanning the pictures with his gunlight, “Oh my fuckin’ god…” Queen stepped in on the other side, clearing the opposite side of the room before he followed Donnelley’s line of sight. The dark room was lit with the glow of a red lamp, their small gun lights shining beams that illuminated points on the wall. Glimpses of terrified female faces, girls he hoped were dead at the time with entire limbs degloved, their torsos flayed from the muscle and fat. He inhaled sharply, the eyes were all wide and staring and he had seen enough to know the terror was very real. “Fuck me,” he whispered, “This bitch must be the same that was at the cabin. Agent Laine’s report, two different sets of scrubs.” He breathed out slowly, then swept the light around the room, hunting for a door. The light caught a reflection on the convex glass of an old TV/VCR combo sitting on a stand in the corner. The tapes stacked on a shelf beside it and handwritten labels were visible. “Shit,” he muttered and he knew he did not want to see what was on those tapes. His stomach clenched and he glanced at Donnelley, even in the dim light he sensed where he was near him. “We were [i]here.[/i]” Donnelley whispered through clenched teeth, still looking at the photos, “We were right fucking here and she answered the goddamn door for us. We left Bakker alone with this murdering bitch.” Donnelley swallowed, his mouth dry as he looked about the room. He caught sight of the tapes, “We need to take those. Come on, let’s search the rest of this room.” Donnelley opened one of the cabinets and spotted what might be journals. Taking one out, he read the label, and it was written as such, cold and scientific language for the act of murder. “Experiment Logbooks. These too.” From outside came the sound of tires crunching on gravel, doors opening and closing, and boots scuffing in the dirt getting closer to the door. Donnelley heard them outside, a male voice speaking to some others, “Ruckus 1-1, all stations, door has been kicked in. Moving to clear target building.” Donnelley looked to Queen and thumbed his fire selector to auto, “Stack on me. If you’re in there, come out with your hands up!” “Get those fuckin’ tapes quick. I got you covered.” Donnelley said, taking position by the door, leaning out just enough to get a clear sight picture on the room. With one hand, he held his TP9, in the other he held a primed flashbang. Queen shrugged off the pack he normally carried to gather intel, his gun slung back against his hip as he gathered tapes, holding a small flashlight between his teeth to give himself some extra light, the red glow brighter than the darkroom lamps. He was reaching into the cabinets when he heard the voice from outside. He turned and continued grabbing the journals as quickly as he could, the tapes clattering together in the bag. As soon as he heard the first step through the door, Donnelley slid the flashbang across the floor and hid behind the wall. As soon as the loud bang was heard, he leaned out and let out a string of cracking nine-millimeter into the first black clad hit squad he saw. They were all in disarray, clutching at their eyes and stumbling forward intent on getting to cover. Donnelley had enough time to sight up on another and blow his head open with another burst of his weapon before ducking back. A set of holes stitched themselves across the flimsy drywall and plywood with the sound of a pattering M4, “Queen, you good?” The world exploded behind him and it took all he had to keep his focus, yanking open drawers as gunfire erupted right behind him. Queen ducked and crouched, yanking open the bottom drawers to check if they had missed anything. The return fire was close but despite what happened in Alaska, he trusted Donnelley to have his back. “Yeah,” he murmured around the flashlight then spat it out, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I’m good. Almost done.” In the bottom drawer there was a box, an old boot box and he opened it. Queen reached in and pulled out a book, the cover looked hand stitched and in the dim light there was a strange marking, like a child experimenting with lines and shapes, nothing meaningful. He shoved it in the bag, laying it on top of the journals. It gave him a bad feeling but everything in this room was unsettling. “Let’s get the fuck outta here,” he said in a low voice, hefting the bag onto his back, “I got everything.” Queen picked up his Scorpion and drew it up, readying himself. Another burst of fire cut towards them, blasting holes in the water basin and sending streams of it leaking. Donnelley unhooked and then primed another grenade, sliding it across the floor like the last. When it banged out, he rose and cleared out of the room with Queen close at his back. He raised his TP9 and squeezed off a triplet into the head and neck of another of the hit squad while Queen did the same to another. “Renko, bring the car up!” Donnelley raised his voice into his mic. In no matter of time, the SHO was screeching to a stop in front of the hut, spinning around so the passenger seats were easy to access from their flight out of the Quonset hut. Donnelley leaned out and sprayed into the second black SUV parked outside, more of the hit squad dismounting, “Move, Queen!” Queen was moving, the bulk of the bag bouncing against him as he sprinted towards the car. He