Leidenschaft

The Elder Scrolls: Night of Pestilence

He felt light.

The saddle between his legs felt distant, like the ghost of a feeling, a memory of touch. The wind was whispering something in his ear that he couldn’t understand. He took in a breath and his nose filled with the damp soil and wheat fields. He opened his eyes and Vodevic was at a lazy amble up the road, pace bothered by no deadlines. He reached down and ran a hand down his flank, the touch still feeling light to his nerves, but Vodevic grunted in recognition of his rider’s familiar hand.

Looking farther ahead, he could see the destination. And of a sudden, the familiarity wrapped him like a blanket. Almost too tight. Suffocating. He bit his lip and forced down the lump in his throat. As he got closer to the farm, he found it harder and harder. Fear laid its hands on him, he’d been gone for so long. Would Nika recognize him? Would Ilda know what vagabond stood in her doorway? There was only one way to find out, Janus thought, and he’d never been afraid of whatever answers fate gave to his questions. When he passed the fence, he wrapped Vodevic’s reins around one of the posts, leaving him with a firm pat on his thick neck. Each step to the front door felt like walking against a strong tide.

Slower and slower, harder and harder, until he stood face to face with that door and his knuckles hovered over the wood of it. Afraid to touch it, afraid of who was inside more than any fear he’d had of any foe. He was a stranger here. For a moment, he thought to himself that he could turn around and just walk away. He swallowed, rapping his knuckles on the door and stepped back as if the door was going to give him a few hard knocks in turn. He heard the knob turn and the door creaked open. An olive-skinned face with black hair, braids laid over her shoulders and down her chest. Her green eyes looked into Janus’ own, and his lip quivered like a tiny babe’s. He opened his mouth to speak, but the only thing that came out was a choking, squeak of a sob that jolted his shoulders like punch.

The door opened and showed her in full. That face that he could only get in memories, that smile he longed for and could never have again. “Janus?”

He stepped forward and reached out to her to fold her in an embrace-

---

He felt heavy.

And the aches seemed deep as his bones. He was sat in Bruno’s bed still, resting his broad back on the bed’s board. Most his cuts had stopped bleeding, but the bruises were still sore, especially the ones on his brow. The only difference between when he’d awoken in Bruno’s bed the first time and this time was he was alone. And a little bit of strength regained.

It weren’t the first time he’d had the dream. Just the time between the last and now had stretched further and further until tonight. It left him empty each time, but the pain had long ago blunted itself on the scar tissue it had left. He let go a sigh and chanced something, focusing on his palm and trying to block the rest of the world out. It had been a long time since he’d used the magicks, but he figured it was like riding a horse. Learn once, never forget. After a few long moments, the faintest glow caught the spark of his concentration and will. His bruises began to fade and shrink, albeit slowly, and ever so. Even with the dishearteningly slow process, he kept at it until the ones left were pale things.

The cuts had scabbed over or turned to new scars, the worst of them only shrinking. But that was all he could do before he felt himself grow faint and his mind fog over increasingly, burdened with summoning up magika it hadn’t for a long, long time. Perhaps he’d have to explain how his wounds had healed three days’ worth in a few minutes, but that wasn’t something he bothered himself with. There were more dire things to worry on, like the near-empty wine bottle still in his saddlebag. And his father’s sword. Bruno was right that a man didn’t need quite as many weapons as Janus had, but he’d trade them all for that old saber.

As he thought of what would’ve happened to Joy had he not rushed to her rescue, he knew the sword was a worthy sacrifice. Even if his father had chipped his love for him away over Janus’ younger years, they were replaced with a respect as Janus had taken up the man’s sword and witnessed the things his father did. He couldn’t blame the man for his ill temper and dark moods. Janus knew he’d had his fair share of them. That old bloodthirst had been bled from him in the two wars he’d lived through. Now shaking hands and nightmares were his reward. Cursed blades were a fairytale to many, he thought. Pick one up and live by it, you’ll realize every blade’s a curse.

He’d seen men and children entranced by them like siren-songs, thinking how war would win them a name in this world. Even Joy, peaceful Joy, had called the things he’d done and been through a neat little song and dance. Perhaps it was. A fool’s deed. But tonight, it wasn’t the machinations of man. It wasn’t a war or a feud. This was something more, and he’d almost died for it. He wondered why he still lived again, and remembered Bruno’s words. Talos wasn’t done with him. He’d been a priest once, of Stendarr, and the Welcomer of Heretics as Stendarr was he had no love for the abominations that he’d cut down this night.

All his life, Janus had known that evil wasn’t cackling demons in the far corners of the world, wringing their hands over the webs they weaved. Nor was it mad Emperors with world-ending delusions. It was the small men, the herd, ebbing and flowing and bleating. Their small wants and small reasons. Clawing for thrones made only of mud. Carelessness, ignorance, selfishness. And try as Janus might not to care, to leave this all to some hero out of the mists of legend like he’d told Joy…

A piece of Janus knew that if he took the easy way like he’d done all his life, it’d corner him when it was done with the rest of them that stood. He may not be able to rip that serpent from the sky and put him to the sword. But somewhere, hidden away with some ancient tome, was a small man with small wants and small reasons. Stendarr’s justice was patient.

But as Janus looked at his tattooed hands, quivering in the orange moonlight, he didn’t want to be the one to mete it out. Give it to some young fool with a sword. Janus’ day was done if you asked him. Done and over, he thought. Pleaded. A promise made to himself as he walked away from that last field he’d killed men by the dozens in. Nothing good ever came from him and a sword.

