Leidenschaft

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>THE SAFEHOUSE
>0630HRS...///

“Two days ago at 2200 hours,” Steve Foster, began, “Retired Army Lieutenant Baughman passed away in his apartment in Charleston. Years ago, Baughman was given the same chance at opening new avenues for his career, just like all of you here today.”

“Your first order of business is to go to his apartment and remove any… incriminating documents. Anything anybody but Clyde Baughman and everyone here doesn’t need to know.” Steve Foster eyed the assembled recruits as Joseph did the same, offering his arm out for a better look at Baughman's apartment key, giving them a little jingle, “Welcome to Working Group Umbra. Dismissed.”

As Foster closed the door to the tiny garage behind him, there was a silence that seemed to swell in his absence. It choked whatever comfort Joseph had being inside the living room. Joseph wasn't too much in a rush to fill it, but he figured some sort of bonding was going to have to happen for them to start being a cohesive unit. Joseph wasn't in the business of holding hands and singing songs around a fire, so that was that option out the window. He clapped his hands together, wringing them as he looked them all over. Standing or sitting in the couch, none of them seemed particularly fresh-faced, which was good. The day they started conscripting the young was not a day Joseph wanted to be around for. "Well," Joseph looked at everybody about the room, not attempting to mask that little stubborn bit of Texan in his words that never seemed to go away, "Let's introduce ourselves, then."

“I’m your team lead. My name is Joseph Donnelley. If you’re wondering if I’m going to tell you why you’re here,” Donnelley paused. He had the face on him, he knew. The one Holly always said looked like he was about to tell them the truth. A little sad smile and his kind eyes as he looked at whoever he was talking to from the other side of the threshold of disappointing truth. “I’m not. Yet. I can and will tell you that if you do well enough on this first errand, then the rest of your lives are going to be different.”

“I was given the same choice as you, a long damn time ago.” He said, reaching into a pocket and producing a black pack of Spirits, he clenched one in his smirking teeth, “I sure learned to appreciate the little things since then, tell you what.”

She looked around at the people around her then smiled slightly, and clasped her hands, "I'm Dr Laine, I am a profiler with the Behavioral Analysis department of the FBI."

Her green eyes peered from behind her black frame glasses flicking over to Donnelly. "And I'm here because I want answers. If cleaning this man's apartment will help lead me there, well...I should probably change clothes."

She tapped her high heel, the twin bows on the velvet material bobbing slightly.

Sprawled on the couch like the cowboy Laurie saw himself as, he didn’t really pay attention to what was said before him. He knew they had a meet and greet thing going on and already two people spoke up. Moving down the hands he was resting his head on Laurie looked about, seeing if anyone else felt like speaking. It seemed nobody else did, and thus he spoke up.

“I’m Laurie.” The man said plainly. “Park Ranger, I guess. I’m here to do my job whatever the heck that is.” He said, spitting out a bit of his dip. “Don’t know why the hell they brought a Park Ranger for some Suit’s cover-up bullshit.” he muttered as addendum.

Serena cocked her head to the side and slid her aviators down the bridge of her nose a bit at the mention of “cover-ups.”, especially taking note of the thick twang in the delivery. She also took note that he made a good point. Why the fuck was she there?

“Lieutenant Serena Gomez. LAPD, SWAT negotiator and unit B member. Five years prior with a special gang task force.” She said plainly. “LT for short.”, -short and sweet. She nodded round the room to her colleagues, an odd mashup she thought to herself, more questions.. She dropped her gaze to the center of the table, staring out. “I’m also here for some answers. I’d also like to know why this gang-bang is going on out here in ‘Way-the-fuck-out-West Virginia’.” she took her sunglasses off as she spoke. She did her best not to come off as too abrasive, she did what she could with the filter she had.

“I came a long way to get ‘em. I sure hope this trip was worth it.” she said, a bit of agitation on the fringe of her tongue.

Though it was hard for Jason to blend into the periphery of the living room he tried, his bulky frame sticking towards the walls and exterior edge of the furniture. His arms were crossed in the telltale body language of uncomfortability, and his expression was all focus and glare. Joseph Donnelley held the attention of the room, but them like the others Jason began to study each person in this ragtag spin up. He sure as hell wasn't going to speak first, but no one this far was connecting the dots like he wanted.