grabbed the back door handle and turned wrenching it open as he held up the Scorpion with one hand and fired to help cover Donnelley getting to the car. He dropped the gun at his side, still gripping it tight as he threw himself into the back, using his boot to pull the door closed. “Well, shit,” he said, pushing himself up enough to train his Scorpion through the back windshield. “Nice to see you, Renko.” “This is not nice time for me!” Renko called from the driver seat, reaching to open the passenger door and desperately watching Donnelley run for the car as bullets whizzed by. Donnelley crashed into the passenger seat unceremoniously and pulled the door shut, “Go!” Renko stomped the gas and the tires kicked up dirt as they fishtailed out of the Quonset hut’s yard. As they made it into the road, a hulking mass of a man stepped out into their path, seemingly sacrificing himself as the SHO smashed into him. Donnelley had the wind knocked out of him as flew forward into the dash, Renko yelling out as his seatbelt kept him from doing the same. They’d rolled over the man, but the SHO seemed to be limping, almost as if they’d plowed into a buffalo. Queen did not see what they hit but felt it, thrown against the back of the passenger seat and then to the floor, tangled in his pack and the strap of the gun. “Shit!” He pushed himself up, feeling the car struggling and looked out the window and then the back windshield. “Y’all alright?” Queen tasted blood, and touched his mouth, feeling where his teeth had cut into the inside of his lip when he had hit the back of Donnelley’s seat. He spat and wiped his mouth, “What the fuck was that?” “I…” Donnelley righted himself in his seat, touching a gash on his forehead and hissing, “Don’t know…” Donnelley’s voice trailed off as they saw what they hit. It was the same huge man, picking himself up from the road almost no worse for wear. As the huge man shook his arms, Donnelley could hear the blunt pops and grind of bones shifting back in place. A low moaning came from the huge man as the black SUV full of the other half of the hit squad skidded to a stop in front of him. The men inside dismounted and screamed at the huge man to get on the ground and drop any weapons. One of them approached, making the mistake of getting just a bit too close and the huge man covered the ten meters too quick for the hitman to react. The huge man wrapped a hand the size of a shovel’s head around the man’s face and threw him screaming off the road and into a tree. The other hitmen, three in total, opened fire. Their bullets ripped chunks from the huge man, but he came on like a bull, and faster than one. He drove one huge shoulder into one, sending him tumbling across the road, and then took hold of another’s plate carrier. He slammed that one into the side of the SUV hard enough to dent the chassis in and break the back window. He picked him up by one hand and brained him with his other smashing fist. The last one was running towards them, even going so far as to helplessly struggle with Queen’s door in the back, “Jesus Christ!” But the huge man was already on him, taking him by the nape and smashing his head into the SHO’s back window, sending beads of glass stinging at Queen. Renko was frozen in place, mouth agape as he watched the huge man shove his thick fingers into the hitman’s mouth, pulling as easily as someone opening a pistachio shell and relieving the man of his jaw, a gurgling scream and flapping tongue, uselessly kicking legs his last throes. Donnelley scrambled over Renko to open the man’s door, pushing Renko out before he felt the big hand wrap around his ankle, “Shit-“ And he was being pulled out, hands slapping for a hold, but he was made weightless anyway. He could feel the wind whooping past before he felt the road. Queen watched the same scene in horror, the huge man moving so fast it felt unreal, like a bad CGI rendering made from someone that did not understand bulk shouldn’t move like that. But his gaze was drawn to the blackened nodules, the growths erupting along its face and neck when the lights of the car illuminated the ruined features of the monstrous man. The hitman’s hot blood splattered through the broken window and Queen bit back a scream as he watched the hitman’s jaw ripped away. He scrambled back, the pack hitting the driver side back door and he reached back to find the handle when he saw Donnelly ripped from the car. “Fuck!” Queen shouted as his friend vanished from the car. Without thinking, he aimed through the broken window at the dark bulk and fired off several 9 mm rounds,from the Scorpion deafening in the confines of the car. Reaching back he opened the door and fell out, rolling over and pushing himself up as the pack on his back shifted, the tapes making a muted jostling sound. Queen knelt behind the back wheel and sighted up again on the monster, unleashing the rest of his 20 round magazine. “Hold on, Tex!” “What is this thing?” Renko breathed, holding his Glock that seemed as useful as a nerf gun at this point. The car jostled, and then began moving as the huge beast of a man pushed it away with some effort. Renko turned to run towards where he’d seen Donnelley fly off behind the SUV, looking back and sending haphazard shots at the monster. When he saw Donnelley, he was trying to stand, getting to his feet before stumbling