The Elder Scrolls: Night of Pestilence

It was past noon when the first villagers saw an old rider ambling up the road on a draft as large as he was. He bobbed in the saddle, offering one a nod and a casual smile as he passed, and doing much the same to any eyes that had trouble becoming unstuck from the stranger. A red sash and longcoat would’ve gone unnoticed here, the rider told himself, but perhaps the hilt of the curved sword had aroused the curiosity of the simple folk of whatever village this was. He’d been through so many, and as he watched happenings as his horse clopped past, this one was much the same as them all.

It was a short ride from the first houses to the stable of the… Loyal Hound he read on the swaying sign outside of the establishment. A young man burst into activity at the sight of him, snapping to attention from the crate he sat on and peering up to meet the rider’s gaze at the top of his seat in the saddle. The rider offered a small smile, “S’there room?”

The lad only nodded, and that was enough for the rider to clamber down from the saddle, still standing a head or two taller than the short lad. “Vodevic.” The rider spoke.

“That your name, sir?”

The rider stifled a chuckle, “It’s the horse’s. He won’t listen to you unless you use it.” The rider hooked a thumb in his sash and sucked his teeth, “Hells, might not listen anyway.”

“Uh…” the lad held Vodevic’s stirrups in a limp fist, looking like he was within five feet of a sabercat and not a steed.

“Janus.”

“Huh?” The lad whipped his head to look at the rider.

“That one’s mine.” Janus smirked, offering out an open hand upon which gleamed three gold coins laying in his wide palm, “And these’re yours.”

“Oh.” The lad carefully plucked them from Janus’ waiting palm and clicked his tongue for Vodevic to follow him. The old warhorse did, must’ve been in a good mood, Janus thought as he watched them close distance to the stables.

“Oh, shit.” Janus picked up a good pace and the lad almost flinched with the big man bearing down on him. Janus only reached over the lad’s shoulder to the curved shape and withdraw the long knife and an axe into his sash as well, reaching for a saddlebag too before pausing just short. He decided against fetching the bottle of wine, what was a few more coins for a drink at the bar, “Thank ye.”

He left the lad with a wink and went for the front door, pushing it open and finding a place near the hearth to do as he always did, clocking every interesting person, threatening aura, and even the simpler folk for good measure. Like he always did. Just in case. And then wait for someone to take notice of his weapons, ask him if he knew how to use them, and then ask him if he could teach them to use theirs. And also hope he didn’t have to do that. Once he had a mug of ale in his hands, he did his best to be a lazy do-nothing, listening to the soft plucking of whatever song this was as he stared into the flames. A soft smile played on his lips as he remembered other hearths in other places with other people to the tune of the tavern bard’s playing.

”Come gather in my lungs, oh Skyrim wind,
Belt out your blackest poems,
As the sea around you sings,
When that gulp takes to the air,
A single note to raise my hair,
Carry songs beyond my lungs, cold Skyrim wind…”

The last verse of her song went down with delight for the Nords settled in the back of the tavern, three mugs were raised, the contents sloshing over the pewter rims. Laughter and even a whistle rang out for the song for the blessed province - more so for the Nord woman who carried the lyrics on her soft voice, gentle vibrato - and still an emotional swell for the homeland.

Joy supposed she had worked for shy of an hour, and already she was parched - her fingers ached from the precise strum and pluck of the lute. It would be time for the lyre after a short break and a drink. Snatching up her own cider, she hopped down from the bar and swayed between each table and chair to find herself by the fire. With a long gulp of her drink, she felt sweet relief to her vocal chords. Her hands too, then found their way before the fire to warm them, to shake out the stiffness of her fingers.

She crouched down to her haunches, and felt the warmth rush over her, turning her head to face the incredibly large gentleman sat beside it. “Good day to you, Sir,” she chirped politely. Joy paid close attention to his eyes, most of all. “Long day is it?” she smiled up at him, trying to draw his attention to whatever his mind was, or wasn’t fussed with. She squinted curiously, before pulling her blue eyes from his own to glance at the equipment he had brought with him.

“I don’t think I’ve seen one of those since I came this far east, a long day.” Janus mused, eyes still stuck on the fire before they slid Joy’s way sidelong, accompanied with his telltale easy smirk, “But a good one? Maybe.”

He took a gulp of his ale and looked to the bard, offering her his face in full this time, “I liked the song. Reminds me of home.” Janus said, smile widening a hair, “I’ll put a few septims towards your cup if you play another like it.”

“Hmmm,” Joy hummed out, biting the corner of her lip just so. “What was it I wonder, that made your day maybe good?,” she followed on, hoping that maybe the gentleman had a story to tell - he seemed the type to have many. He didn’t entirely look like he was a native of Skyrim, but Joy had learned long ago that appearances were deceptive. She had learned too that Skyrim belonged to those who took in her spirit and perhaps this gentleman had that in his blood indeed.

At the mention of a request of sorts, she smirked, turning away from him to stare into the fire again. “Don’t tell me that you’re waiting for me to play Ragnar the Red now?” Joy chuckled playfully, rubbing her hands together.

Janus chuckled softly and shook his head, “No, no. I’ve had my fill of that song long ago. Probably half the reason I left Skyrim.”

He smacked his lips and shifted in his chair, watching as Joy took him in, as people oft did in new towns. He didn’t mind it, especially if the stares weren’t followed by threats or insults. “As for my day,” he began, “I ain’t dead, my horse is good and fed, a drink in my hand now. The only thing that’d make it any better is if you told me you were good company.”