"Not without purpose, I'm sure," he replied to Serena. He looked around at everyone, continuing, "Jason Jimenez, DIA. Was an Air Force PJ before that. My guess is we're following a breadcrumb trail. The purpose is supposed to reveal itself, though why we have DoD, DoJ--hell even the Department of the Interior--working together is beyond me."

Jason crossed his arms and turned to Joseph. "This counter-narco?" He asked. It was the only type of op that made any rational sense. Even then it was a stretch, a conjecture, but weren't they supposed to be asking questions?

“That’d make the most sense outta anything I’ve heard over this past week.. That’s for damn sure.” Serena replied.. “I’m just as clueless as you are.” Serena wiped the lenses of her aviators on her blouse then slid them back on her face.

Laurie still wasn't exactly paying attention, but he knew the woman that just spoke had already said her piece and now she was just double-dipping. "Hey, let's have everyone say their name and then we'll get on with our job, alright Miss?" With that said, he went back to trying to find the most comfortable position on the couch.

There was a certain feeling of freedom that came from lighting a cigarette with four walls and a roof over your head. Harkened back to another time, to when America was so, so sure of its place in the world. Joseph felt that feeling wash over him as he lit the cigarette inside, not bothering to ask anyone if they were alright with it as they went about the room introducing themselves.

To Jason, Joseph only shrugged. He was a sharp one, alright. He wouldn’t be surprised if Jason was the first to catch on to what this was. He was right there before once.

As the decidedly awkward silence loomed, Justin opened his mouth to speak. He'd sat there pretty quietly as the others said their pieces, just gripping his cap tightly in one hand. Whether it was Appalachian mannerisms or his Army conditioning, he was disciplined about that cap. Always came off when he entered, always went back on when he left.

"I'm, uh, Justin. US Army, a little bit of the infantry, mostly the Ranger Regiment." He trailed off in his drawl. From the way he looked and the way he talked, he just about could be mistaken for some local, but the deep scar along his right hand and wrist along with a partially concealed tattoo of a Ranger tab on his left shoulder proved well enough he was Staff Sergeant Clark.

Tom kept his back to the wall. He had been dressed in a black T-shirt with the first marine raider patch over the left breast. He also wore a pair of black tactical trousers complete with cargo pockets and a pair of low cut tactical boots. He listened quietly to the other members of this team he would be working with.

“My name is Tom Stewart, I am from Boston, Massachusetts,” the FBI agent spoke with a definite Boston accent. “For the past five years, I have been a Federal Agent for the FBI in the Boston field office investigating crimes throughout New England, helping local law enforcement agencies with whatever they may need. I graduated from Boston College School of Law near the top of my class. I also graduated from the Naval Academy at Annapolis in 2006. Before law school, I was in the 1st Marine Raider Battalion; left active duty as a Captain. I am currently a Major serving with the first battalion, 25th Marine Infantry Reserve. I serve as Battalion Operations Officer. Which reminds me, I need to contact my battalion commander to let him know I will be out of the loop for quite some time. If you don’t know what Marine Raiders are, think a hybrid version of Marines and Rangers or Rangers, but in the Marine Corps. Actually, Raiders are a little more high speed than Rangers.” Tom looked over at Justin, “no offense, Staff Sergeant.” He allowed a slight smile.

“I’m not going to speculate on what our purpose here is. Looking at Mr. Donnelly, I’d say he works for the CIA in some capacity, possibly the SAD or some such organization. The young woman who drove me here this morning worked in naval intelligence. Undoubtedly, she also is employed by the CIA as well. I have no problem working with the CIA. As a combat veteran, they were a great source of intell. I guess now it is best that we get to know one another and get along.”

“On another note, I enjoy Jameson Whiskey and Cuban cigars. I also love listening to classic Rock; Hendrix, Zeppelin, The Who and the Doors...don’t forget CCR.” Tom intentionally failed to mention his wife back on Cape Cod.