onto his side again. Renko took hold of him, hooking his arms under Donnelley’s armpits and leaning him against the ruined SUV. “Holy shit.” Donnelley slurred, eyes heavy and head swimming as he regained some amount of consciousness, “We ain’t killin’ that thing.” Queen was changing magazines when the car shoved sideways against him, almost knocking him on his ass. He pushed up and fired a few more useless shots at the hillbilly Frankenstein’s monster and ran back towards Renko and Donnelley. He took a knee and kept an eye on the huge man. “I’m just tickling him with this 9mm,” Queen said, then glanced over, his pale eyes showing concern as he saw Donnelley slumped against the SUV. “How you doing, Tex? Anything broken?” “My legs ain’t, we need to fuckin’ get out of here.” Donnelley was still catching his breath, but he shoved Renko away and down the road, where the other man took the hint and began running. Donnelley took a few testing steps away from the SUV, still finding his legs a tad wobbly, but they were his only one out of here. “Come on.” He began his worryingly slow trot, trying not to drift to either side of the road with his head pulsing, the daze wanting to pull him left or right. He looked back to see Queen running behind him, and the much more worrying monster bounding right at them with the force of a grizzly. Queen ran, keeping himself from overtaking Donnelley who seemed still dazed. He turned and could see the thing tracking them and coming, moving too fast and he fired another burst to at least give the monster something to think about as the rounds smacked his ruined blackened face. “We can’t just run down the road, it’ll be on us,” he called out to Renko and Donnelley. He reached for the flashbang on his own plate carrier and pulled the pin, turning and throwing it sidearmed as if he was still playing shortstop. Trusting the grenade to hit at the feet or into the solar plexus of the advancing hulking man, Queen turned without watching it to keep pace with Donnelley. The bang rang out, only adding to the noise of the night. The monster charged on unheeding and the pounding footsteps only got louder until Donnelley could almost feel it’s hulking presence making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He grabbed Queen and pulled him forward of himself, turning in the same motion with his TP9 and sprayed into the hulking beast of a man. Right before he saw the huge man’s fist held high, he closed his eyes and accepted what was to come, hoping Queen and Renko could get away. But it did not, the beast let go another low grunt as what sounded like a boulder collided into him, smashing the air from his lungs. Donnelley opened his eyes again to see the same suited man from Hubert’s club who’d ran through his bouncers like a wrecking ball. The huge man was on his back, the Terminator straddling the beast’s chest and raining blows the speed of which Donnelley almost couldn’t comprehend. The beast reached up and grabbed hold of the Terminator’s suit jacket, slamming him into the concrete and rolling on top of him. The beast reared up with both boulder fists clasped and brought them down in an effort to smash his head. The Terminator reached up and caught the hands, the both of them shaking from the force of their strength, until the cracking of bone was heard and the beast was left with both wrists flopping with useless hands on the ends of them. The smell of ozone and electrical burn filled the air, seeping into their surroundings like an invisible fog and the Terminator tore one of the beast’s own dangling hands from his wrist and drove the sharp bone through his face once, twice, three times and then four. The beast fell to the side, and the Terminator rose to his feet, looking at Donnelley as he was standing there gawking at him. “Boyat'sya stoit tol'ko yesli ty russkiy.” Donnelley heard the Terminator speak, “I am a friend… of circumstance.” “Not Russian!” Renko rose his hands up in peace, “Am from Ukraine.” Queen turned to grab Donnelley when he pulled him forward, a shot of anger ran through him as his friend tried to sacrifice himself. He knew it was just like Tex to do so but the man had a kid and now a girlfriend, he reminded himself. Donnelley had more to lose, and Queen had very little. Queen reached to snatch Donnelley back in front of him when he saw the showdown of the Terminator and the Hulk. His mouth fell open and he slowed then stopped after a few paces, unable to look away. “Holy mother of fuck,” he swore, the awe overwhelming the helplessness that he felt in the face of those foes who their weapons did little against. The Terminator’s laugh was deep and sincere, the smile reaching his one eye left uncovered by the eyepatch he wore. He wiped at it after he calmed down, taking a couple breaths, “I like your friend’s words. They are funny.” Donnelley looked from the Terminator to Queen and Renko, and then back, “Why?” “Well, he said ‘holy mother of fuck’, you know? Creative way to say curse word-“ “No, [i]why are we friends.[/i]” Even with the friendly behavior and the declaration of them being friends, he still caught that it was only through circumstance. Friends, [i]for now.