He cocked a brow at the bard, easy smile, “Y’are, ain’t you?”

Having an invitation for conversation from the man, she turned herself from the fire, and let her bottom touch the floor, legs tucked beneath comfortably. “I could say I’ve made my trade in being good company,” Joy disclosed, smiling back just as easily. Holding that pause, she reached again for her drink, taking a steady sip of the last of it. “You like your simple comforts, don’t you?” She asked, having heard his words, and observed his calm manner.

“The man with the most has the most to lose.” Janus shrugged, taking the last of his ale in one gulp and swallowing hard, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand, “Be happy with the simple and life has a harder time taking it from you. Ain’t a man alive can snap his fingers and make ale and wine disappear, roads sink back to the earth, shady trees fly away, and music lose its rhythm.”

“And here I’ve had all four in the same day.” Janus tucked a hand behind his head and sunk down deeper into his chair, “Pretty damn rich, if I say so. Days could be a little longer though, you ask me.”

“That’s quite a philosophy you have,” Joy commented, narrowing her eyes in thought. “I have seen many stumble over the pursuit of riches, only to lose what they had all along... A tale as old as time itself, perhaps.” The woman was watching his hands, and the empty tankard that found its way down to the table. “Man may not snap his fingers, but he sure can make his ale disappear,” she chuckled.

Joy too, leaned back ever so slightly beside the fire, a relaxed expression crossed her features and she found herself drawn to the window, the creeping darkness. “Mmm,” she hummed in agreement. “A strange affair, isn’t it? These are the days of night it seems… I’m glad to have found the Innkeep kind enough to let me stay, I’d be out in the thick of it otherwise,” she sighed solemnly. “I don’t have a blade like you do, you see,” Joy remarked with a shrug, admiring the man’s goods all the while.

“A strange affair I’ve chosen not to concern myself with. You know the history of our great continent, it’ll be solved tomorrow by some big-headed Hero.” Janus smirked as he scooted his feet a bit closer to the fire, “Why is it my keeping of sharp metal makes you want for some of your own?”

The woman scoffed at that, “oh, Sir, please. If I were to pick up a sword. A sword like that -- no less... I’d be far more likely to hurt myself. I do not wish for one, but I can surely admire it, no?” Her head tilted to the side. “For what is a sword but an instrument of a different kind? I have my lute and my lyre, my hands are more suited for those.” She gave a respectful nod in his direction. “But I believe that a good swordsman can make music and dance with a sword just as well as I can with my strings.” Once more she gazed at the curved hilt of his sword, biting the corner of her lip again. “I wonder what kind of music it is... That you create.”

“Hopefully none anymore.” Janus said simply, his easy smile faltering for a moment before it regained its strength, “Your music’s pretty. There’s a reason people gather in taverns to hear it and children don’t get lulled to sleep by two bastards hacking each other’s arms off, you’ll notice.”

“Well… When you put it that way,” Joy said, lowering her eyes to the floor momentarily.

In her defense, Janus had the same outlook once upon a time. When sword fights were only in the songs and only the good men won. It took a little while longer before he knew that there were a dearth of good men winning sword fights, and even a more barren loss for good reasons for them to try at it. A waste of time, poking a man to death for naught else than he was trying to do it to you. Weren’t no dance and music when he was doing it.

“I teach.” Janus said looking to Joy, “If you ever want to learn to, uh... dance. As you put it. Maybe I could know your name first, I like to know who I’m sharing good company with.”

“Maybe I’ll take you up on it, should either of us stick around long enough,” she replied, running a hand through her hair to tuck back the stray strands behind her ear. “My name is Joy,” she answered, reaching towards him with an outstretched hand — since neither of them had any drink left to toast with.

“Janus.” He closed the distance between their hands and his gloved one near-enveloped hers. He returned it to his empty mug and spoke again, “So, you’re a wanderer? Place to place, never too long?”

“Nice to meet you Janus,” she smiled, shaking his hand. She watched as her own all but disappeared into his. “I’m a wanderer now,” Joy said with a slight shrug. “I wasn’t always. Now I’m looking for a place to call my own again,” smiling faintly, she turned the question back to her new friend with an inquisitive tilt of her head. “Are you away from your home… On business? Or are you a wanderer too?”

Janus puffed out his cheeks and blew the air out, wondering how to answer the question. It had been years since he’d had a steady home. “I wander, looking for a place to settle, maybe. Or maybe I just ain’t ready to.” He shrugged, “Haven’t figured that one out.”

“I’m sure you know what you want deep down, you just have to listen to that voice inside,” Joy mused, slowly starting to stand back up now. “You see that man there?” She asked Janus, pointing to Solomon and Sirius where they sat. “The one with the sour face?” Jokingly, she turned back to the Imperial with an overly glum expression too. “I’m trying to convince him to let me settle here… If he was as open to conversation as you are, it would have been done already.” The woman pouted, and pulled her lips to the side.

“I should get back to it. If you’re still around end of night, buy you a drink?” She leaned cooly against the fireplace, resting her head against a closed fist.

“Or I’ll buy you one.” He smiled to Joy and immediately went back to lounging, “Thank you for the chat, Joy. Was a pleasure.”

The Elder Scrolls: Night of Pestilence

Big Jan the Manly Man

“Give a farmer seed and he’ll give you food. Give a bard a tune and he’ll give you music. Give a soldier an enemy and he will create nothing. The soldier only kills. Only destroys. Only takes.