Clapping was heard, slow, and only increased for five more of the loud staccato. Donnelley wagged a finger at Tom, a slight smile on his lips. “I like you.”

Joseph folded his arms, taking another drag before flicking the ash off into a coffee mug he’d emptied before the briefing. “I worked with some Raiders once.” One of them never returned home from Somalia and there was no body in his closed casket. Joseph and the others had to stab the hell out of it before weighing the bag down and sinking it into the Persian Gulf. There was no explaining to anybody outside of the Somalia Op why they’d had to do it, or how he died. “Good men.”

Donnelley’s eyes were distant. He remembered returning fire as they bobbed away on the waves in their little Zodiac, praying whatever was in that compound was dead. He remembered shaking the rest of the night, shaking and shaking into the morning and finally being able to sleep two days later. “Real good men.” He nodded, regaining his little smile after he realized he’d lost it. It fell away in favor of a more serious face and tone, “Anyways, you’ve all been called here for a reason. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, who you report to, what you were before this.”

“You’re here now. Keep your eyes peeled, ears open, you’ll be alright.” Donnelley nodded, looking them all over. “Get settled in. We head out early, pack light, 0100.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

@ArkitektVery much possible

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

Prologue

Last Things Last...

>SITE 332, COLLOQUIALLY CALLED ‘THE HOLE’
>SOMEWHERE IN TURKEY
>0034

“Ah, hell...”

It was silent in the room. That was never a good thing because it meant the fan had gone out again. It had a habit of doing that so much that Donnelley figured it hated being here as much as he did and wanted so badly to let the suffering of the heat stop. But if Donnelley had to be here…

He unplugged the little desk fan and plugged it in again, probably harder than he needed to. He tapped the little thing until it whirred to life again and let go a sigh of supreme relief at the tiny breeze it created, only a hair cooler than the room itself. “Should just get a new one.”

“And go back into town after what Smitty did? That was high-vis shit on a low-vis op. We’re lucky we even got this sonofabitch.” Donnelley gestured to the tiny television on the desk next to the fan. The only source of light inside the tiny office he and fellow Paramilitary Operations Officer Donald Kingsley were sweating to death in, showing a live feed of a man forced into a squatting position with a black bag over his head. Donnelley could tell he wasn’t used to this, not trained, by the frantic head movement. If the feed had audio, they’d hear calls for mercy, maybe. “He talk yet?”

“‘Course.” Kingsley said, nodding, eyes unwavering from the feed. “Just never said the words I wanted him to.”

“Shame.” Donnelley may have hated ISIL and their allies, but he didn’t hate the kid scared and alone with two monsters of men watching him through the all-seeing eye of a closed-circuit feed. “He’s a street kid, not a fighter. We gotta truss him up like that?”

“He’s their driver. He’s seen the faces of the foreign fighters, seen the commanders, he knows what they look like and he knows the routes.”

“Still. Are you sure your source wasn’t blowing smoke?” Donnelley looked sidelong at Kingsley. He was better at developing sources than he was, but there was always that little bit of chance somebody caught on. Somebody found out a source was giving you info and wanted to start feeding you horse shit instead of actionable intel.

Kingsley pursed his lips at Donnelley, folding his arms. Donnelley remembered confronting Kingsley’s source, Azad inside his tiny apartment on the outskirts of Adana. A dingy little place they had no trouble breaking into and setting up their theatrical little dramatic meeting by moonlight where they brokered a deal. A paid-for trip out of Turkey to anywhere of his choosing in Europe if he gave the names of his network of drivers.

Donnelley hid it well, the fact they had no plans nor the power of setting their end of the deal in motion. It was a cruel world. And maybe Azad would get left to the wolves or they’d sniff out his treachery, but as long as they got those names his screams as they tore him apart wouldn’t be in vain.

The phone started ringing. Kingsley grunted to his feet from the chair he was sitting in and snatched the phone up. “Hello… Oh.”