[/i] His grip tightened on his TP9, though they’d likely do little to deter the Slav, “You were going to kill us in that club in Charleston.” “I said no such thing.” The Terminator shook his head, shrugging, “If I did, I am sorry. You know, this is only job, I work for Propavsheye because they hire me to go after Bratva. I [i]hate[/i] Bratva.” Queen stared still trying to comprehend how the monster was beat to a pulp then he grinned, scratching at his head, “Right. No one likes bratva, not even other bratvas. So Propavsheye hired you? What does someth...someone like you go for? Just curious. Also...what the hell are you?” Terminator looked at the three of them, a silence permeated the air in between until Terminator spoke, “I will tell you everything.” He spoke low and gravely, “But not here.” Donnelley nodded, “Well…” he looked behind himself at the battlefield the road had become, bodies strewn everywhere and two ruined vehicles, “I guess we can still walk.” He heard banging from the trunk of the SHO and looked at it skeptically, before he raised his brows, “Oh, yeah.” Donnelley held out his hand for Renko to toss him the keys, snatching them out of the air. He opened the trunk, the door coming open and McCune flopping out screaming, “Meet the head of Nikolai Gorochev’s daughter’s security.” “[i]Nikolai…[/i]” Terminator rumbled, a deep growl emanating from his throat heavy with an animal hatred, “We have much to talk about.” >1945…/// It took a while, and Donnelley’s Adidas shoes were even starting to become uncomfortable on the walk back to the Flannegan Inn. When they got back inside, Donnelley didn’t even feel the need to brutalize McCune by throwing him inside onto his face. He simply led him upstairs to their room, roughly shoved him tripping onto the bed before sitting in the dusty, cracked leather chair in the corner. His TP9 was still in his lap as he looked at the assembled men in the room, “Alright.” Donnelley sighed, “Let’s talk. Whoever wants to go first can go first.” Renko and Terminator spoke at the same time before they looked at each other, then had a quiet back and forth between themselves in Russian before they both chuckled. Terminator clapped Queen on the shoulder a tad harder than most were used to, shaking him like they’d known each other for years and the bonds were strong, “Why don’t you ask your questions first?” Terminator said, smiling friendly and raising his brows, “Oh, my name is Alexei Popov. I apologize.” Queen grunted at the force, but saw no maliciousness in it, just the pure strength of the man. He glanced at Renko then at the man calling himself Alexei. He was weary from the adrenaline fueled escape and the long walk but their new friend seemed none worse for wear after the fight. “Queen. That’s Tex,” he said, nodding at Donnelley before looking back at Alexei. “We gotta lot of questions but I just wanna know first, what are you? I figured big boy back there was one of their experiments but are you, something more?” Alexei took his hand from Queen’s shoulder, “I am but a man.” Alexei shrugged, “With… very special… [i]gifts.[/i]” He said the last word with some bitterness, “I was Afghantsy. Soviet soldier in Afghanistan, VDV.” Alexei lost some of his joviality, “One day, we come across a village, we were attacked by Mujahideen. I was wounded. I woke up in strange place, I do not know how long I was asleep.” “I saw my comrades trading things with strange looking locals. They looked human, but they were not. Soon, it was not just things, but [i]people.[/i]” Alexei spat, “Girls. Young Afghans, in return for gold, and other unnatural things. I tried to stop them, the VDV were supposed to serve with honor, not being criminals. They beat me, I almost died.” “I was awoken by a voice which had no body. He said he would give me back my hand and my eye in return for eternal service to him, an eternal hunt against the Black God, and all who serve him. To break everything he makes.” Alexei wore a dark frown, looking down at his gloved hand, “And now, I am here. The Bratva were once my comrades, my brothers. Now, they are my enemies. And I will work for anyone who will let me kill them wherever I can.” Alexei eyed Donnelley, his scar most of all, “I know you know the sting of betrayal.” Donnelley narrowed his eyes, “The hell you think you know?” “Your friend. Steven Foster.” Donnelley rose from his seat, fists clenched, but knowing that if it really came down to it he’d be short work for Alexei. Still, that sharp piece of him buried deep made him stand and stare back at Alexei, “How do you know him?” Alexei’s eye turned soft, a look of sympathy upon his face, “I know more than you remember. I remember what they made you not.” Donnelley faltered, looking at Queen and then back at Alexei, “Al-…Alright, I fuckin’ pass on the questions.” He sat back down, refusing to look back at Alexei and the others. Queen sat himself at the end of the bed that McCune was still sprawled on. He rested his forearms on his knees, listening to the story and when Alexei looked at Donnelley, he followed the man’s gaze. The burn had been there since he had known him, he knew where it had come from and what it had cost him, that brand to wear. The implication of Alexei’s story, the fact there were others fighting against this darkness they had so often felt alone in fighting piqued his interest. “You call it the Black God?” Queen spoke up, “Is it the same that is called the Sleeper? The thing down in the mines they’re trying to wake up, the