Everyone gets their’s... sooner or later.”

Janus Kresimir Ex Pallido

Aka Big Jan

Nomme de Guerre: Havel
Race:Colovian Imperial
Sex: Male
Age:42
Family Origins: Barony of Sutch/Stonehaven, Eastern Hammerfell, Kingdom of Rihad
Birth Sign: The Steed
Preferred Attributes: Major - Willpower
Minor - Intelligence
Appearance:
When one looks at Jan, there’s no doubt why he was called Big Jan, or Havel, which means Ox in Old Waldic-Colovian. He overtops 6 feet by a good 6 inches and has the breadth of one in his shoulders. His muscles are well-developed despite his age and though he moves slow and keeps an aloof look to him, one finds that he can snap to violence at the snap of a finger. Even so, he only shows it in moments where he’s cornered and forced to take matters into his hands.

He was the main laborer and weapons instructor of Chief Ragnar Vargsson’s warband, colloquially called Ragnar’s Rangers for their deeds during the Civil War on the Imperial side, entangling Ulfric’s forces in unconventional warfare behind their lines. Because of his station, he made his days building fences and patching up things, as well as a little maintenance for tools and the like when not teaching pig farmers how to kill. This has kept him healthy and strong, sinewy cords of old muscle, broad shoulders and thick forearms. His blonde hair has started graying in strands from the stresses of his life and the abuse of alcohol. Somehow, though, he’s managed to keep a more youthful visage. Janus blames it on his stress-free lifestyle.

He stays to himself mostly, never doing too much work lest it be expected of him, and never too little lest he be chided. For his intimidating breadth, he keeps a lazy smile on his face for whoever chances a talk with him on a fine day. Although he cuts the image of a brute, or a do-nothing, those who have experienced the things Janus has can see it in his eyes. A sharpness there, a thing as sharp as blades, and as watchful as a hawk. A warning, or a threat. But Janus smiles, and shares a joke or two, laughing from the belly, content with a spot under a tree and some wine.

If anyone has been to Eastern Hammerfell before and seen some of the Colovians that call it home, they’ll instantly recognize the tattoos he keeps on him and he takes great pains to keep them hidden. A menagerie of different pictures and sayings, all dedicated to the patriotism the Colovians of Sutch Barony and Stonehaven keep for the Empire. Whether a permanent message of patriotism and solidarity with the downtrodden Imperials of Rihad’s far-flung Colovian minority or a brash taunt to his old enemies, the Crowns, he wears them with fondness as a former Stonehaven Irregular.

He hides these tattoos under loose-fitting garments. A long-sleeved linen shirt of a neutral color is usually the order of the day, and from the rest of his ensemble, one could think he was trying to look to as unremarkable as he could. Even his six-foot-six frame is shrunken down to a slightly shorter six-four by his slouch.

Equipment:
Armor and Weapons: When the time comes to defend himself, Janus only has his dirty but meticulously maintained arming coat and mail to rely on, always keeping back from the fight until it gets dire enough. He takes his moment and lends overwatch, a scout and skirmisher armed to the teeth with a menagerie of short blades. His legs are protected only from the elements by hose and deerskin chausses.

When he must leave a man leaking, he takes to his knives and hatchet. A collection of blades long and short, six in total, growing from a whittling blade with a cutting edge no bigger than his forefinger to a heavy chopping knife with a blade length of fifteen inches. His hatchet has a gull wing style head of steel, simple, but deadly. A good match for Janus.

Kept sheathed and hidden away in his belongings, and probably forgotten, is his old saber. A Hammerfell style weapon, adopted from the thinner scimitars and shamshirs, and made more heavy by the Colovians that settled in Eastern Hammerfell. He is, or at least used to be, a terrifying sight with it, the curved blade always on the move as he cut through foes on foot or slicing through them on horseback.

Clothing:
When not in combat, and he tries to stay away from needless violence if he can help it, he walks camp with a long sleeve shirt to cover his heavily tattooed body, thick leather gloves that have seen their share of work on his hands to cover the ones his shirt does not. He keeps his chausses on him over his trousers to offer a little more protection from the element. He always has at least one of his smaller knives on him should the need arise that he needs to cut a rope or somesuch task that needs a sharp blade. The knife is usually tucked and hidden underneath his red sash, now playing belt, one of the few leftovers from his old life. The longcoat he only dons when it gets cold enough.

Misc. Possessions:
His horse, Vodevic, a heavy soldier’s draft that’s as fast he is strong and loyal as he is old.

Family and Associates:
Viktor, Father, Killed in the Pogrom at Bell’s Gate

Hilde, Mother, Killed in the Pogrom at Bell’s Gate

Niklaus, Killed in the Pogrom at Bell’s Gate

Boian, Childhood Best Friend and Brother-in-Arms, killed at a siege during the latter part of the Stonehaven Rebellions

Savian Kastav, an Inspector of the Penitus Oculatus, unknown

Favoured Skills:

Highly Proficient: One-Handed; Janus worked tirelessly to master the art of fighting with the saber both on horseback and on foot. Should the situation arise that he has it in hand, he is more than capable of showing his opponent(s) the mistake of standing against him. Likewise, he has no fear of a sharp blade and has quick hands with his knives, and is able to fight with his hatchet and knives just as well.

Moderately Proficient: Hand-to-Hand; Someone as big as Janus hardly needs finesse to bludgeon someone with his fists, but years of bare knuckle fighting in bars and the ring to earn money or respect has taught him some dirty tricks through hard-earned trial and error.