From behind him came Kingsley’s big hairy hand with the phone clutched in the thick fingers. He never got over how not-CIA Kingsley looked. Like the CIA set up a recruiting booth on the sidelines of a college football game years ago and Kingsley the linebacker stuck to it. Donnelley took the phone, putting it to his ear, “Donnelley.”

“You are activated. Stateside. Check your email.”

And that was never, ever a good thing. Kingsley sat down again, folded arms over his big barrel chest. “What’s it about?”

“Nothing good...” Donnelley sighed as he rose from his chair to go pack his things.

>BLACKRIVER COUNTY
>OUTSIDE WHITE TREE, WEST VIRGINIA
>UNITED STATES
>0541HRS...///

The cold winds cutting along the porch of the run-down shack of a safehouse complemented the dark iron of the clouds well. The smell of the woods and the mountain air was tainted by the smell of diesel and smoke from the nearby mines, the only thing that drowned the stench of the tireless, obstinate march of industry was the cigarette held between Joseph’s lips. He took a draw and exhaled, letting it disperse on the air, watching the cloud drift off to be lost among the morning mists.

The medium-sized house- if the glorified cabin could be called such- had been procured a week before Joseph and Steve’s landing, the accoutrements and vehicles set up by nameless, faceless busy-bodies of the Agency. All of it- the vehicles, the house itself, the living arrangements, and the sizeable stockpile of ammunition, weapons and tactical gear- was paid for by Steve Foster’s slice of the CIA black budget offshore account, untraceable by local authorities and anyone else without proper clearance. At least it had good location, perched atop a hill where a lookout could be posted and see anyone approaching from any direction. Not that the walls looked like they were ready to stand a siege, let alone a particularly rough sigh. To add to everything, the electricity was supplied by a generator- one in backup, just in case- and that electricity did not run towards fixed light outlets. There were lamps arranged inside the tiny cottage, and one outside. That was about it for mood lighting.

More importantly, deep-down, in the places where Joseph refused to let soldiering and tradecraft taint, he loved to be able to see the sprawling mountains in every direction and the lights of White Tree speckled about the hills at night. The relatively low light-pollution lent the night sky an almost clear complexion, an unimpeded view of the stars when it wasn’t cloudy. Although, despite even his hardest efforts to beat back the rigors of work, the front door from the porch to the living room creaked open. Footsteps, slow. “Review the files yet?”

Joseph shook his head. He could hear Foster sigh, “You know they’ll be here. You should look at their dossiers and get a feel for them.”

Joseph nodded. He turned around and brushed past Foster, entering the living room where the dossiers were arranged neatly in columns on the coffee table. He took a seat and grabbed up the first one, Mathieu, Laurence, National Parks Service.

After a good hour of reading and review of each of the team handpicked by Steve, he leaned back on the couch, took a swig from his flask and then walked back outside, sitting on the rocking chair on the porch. It almost made him smile to fantasize about a day where he could be sitting in his own rocking chair, on his own porch. Without Foster... “How much do they know?”

“Hmm?” Steve asked, following him closely and leaning on the porch’s banister.

“The team.” Joseph frowned, “How much do they know?”

“About the same I told you on your first.” Foster said.

“Well, that really addresses my concerns.” Joseph said. He'd never forgotten Afghanistan, he'd never forget Somalia. He shook his head and sighed, “Do they at least meet the criteria?”

“All. I made sure they’re not completely blind. A lot of them have seen a scary black rock.” Steve raised his eyebrows, as if that made things all better. Joseph had an urge to crack one on Foster's jaw about then, but then who'd babysit the newbies. “The rest know there’s things out there at the fringes of our sight. Things the rest of the world, the public, the average joe shouldn’t know. Just not enough to be locked up like a gibbering mess.” Foster turned around and leaned over the banister, his hands propping him up as he looked out over the town, “Pretty soon, Joseph, we’re going to be old and grey. Or at least I hope we reach that, but...”

Joseph snorted, "You know," he lit up the burnt end of a half-smoked cigarette, puffing on it a couple times and then continuing, "I'm going to keep clinging to that whole narrative of one day winning this glorious holy war. Do you ever get tired of being so fucking depressing?"

"Just being realistic." Foster shrugged.