thing wanting sacrifice of lives.” Not just lives but death, brutal deaths to bring the victims to horrific pain. Like a psychic meal as real as flesh. Queen sat up and reached for his pack of Kools, patting at his pockets but forgot where he had left them. He sighed, then continued, “Look, there’s a lot we don’t know. In the Program...or whatever we’re supposed to be. We get glimpses of things...like flashing a penlight off and on in the dark.” The pictures in the red light came to his mind and he picked up the pack and found his cigarettes in one of the side pockets. The tapes and journals were there and they would be poured over tonight. He glanced around him and held off lighting the cigarette. “What’s it all about, Alexei? What’s Renko saving that girl from, what are we trying to break up? Other than bringing murderers to their justice,” Queen asked, furrowing his brow. Alexei looked at Queen, up and down, “There are things in the shadows of the world’s dark corners.” Alexei drew in a breath and sighed, “Things too evil to speak the names of. You would not want to understand the things I do. But you will, if you keep digging.” Queen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck under his hair, “Right. Just point us at the target. Nevermind who’s pulling our fucking strings. ‘Scuse me.” He stood up and went to the bathroom. He had to piss but he was damn near sober and this was too much. Queen finished and washed his hands, then dug around in his pocket. He pulled the crumpled bag out, the few pills of vicodin and xanax and the remainder of an 8 ball. There were two more in his belongings. Never leave home without it. Queen looked at it, the weight of the night and the previous night and a sudden spike of loneliness hit him. Donnelley was in the other room but it was not the same comfort. Then he felt guilty for feeling the loss again, they were never an official thing and he should feel glad for his friend. And what did that all mean when they were balls deep in hillbilly hell with the Russian and the monsters. So evil they could not know what it is they risked their lives and sanity over. He leaned over the sink, muttering, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Finally he turned on the water, popping two Xanax and washing them down with a handful of water but he could not bear to flush the stash. It held him too hard and at least it would not leave him until he decided it was time. Queen wiped at his eyes, surprised and irritated at the tears there. He washed his face and stepped out, looking over the men, his gaze lingering only briefly on Donnelley, well practiced at not making it obvious he was the object of his attention. Queen sat back down on the other bed, “So, Renko. Is that what they tell you on your side? You can’t know. Just to do or die, yadda, yadda.” Renko shrugged, “Mainly.” “What if we [i]want[/i] to know?” Donnelley said, looking up from his lap, “I’ve lost friends over this shit. Seen plenty die.” Donnelley glanced at Queen, and back at Alexei, “[i]I died.[/i]” Donnelley growled, “I’m fightin’ a war against somethin’ I barely understand. And when we come home from it, nobody knows. Nobody calls us heroes. When I die somewhere, they might not even tell anyone the truth about it.” “I’ll just be a star on a wall in Virginia.” Donnelley frowned bitterly, “The Black God, the Sleeper, whatever the [i]fuck[/i] you want to call it… Fuck it. As long as that fuckin’ sun rises and this green ball of shit keeps turnin’, my job’s done.” Donnelley rose from his seat and walked to the door, leaving the room and slamming the door behind him hard enough to shake the wall. Alexei looked after Donnelley, and the closed door he left. He sighed, “There are truths. You all will learn them.” Alexei shook his head, “And you will wish you had not.” Queen watched Donnelley leave then glanced at Alexei, "You're probably right." >…/// It was Donnelley’s turn to watch the lobby. The decor of this place was frozen in the 80’s, a ghost in time forever standing in a forgotten place in America. A place where everyone agreed not to look, too ugly. He sat alone in the lobby, not knowing if anyone else was asleep, only that he couldn’t. It was like that most nights, but this one stung more than others. In quiet moments like this, he regretted telling Queen. Telling Billy Patrick that what they had was no more, making him feel like anything he’d have with him would be second best to Laine. With someone he wouldn’t have to explain, wouldn’t have to hide, look over his shoulder. The only man who’d ever seen the side of him that wasn’t what everyone else expected of him. And any sorry wouldn’t be enough. He sighed in the silence of the hotel lobby, alone until he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Alexei came into the lobby and took a seat across from Donnelley, placing his feet on the low coffee table. The two men sat in silence until Donnelley glanced at Alexei lounging in his suit, “What did you mean?” “Hm?” “They made me forget.” Donnelley asked, voice low and rough in the quiet of the halls in this destitute place, “Who are they? What did they make me forget?” Alexei huffed a chuckle, nodding in understanding, “You have the same dream every night. Or most nights.” He said, “Chechnya. Afghanistan.” Alexei pointed to Donnelley and then to