Marksman; You can trust him to make a long shot with a short bow, hold under pressure and drop men like flies in the heat of battle with them shooting back. He’s a good enough shot.

Sneak; Whether cold camping in the mountains or laying low in towns, Janus knows how to wage a guerrilla war. The tricks of rangers in the mountains and the forests were taught to him at a young age and he knows how to stay unseen in crowds just as well.

Restoration; As all the Priesthood of Stendarr, Janus used to freely offer healing services to the people of Bell’s Gate. When he became an Irregular, his talents were of much use and he never fell out of practice.

Somewhat Proficient: Destruction; On the same note, Savian Kastav and his trainers taught some of the tricks of the trade of destruction magic.

Spell List

(Note: Mages only, up to 7 spells)

Flames
Firebolt
Frostbite
Ice Spike
Healing
Fast Healing
Heal Other

History: For a veteran of two wars, one could say Janus has taken it relatively well. Born among the rabble in the Dock District, where he fell in with street urchins stealing for meals and fun, he and his Legionnaire father were at constant odds. His father, a low-ranking Legion man, couldn’t keep his son in line and fulfill his duties to the Legion at the same time. They lived almost entirely on his father’s wages, as his mother couldn’t find work in the city. Too little jobs, and too many asking for one. He was six when the Great War pulled his father away from home. Before the Altmer armies could lay siege to White-Gold, Janus, Niklaus, and their mother fled the city with a stream of other refugees.

His family moved to the mountain pines in the high country of Eastern Hammerfell where a diaspora of Colovians lived in the High Country of Rihad Kingdom, spending their days in the mines for pay. There he made his days tending the sheep and goats on the family farm when he was old enough. As young men do before they have an idea of the realities of war, he fantasized about it. He’d daydream at his father’s swords on the mantle, wondering what it would be like to take up a weapon and go off to fight.

The world he lived in had been embroiled in war from the time he’d been a toddler. It had never touched him, but when he’d visit town, he could sometimes see the pillars of black smoke far off on the horizon. He heard the songs in the taverns, about brave men dying in the fields and just how manly an occupation was the soldier’s. Niklaus, his younger brother, wanted to be just like father. No one could blame him for wanting that life. Adventure, travel, a righteous cause. His father and many younger men just like Janus and Niklaus had taken up a weapon for the Stonehaven Irregulars, a ragtag people’s army of farmers, tradesmen, miners, and bandits that stood against the Crowns ever since the first pogroms after the Empire seemingly abandoned Hammerfell.

He didn’t understand the history behind the fight, just that it was happening and had taken his father’s love away from him. At the young age of ten, he and his best friend Boian had been clacking sticks together like swords when one of the Redguard children in Bell’s Gate had begun pestering them. The Redguards had no love for the Imperials. The long memory of the Redguard remembered the days when Yokudans and Colovians would shed each other’s blood, and the hatred had been renewed after the Empire ceded Hammerfell under pressure from the Thalmor.

When the young Redguard Hazmid and his friends pinned Boian to a tree, Janus bit the ear off one and took a rock to Hazmid’s head. Hazmid fell into a coma and never woke. Janus was taken under the wing of Father Valdir of Stendarr’s church there in the Colovian town of Bell’s Gate. It was an arrangement his father had with Father Valdir to keep Janus’s nose clean. Valdir had told him it was the only way to repent for his sins and find forgiveness in Stendarr’s light, and so Janus begrudgingly gave as little effort to the priesthood as he could.

Janus was called a killer, hissed at. Fighting and war had lost its gleam then. It was with the priesthood that he learned to heal the sick and preach to the congregation. As he grew a few years older, his eyes roamed for more things than the clergy. As boys do at that age, they’d chase girls and get in trouble for drinking. He and his best friend Boian would do both with each other, though Boian was always the more handsome of the two.

As the years went on, the pillars of black smoke grew closer. You could smell the burning farms on a breeze some days. Boian had left town at the age of seventeen to join the Irregulars, leaving Janus to preach alone. At times, the wounded would come to town and ask for his and Father Valdir’s healing and prayers. They would give them freely, but Janus always dreaded the day he would see Boian or his father coming back home with the wounded. Or the dead.

When the day came that his father rode home with his contingent, mother wept and scolded him for his lost arm. His father had earned a promotion for his heroism, but a position at the rear at Bell’s Gate for his debilitating wound. And for his trouble? A great many bottles and anger that spilled over too often. His father grew more distant, and the times he came close would be thunderous with yelling. Janus and Niklaus would spend more time away in town with Father Valdir, seeking shelter from their father’s tyranny. Soon enough, Janus found a girl. Although he had never wanted to be a farmer, he figured he could endure it with Nika. They moved to a farm a few miles down the road from Bell’s Gate.

When the wars grew more ravenous, they crept close and closer still to Bell’s Gate. Janus and Nika were awaiting their child and young Janus soon was cradling a bundle of screaming beauty. The seasons came and went, and tiny Ilda had learned to crawl and then to walk. With the birth of his child came the renewal of his faith in the Nine. One evening, the smell of burning timber seemed too close as he tended the fields a ways away from his farm. That day, the pillars of black smoke were too close. His home, his family, his town, all of it gone. Eaten by flames.

He made it to his childhood home to find his parents and his brother had met the same fate. His father had made a last stand before he was felled, six corpses for his one. And that old saber still clutched in a stiff fist. He took it, rummaged through his ransacked childhood home and left that place in a longcoat and sash, saber on his hip. He looked every bit the thing he had tried to avoid all his life. A Stonehaven Irregular, a soldier, a killer.