"The day I start being realistic to the exclusion of all else is the day I might just put a cyanide pill in my mouth and wait patiently." Joseph and Foster both chuckled. Gallows humor was a staple of surviving. You needed it, to see the humor in everything and anything. It was less an actual joke and a ritual, almost, the laughing its chants.

"At least their's won't be a baptism of fire. Just errand work. For now."

“More fuel for the flames.” Joseph nodded, slow. The words were quiet and more to himself than Steve, but he perked up a bit- little bit of that old bravado a younger Joseph had been bled of over the years, “I’ve got a few more fires in me.”

“Of course you do,” Foster said, smiling over his shoulder at Joseph ant then looking back out at the mountains, “I do too. But that time will come, where we either find a good reason to use that special bullet we all keep secret, or we accept a little house on the prairie with a comfortable sum of money lest we trip and fall and accidentally shoot ourselves twice in the chest and once in the head.”

Foster didn’t have to elaborate any more. Joseph only nodded in agreement, knowing the old lions of the Delta Green pride were nearing the end of their reigns. “Well.” Joseph sighed, getting to his feet from the chair, “Ain’t that a nice thought. What's their ETA?”

"Should be here later this morning if they can find the place." Foster smirked.

Joseph gave one of his own, "Oh, I'm sure the tough Ranger can."

"Which one?"

"Which one do you think?" Joseph chuckled, the sound of the front door closing after him...

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

@Leidenschaft I get that, but I have her personal vehicle from LA, along with her work vehicle as well. I am sure this will change to a rental very soon. Serena will most like acquire some sort of rentl when she touches down.. I'm thinking SUV..

@Arkitekt

@idlehandsLike Idle says, and under a fake name for good measure. Unless that doesn't occur to her.

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

Man I can't wait for this thing to get crackin' finally. Sooo excited already. I'm more excited for the characters than anything I think. Everyone is so different, going to be very cool @Leidenschaft.

I do have a question though. Once we finally start I assume we would need to re-evaluate what we have in the way of gear currently, since we will be relocated to WV. Serena isn't going to take her own personal car obviously. Do you want us to just update that list as we progress? I am assuming that she will not take a personal phone either. Nothing personal.. I was going to update her equipment list as I am writing current posts. Also the on duty equipment I assuming will change as well. Noting that Serena doesn't carry an MP5 everywhere she goes, but it was what she qualified and tested best with for her unit back in LAPD swat, weapons she is cleared or qualified to use. . I assume all these things will change to fit the current narrative once we leave our respective local areas.
..

@Arkitekt

You'll be able to keep whatever you have in the player inventory lists, so you won't have to change anything. All the gear that your players are equipped with is, IC reasoning, procured by Steve Foster to be in line with whatever weapons the characters' home agencies would've issued them.

I will say that there are going to be points where we will have to change what we have in the player inventories because we will be restricted to weaponry we can find only in the field. Stateside, we can keep the current loadouts.

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

@GuntherThank you.

@Nate1008On top of what Gunther said, I have to add that your character doesn’t fit the central themes of the RP. I don’t think this RP would be a great match for this character and from the CS itself, I’m not exactly sure you would be able to keep up with the Advanced-level expectations for the accepted players.

Good luck and best regards to your future here on RPGuild.

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

@Nate1008There are monsters, it’s a game centered around the occult and the Cthulhu mythos, yes.

Any non-humans stumbled upon by Delta Green, the organization the players work for, are going to be killed quick. Humanity has a lot of reasons to not take kindly to anything unnatural.

“Players are encouraged to be creative with their characters, as long as they make sense.” - From the opening post of the RP’s OOC.

A non-human player character would not fit into this RP.

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

@idlehandsWE’VE GOT A SECURITY BREACH CODE RED

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

If you still got room left, I noticed that you have some inspiration from Sicario. So I wonder if you would be interested in an actual criminal hitman character akin to Alejandro or Vincent from Collateral for the really dark wetwork?

@Sifter

I second Idlehands. Please, step into my PMs.

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

@CaptainBrittonWe got another one for the books, boys. Go ahead and post him in the characters tab, man.