himself, “Afghantsy, us both.” Alexei smiled, though it was full of sadness, “You do not remember Chechnya, because they do not want you to remember Chechnya. What was the last thing you remember?” Donnelley looked away, staring at the stained carpet for a few long moments, “Crossing into Georgia. My clothes were tattered, dirty, bloody.” Donnelley spoke, though his mind was distant, “They picked me up there, traveled by night into Turkey and then back into Europe.” “How did you get there?” “I don’t know.” Donnelley shook his head, looking back at Alexei as he brought himself back into the present, “I don’t remember.” “When you sleep,” Alexei withdrew a simple ziploc bag and took a small, dried fruit from it, the same fruit that Ipiktok had given Ava, “Eat the meat of this, spit the pit out. I will come with you in the dream, and I will tell you the truth they took from you.” Donnelley looked at the dried fruit in Alexei’s palm. Did he really want to know? What could be worse than knowing Foster was a traitor this whole time? What if it was just more of the same, just another confirmation that he was wrong all this time. Donnelley took the fruit from Alexei’s palm. “I’ll know the truth?” He looked back at Alexei and saw him nod. He looked back at the fruit, “Okay.” He popped it in his mouth, focusing on what he remembered from Chechnya as he chewed. He turned his head and spit the pit across the room, “Tired of bein’ fuckin’ lied…” The room began to vibrate, subtle at first, “to…” The vibrating intensified by the second, until Donnelley could feel his own body vibrating, his very eyes shaking with it, not knowing if it was real. If he didn’t know better, he might’ve thought this was going to be the worst acid trip he was embarking on. He heard Alexei speak, looking over to him sidelong, unable to work his neck, “I probably would have relaxed more before this.” “Well-“ he spoke before he was cut off by the intense feeling of falling, his stomach jumping up to his throat as he screamed, not knowing if he really was or it was all in his head. It felt real, too real to not be. He saw the room fall away from him, shrinking upwards into a sky of pitch in a world of shadow, shrinking and shrinking until it was a pinprick and then nothing at all. He screamed until he couldn’t, the air out of his lungs and as he breathed in, he found himself more calm. Still confused, still a bit frenzied, but only looking around and seeing only black. He lifted his hand to his face, seeing his fingers wriggle when he made them, though he was also naked. “What…” He looked below himself, still falling, but now more accustomed to it. Until he saw what he was falling towards. It was like a star below, a point in the sky, and then it grew to a picture he slowly began to recognize. “No,” he shook his head to nobody, as if his protests would fall on any ears but his own, “No, no. Stop!” But he couldn’t go back, the view of Chechnya. The mountains outside the windshield of the Ural, Peake and Guzman coming into view, “No, not this!” But it was too late, and his hearing became muddled like he’d jumped into a pool, and he was there again…/// \\\…Four wheels struggled for purchase on the mountain road, suspension creaking in the early morning darkness. The halo of morning was starting to peek through the horizon as Donnelley grunted in frustration at the mud being thrown up by the Ural’s tires, their toughest enemy yet and the one that managed to slow their advance to the objective. “You sure you don’t want me to drive?” Peake turned his head to Donnelley, his face still stuck in that slit-eyed frown he’d had since Somalia. Donnelley wondered if his face had ever known a smile or grin. Probably not, Donnelley sucked his teeth, cigarette clenched between them, “I’m fine, I’ve got this.” “We could ditch this piece of shit, ruck the rest of the way to the rally point.” Peake grumbled, turning away from Donnelley, but Donnelley had never been the one to take the easy way. He wasn’t going to start. “That’s what I’d do.” “Oh, I’m sure. Thank you for telling me the tale of what Peake would do with this stolen Ural in Chechnya.” Donnelley frowned sidelong at Peake, glowering from the passenger seat. “I liked the last one too, what Peake would do if FSB caught wind of a Marine Raider, a CIA Officer and an ISA Operator illegally crossing into Russia.” Donnelley heard Guzman sigh from the backseat, his AKM laid across his thighs as he looked out his window pretending not to hear yet another contest of Who’s-A-Better-Asshole. Donnelley’s eyes narrowed as Guzman’s did the same, leaning closer to his driver’s side rear window. Guzman’s wary voice came from behind Donnelley, “You seen that?” “What?” Peake barked, his head whipping to the direction Guzman was looking like a bird of prey. “Oh, sh-“ Gunfire erupted from a rocky outcropping and ripped through the Ural’s side, stitching a long path that punched through Donnelley’s side and made him gasp. Guzman was gone, Donnelley could see the flap of his head dangling with every bump in the road as their Ural bounded down the packed dirt and slipping mud. Smoke was pouring from the engine and they were losing RPMs and oil pressure from their mangled motor. “We have to fucking ditch!” Peake roared, opening his door and rolling out. Donnelley tried shielding his face as flames exploded from the