He met the Irregulars along the road out from Bell’s Gate, their response too late to help anyone. Boian was with them, and that night, Janus wept into his best friend’s arms that he had not been able to save his family. The Stonehaven Irregulars of Bell’s Gate marched on, Janus the most ready to repay a debt of blood. Years passed, men died, and Janus had not been among them. High time that the Stonehaven Irregulars marched on Rihad, but were utterly defeated and broken there during the siege of one of Rihad’s forts.

Janus was taken prisoner, plucked from the fields of wounded to be hanged in Rihad. Before the day came that he was to be hanged, he escaped with the help of a stranger and smuggled out of the city through a network of tunnels. When he asked the stranger his name, he only gave one, Savian. They hid in a dingy shack of a house for three days, Janus not being able to leave and relying on Savian to bring back food and water. In the light of day, the man looked peculiar. Oddly feline, but manlike. On the third night, they made their escape from Rihad and set foot on the roads. When Janus asked why Savian had rescued him, he only gave muddied answers. Talk of skills and the need for them.

Before long, Savian and Janus had crossed the border into Cyrodiil, bedding down in Anvil before resuming their trek. By the end of it, the White Gold city was on the horizon. Janus was almost immediately put to work and training, brushing up and drilling in both old and new skills he’d learned from a lifetime of fighting. The purpose was unclear to him, but after a year of training, he was brought to the Head Intendants of the Penitus Oculatus with Savian at his side. Tensions were brewing in Skyrim, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak was rousing the people of Eastern Skyrim and amassing a host of unknown size with him, backed by unknown individuals.

Savian and Janus set forth to Skyrim at once. Under the employ as an “advisor” to the Penitus Oculatus, he was given the name Rudd and a life story that was the epitome of ordinary. Their mission was only to observe the happenings in Skyrim and find out if the Thalmor were truly playing a hand in the rising unrest. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak and a small host rode for Solitude, and it was there that Skyrim would be changed forever. Janus watched Torygg accept the offer of a duel with Ulfric Stormcloak, and he watched him die. Hasty scribbles were the only sound from Savian’s room in the inn that night.

To the Empire, it was an act of war. Ulfric Stormcloak went into hiding somewhere in Eastern Skyrim, and the Penitus Oculatus was given the job of rooting him out and gathering intelligence on his benefactors. Savian and Janus are put in charge of infiltrating behind Stormcloak lines with a select group of Inspectors and sowing mayhem. The first order of business was making contact with an old veteran named Brunwulf Free-Winter and offering the chance to end Ulfric’s tyranny and madness. A large sum of coin helped Brunwulf agree. Brunwulf’s task was to sow dissent inside Windhelm in small measurements, as well as keep an eye on troop movements and supplies into and out of the city with Savian.

Janus was to take the other Inspectors and form a militia under a lesser known anti-Stormcloak warlord named Ragnar Vargsson who had been operating in the area for months before Ulfric killed Torygg. Janus and the Inspectors trained Vargsson’s men in unconventional warfare and tradecraft. A ratline was set up and Brunwulf helped garner recruits for the growing band under Ragnar, who had come to be called Ragnar’s Rangers after a series of daring night raids and ambushes on soft targets and assassinations of high value personnel. As the war dragged on, the Legion leaned more and more on Ragnar’s Rangers and bands like them to punch holes in the Stormcloak lines. The war had a timely end in sight as the Dragonborn entered the fray on the side of the Empire.

Ragnar’s Rangers were tasked with sending back reports on particularly dug in strongholds, high value targets, and important supply depots. The Dovahkiin’s dragons proved instrumental in making precision strikes against these objectives, and played a crucial role when Tullius and the rest of the conventional forces of the Legion broke through the weakened lines and laid a laughably short siege on Windhelm.

The Penitus Oculatus celebrated a short-lived round of praise for the heroics that would be forever hidden in a dossier in a dusty cabinet. Janus and Savian shared a toast with the Rangers and the rest of their team before the news came of the Emperor’s assassination at the hands of the Dark Brotherhood, a weakened organization that shouldn’t have been able to reliably kill a beggar, much less the Emperor himself.

With the security blunder of the Penitus Oculatus came a wide purge of the ranks. The reshuffling had many in high places in the Oculatus sidelined, if not outright removed from the organization altogether. The machinations largely went over Janus’s head, save for the most visible consequence as Janus’s employment as a contractor was cut short, and the money with it. Savian himself was relegated to an embassy in a place Janus was not allowed to know about. As for Janus himself, there were only two options. Strike it out on his lonesome to find work, or stay with the Rangers, who had taken almost immediately to banditry and mercenary work. Tiring once more of war and death, Janus left Skyrim for High Rock, eager to get away from his past of blood.

Nowadays, he teaches swordplay to anyone with enough coin, and spends that coin in whatever tavern he beds down in that night. A simple life, hard-fought for and well-deserved...

Personality: Unflinchingly polite.

Capably violent.

Janus may be a simple wanderer, but there was once a preacher that walked in the footprints he’s left from Hammerfell to here. That priest of Stendarr would shake his head and offer absolution to the man he’d become, bottle in bloodied hands. A fall from faith had seen the naïveté of the young priest clipped away like angel’s wings and put a sword in his hand and vengeance in his heart.

For what more reason should a man have a loss of his faith than the loss of his home.