engine compartment, coolant and scalding oil spraying. A glob of fire spattered into his cheek and stuck there, burning like napalm until he slapped at his face, screaming. He rolled out of his seat, leaving the off-road Russian vehicle to slowly list to the right and eventually fly off the road of its own burning accord. Tumbling through the mud and dirt and stopping just short of the cliff’s edge, he looked up to see Peake further down the road. He only made it resting on his hands and knees before gunfire ripped his neck and face open. “No!” Donnelley screamed, reaching out to Peake, “[i]No![/i]” …/// \\\…Donnelley heaved in a breath as he fell away again, happy to be out of there, but soul crushed to pieces to have been back at all. He heard Alexei’s voice come from all around him, “This is what you see?” “Fuck you!” “You are the one who ate it. We should make this worth it for you. I do not have many of these fruits. They only sprout every fifty years or so.” Alexei spoke as if they talking with each other from either side of a table at a farmers market, “Ready yourself.” “No! Please, not again!” Donnelley could feel himself almost be pushed into it, falling faster, and faster, and faster until he felt like he was about to pass out. The black grew more oppressive, shrinking in from every side, “Oh my god, no…” …/// \\\…Four wheels struggled for purchase on the mountain road, suspension creaking in the early morning darkness. The halo of morning was starting to peek through the horizon as Donnelley grunted in frustration at the mud being thrown up by the Ural’s tires, their toughest enemy yet and the one that managed to slow their advance to the objective. “Few more miles until we can get to the extraction point Foster set up for us.” Donnelley said, narrowed eyes on the road, if you could even call it one. “You sure you don’t want me to drive?” Peake turned his head to Donnelley, his face still stuck in that slit-eyed frown he’d had since Somalia. Donnelley wondered if his face had ever known a smile or grin. Probably not, Donnelley sucked his teeth, cigarette clenched between them, “I’m fine, I’ve got this.” “We could ditch this piece of shit, ruck the rest of the way to the rally point.” Peake grumbled, turning away from Donnelley, but Donnelley had never been the one to take the easy way. He wasn’t going to start. “That’s what I’d do.” “Oh, I’m sure. Thank you for tellin’ me the tale of what Peake would do with this stolen Ural in Chechnya.” Donnelley frowned sidelong at Peake, glowering from the passenger seat. “I liked the last one too, what Peake would do if Breckenridge caught us tryin’ to escape with a March Tech whistleblower.” The whistleblower in question gulped audibly from the backseat. What Wetwork Team GRANTOR had found in that mountain monastery wasn’t what they were expecting. There was no cult, there was no monster, there were only labs and chairs, and beds where they ripped villagers’ minds apart to stitch them back together again in any way they wanted. It disgusted all of them, including Dr. Feldenkrais. The petite blonde thirty-something pushed her glasses up her face. Donnelley smiled at her from the passenger seat, though she didn’t look much in the mood for smiles, “When the UN or whoever we can get these documents to finds these, March Tech isn’t going to be able to hurt these innocents anymore.” “We’ll get you out of Chechnya safely, Yuliya. I promise.” Donnelley said with some resolve. Yuliya placed her hand on his shoulder. He placed his hand on her own and squeezed reassuringly. “You’re a good man. My brother Fadeyka would like you. Perhaps I will take you to meet him.” Yuliya said, withdrawing her hand after a moment, “This doesn’t just effect the CIA, or America, or Russia. They’re doing these experiments everywhere. It all ends soon.” Donnelley heard Guzman sigh from the backseat, his AKM laid across his thighs as he looked out his window pretending they weren’t about to open up a case full of treason. Donnelley knew as well as everyone inside this truck that trying to end March Tech could just as easily end them. Donnelley’s eyes narrowed as Guzman’s did the same, leaning closer to his driver’s side rear window. Guzman’s wary voice came from behind Donnelley, “You seen that?” “What?” Peake asked, his head searching the direction Guzman was looking like a bird of prey. “Oh, sh-“ Gunfire erupted from a rocky outcropping and ripped through the Ural’s side, stitching a long path that punched through Donnelley’s side and made him gasp. Guzman was gone, Donnelley could see the flap of his head dangling with every bump in the road as their Ural bounded down the packed dirt and slipping mud. Smoke was pouring from the engine and they were losing RPMs and oil pressure from their mangled motor. “We have to fucking ditch!” Peake roared, opening his door and rolling out. Donnelley tried shielding his face as flames exploded from the engine compartment, coolant and scalding oil spraying. A glob of fire spattered into his cheek and stuck there, burning like napalm until he slapped at his face, screaming. He rolled out of his seat, leaving the off-road Russian vehicle to slowly list to the right and eventually fly off the road of its own burning accord. Tumbling through the mud and dirt and stopping just short of the cliff’s edge, he looked up to see Yuliya further down the road. She only made it to her hands and knees as she reached out to Donnelley. Donnelley struggled to his feet, swaying in place and almost stumbling over the cliff before he righted himself. His face was numb, but he could smell cooking meat, hear his cheek sizzling. His side hurt, and he could feel the warm wetness of blood from the bullet wounds. “Yuliya…” Yuliya grabbed onto the suitcase that contained all the case files and reports of March Tech’s experiments on the people in the remote village. She clutched it to her chest and got to her feet just before Donnelley could see the men in camouflage uniforms, the Breckenridge hit squad, come walking around the bend. “No!” Donnelley screamed, reaching out to Yuliya, “[i]No![/i]” Yuliya turned in time for one of the Breckenridge contractors to raise his weapon and send a round through her face, bits of brain and bone flying. Donnelley dropped to his knees, “No!” The Breckenridge soldiers kept advancing, stepping over Yuliya’s faceless corpse. One of them removed his mask to reveal a familiar face. “I’m sorry, Joe.” Foster said, “I can’t afford you and GRANTOR ruining this. For what it’s worth, this whole plan of yours really was noble.” Donnelley’s lip quivered in contempt as tears began to sting at his eyes. He looked at Foster, his friend, one of the only people in the Program he trusted and the person he told about March Tech’s place in the disappearances in Chechnya, “Why?” His voice quivered behind gritted teeth. “You said it yourself, Joe. Anything for the greater good, for humanity to see another sunrise, and another, and another.” Foster shook his head and shrugged, “Can you imagine what we can do with an army of agents and operators that we can simply just [i]reset[/i] before they can eat one of their own bullets? How many friends do you think I’ve lost that way? That [i]you’ve[/i] lost that way?” “It’s not right!” Donnelley roared, “You can’t just do these things to [i]people![/i]” “Like I said, Joseph,” Foster pursed his lips, “I’m sorry-” “[i]Fuck[/i] you.” Donnelley reached down and drew his handgun as fast as he could, but not faster than the bullets that ripped into him. He fell back, trying to plug the holes as he groaned at the burning. “What should we do?” One of the Breckenridge contractors asked. Foster was staring down at Donnelley’s limp form, “Clean this up. And take Joseph to the beds. We’ll see how well this works against traumatic violence.” Foster walked to Donnelley’s side as he dragged in wheezing, grating breaths. Rocks and grass crunched under Foster’s boots as he knelt before him, and placed a hand on Donnelley’s shoulder that he tried to shrug away from, “You’re a tough bastard, Joseph. This is an opportunity to prove how useful you can be to your country.” “Don’t do that to me, you [i]fuckin’ monster[/i].” Donnelley grit his teeth and growled, “I’m goin’ to fuckin’ kill you bad, you motherfucker. You fuckin’ cocksuckin’ piece of shit, I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you get in my head.” “You won’t even feel a thing.” Foster patted Donnelley’s shoulder, “Be like it never happened [i]at all.[/i]” …/// \\\…Donnelley was back in the hotel lobby. He slowly turned his head to look at Alexei. “What…” “The truth.” Alexei spoke low. “They erased me.” “A part of you.” Donnelley looked at the carpet again, not knowing what to do, and somewhat even afraid to move for fear of falling through the carpet and back into his dreams. He swallowed, mouth feeling like he’d chewed a mouthful of sand. “Holy shit…” he whispered, “I… need to go.” “I will watch lobby.” “Forgive me if I don’t trust you.” Donnelley said, “I’ll get Renko.” Donnelley rose from his seat, slow, cautious. He looked around the lobby, down at himself to make sure his clothes were still on. Turning for the hallway and the stairs up to the floor their room was on, he couldn’t help but to hurry away from the lobby. He climbed the stairs quietly as he could, as if he’d wake his nightmares and they’d drag him into them drowning again. Walked the halls quietly as if a door would open and someone would snatch him inside, getting to the room, he knocked a bit harder than needed. Didn’t even wait for Queen to answer, just pounded with his open palm again, “Open the fuck up!” There was a fear in him, coming from everywhere, stabbing at him and making him feel a deep need to run, “Queen, [i]please![/i]” Queen’s eyes snapped open from a doze he had not realized he had fallen into. He was still on the bed, laying back with his feet still on the floor. He was up, head spinning a little as he forced himself out of the fog of Xanax and he held a hand up to Renko to motion that he had it. Queen took the small 9mm handgun off the table where he had left it, holding it at his side. He opened the door, shocked to see the ashen color of Donnelley’s face and the blue gaze filled with fear and something else he hardly recognized, something edging on panic. “What happened?” He swung the door open so he could enter, checking behind Donnelley left and right but nothing was there. Queen shut the door, going to him, putting his hand on Donnelley’s shoulder, “Hey, what’s going on with you?” “He killed GRANTOR.” Donnelley spoke, placing his hands on Queen’s shoulders, “It was March Tech. It was [i]fucking Foster and March Tech.[/i]”