The years have worn away at him, and now all the faith in the good of the world he once had was a casualty of two wars. Lucky day if you get words out of him, but he has always been a man of his word, no matter how few they are now and how mean and snipped they can be when a dark mood overtakes him. He makes for a steadfast companion and a good friend to those who’ve sought out and chosen him, for the seeking and choosing of friends is something he has no want for these days. He just settles for whoever stays.

Any humor out of him is sardonic, and not really for anybody else but for him. A way to deal with stress and what life offers, but he maintains an aloof and care-free image despite. Like the man, all his weapons are utilitarian. Even his saber, old as it is, holds no runes carved in it and is set with no jewels. As simple and forward as his fighting style. He holds no qualms with killing, and holds only to two rules- quick hands and long patience. Even with such a seemingly passive demeanor, ask some of the shallow graves from Windhelm to Wayrest if he’s willing to die for someone else’s convenience. A survivor, a killer; patient and strong-willed.

A functioning alcoholic, quiet, and polite despite it all, there are flashes here and there of the old Janus. The man who wanted for nothing more but crops to sow and reap, a wife, and a daughter. One just needs to keep a watchful eye and open ears for him. He may say he’s washed his hands of the blood now, but he knows as well as anyone; he is what he is.

The Elder Scrolls: Night of Pestilence

Pls be gentle

Hider

“Everyone gets their’s... sooner or later.”

Krisztav Pale

Real name Janus Kresimir Ex Pallido

Aka Big Jan

Nomme de Guerre: Havel
Race:Colovian Imperial
Sex: Male
Age:42
Family Origins: Barony of Sutch/Stonehaven, Eastern Hammerfell, Kingdom of Rihad
Birth Sign: The Steed
Preferred Attributes: Major - Willpower
Minor - Intelligence
Appearance:
When one looks at Jan, there’s no doubt why he was called Big Jan, or Havel, which means Ox in Old Waldic-Colovian. He overtops 6 feet by a good 6 inches and has the breadth of one in his shoulders. His muscles are well-developed despite his age and though he moves slow and keeps an aloof look to him, one finds he is one part great melancholy and one part great mirth. Even so, he only shows it in moments of small gatherings of those he calls his closest companions.

He was the main laborer and swordsman instructor of Chief Ragnar Vargsson’s warband, colloquially called Ragnar’s Rangers for their deeds during the Civil War on the Imperial side, entangling Ulfric’s forces in unconventional warfare behind their lines. Because of his station, he made his days building fences and patching up things, as well as a little maintenance for tools and the like when not teaching pig farmers how to kill. This has kept him healthy and strong, sinewy cords of old muscle, broad shoulders and thick forearms. His blonde hair has started graying in strands from the stresses of his life and the abuse of alcohol. Somehow, though, he’s managed to keep a more youthful visage. Janus blames it on his stress-free lifestyle.

He stays to himself mostly, never doing too much work lest it be expected of him, and never too little lest he be chided. If anyone has been to Eastern Hammerfell before and seen some of the Colovians that call it home, they’ll instantly recognize the tattoos he keeps on him and he takes great pains to keep them hidden. A menagerie of different pictures and sayings, all dedicated to the patriotism the Colovians of Sutch Barony and Stonehaven keep for the Empire.

Whether a permanent message of patriotism and solidarity with the downtrodden Imperials of Rihad’s far-flung Colovian minority or a brash taunt to his old enemies, the Crowns, he wears them with fondness as a former Stonehaven Irregular.

Equipment:
Armor and Weapons: When the time comes to defend himself, Janus only has his dirty but meticulously maintained arming coat and mail to rely on, always keeping back from the fight until it gets dire enough. He takes his moment and lends overwatch, a scout and skirmisher armed to the teeth with a menagerie of short blades. His legs are protected only from the elements by hose and deerskin chausses.

When he must leave a man leaking, he takes to his knives and hatchet. A collection of blades long and short, six in total, growing from a whittling blade with a cutting edge no bigger than his forefinger to a heavy chopping knife with a blade length of fifteen inches. His hatchet has a gull wing style head of steel, simple, but deadly. A good match for Janus.

Kept sheathed and hidden away in his belongings, and probably forgotten, is his old saber. A Hammerfell style weapon, adopted from the thinner scimitars and shamshirs, and made more heavy by the Colovians that settled in Eastern Hammerfell. He is, or at least used to be, a terrifying sight with it, the curved blade always on the move as he cut through foes on foot or slicing through them on horseback.

Clothing:
When not in combat, and he tries to stay away from needless violence if he can help it, he walks camp with a long sleeve shirt to cover his heavily tattooed body, thick leather gloves that have seen their share of work on his hands to cover the ones his shirt does not. He keeps his chausses on him over his trousers to offer a little more protection from the element. He always has at least one of his smaller knives on him should the need arise that he needs to cut a rope or somesuch task that needs a sharp blade. The knife is usually tucked and hidden underneath his red sash, now playing belt, one of the few leftovers from his old life. The longcoat he only dons when it gets cold enough.

Misc. Possessions:
His horse, Vodevic, a heavy soldier’s draft that’s as fast he is strong and loyal as he is old.

Family and Associates:
Viktor, Father, Killed in the Pogrom at Bell’s Gate

Hilde, Mother, Killed in the Pogrom at Bell’s Gate

Niklaus, Killed in the Pogrom at Bell’s Gate

Boian, Childhood Best Friend and Brother-in-Arms, killed at a siege

Savian Kastav, an Inspector of the Penitus Oculatus, unknown

Favoured Skills:

Highly Proficient: One-Handed; Janus worked tirelessly to master the art of fighting with the saber both on horseback and on foot. Should the situation arise that he has it in hand, he is more than capable of showing his opponent(s) the mistake of standing against him. Likewise, he has no fear of a sharp blade and has quick hands with his knives, and is able to fight with his hatchet and knives just as well.

Moderately Proficient: Hand-to-Hand; Someone as big as Janus hardly needs finesse to bludgeon someone with his fists, but years of bare knuckle fighting in bars and the ring to earn money or respect has taught him some dirty tricks through hard-earned trial and error.

Marksman; You can trust him to make a long shot with a short bow, hold under pressure and drop men like flies in the heat of battle with them shooting back. He’s a good enough shot.

Sneak; Whether cold camping in the mountains or laying low in towns, Janus knows how to wage a guerrilla war. The tricks of rangers in the mountains and the forests were taught to him at a young age and he knows how to stay unseen in crowds just as well.

Restoration; As all the Priesthood of Stendarr, Janus used to freely offer healing services to the people of Bell’s Gate. When he became an Irregular, his talents were of much use and he never fell out of practice.

Somewhat Proficient: Destruction; On the same note, Savian Kastav and his trainers taught some of the tricks of the trade of destruction magic.

Spell List

(Note: Mages only, up to 7 spells)

Flames
Firebolt
Frostbite
Ice Spike
Healing
Fast Healing
Heal Other

History: For a veteran of two wars, one could say Janus has taken it relatively well. Born among the rabble in the Dock District, where he fell in with street urchins stealing for meals and fun, he and his Legionnaire father were at constant odds. His father, a low-ranking Legion man, couldn’t keep his son in line and fulfill his duties to the Legion at the same time. They lived almost entirely on his father’s wages, as his mother couldn’t find work in the city. Too little jobs, and too many asking for one. He was six when the Great War pulled his father away from home. Before the Altmer armies could lay siege to White-Gold, Janus, Niklaus, and their mother fled the city with a stream of other refugees.

His family moved to the mountain pines in the high country of Eastern Hammerfell where a diaspora of Colovians lived in the High Country of Rihad Kingdom, spending their days in the mines for pay. There he made his days tending the sheep and goats on the family farm when he was old enough. As young men do before they have an idea of the realities of war, he fantasized about it. He’d daydream at his father’s swords on the mantle, wondering what it would be like to take up a weapon and go off to fight.

The world he lived in had been embroiled in war from the time he’d been a toddler. It had never touched him, but when he’d visit town, he could sometimes see the pillars of black smoke far off on the horizon. He heard the songs in the taverns, about brave men dying in the fields and just how manly an occupation was the soldier’s. Niklaus, his younger brother, wanted to be just like father. No one could blame him for wanting that life. Adventure, travel, a righteous cause. His father and many younger men just like Janus and Niklaus had taken up a weapon for the Stonehaven Irregulars, a ragtag people’s army of farmers, tradesmen, miners, and bandits that stood against the Crowns ever since the first pogroms after the Empire seemingly abandoned Hammerfell.

He didn’t understand the history behind the fight, just that it was happening and had taken his father’s love away from him. At the young age of ten, he and his best friend Boian had been clacking sticks together like swords when one of the Redguard children in Bell’s Gate had begun pestering them. The Redguards had no love for the Imperials. The long memory of the Redguard remembered the days when Yokudans and Colovians would shed each other’s blood, and the hatred had been renewed after the Empire ceded Hammerfell under pressure from the Thalmor.

When the young Redguard Hazmid and his friends pinned Boian to a tree, Janus bit the ear off one and took a rock to Hazmid’s head. Hazmid fell into a coma and never woke. Janus was taken under the wing of Father Valdir of Stendarr’s church there in the Colovian town of Bell’s Gate. It was an arrangement his father had with Father Valdir to keep Janus’s nose clean. Valdir had told him it was the only way to repent for his sins and find forgiveness in Stendarr’s light, and so Janus begrudgingly gave as little effort to the priesthood as he could.

Janus was called a killer, hissed at. Fighting and war had lost its gleam then. It was with the priesthood that he learned to heal the sick and preach to the congregation. As he grew a few years older, his eyes roamed for more things than the clergy. As boys do at that age, they’d chase girls and get in trouble for drinking. He and his best friend Boian would do both with each other, though Boian was always the more handsome of the two.

As the years went on, the pillars of black smoke grew closer. You could smell the burning farms on a breeze some days. Boian had left town at the age of seventeen to join the Irregulars, leaving Janus to preach alone. At times, the wounded would come to town and ask for his and Father Valdir’s healing and prayers. They would give them freely, but Janus always dreaded the day he would see Boian or his father coming back home with the wounded. Or the dead.

When the day came that his father rode home with his contingent, mother wept and scolded him for his lost arm. His father had earned a promotion for his heroism, but a position at the rear at Bell’s Gate for his debilitating wound. And for his trouble? A great many bottles and anger that spilled over too often. His father grew more distant, and the times he came close would be thunderous with yelling. Janus and Niklaus would spend more time away in town with Father Valdir, seeking shelter from their father’s tyranny. Soon enough, Janus found a girl. Although he had never wanted to be a farmer, he figured he could endure it with Nika. They moved to a farm a few miles down the road from Bell’s Gate.

When the wars grew more ravenous, they crept close and closer still to Bell’s Gate. Janus and Nika were awaiting their child and young Janus soon was cradling a bundle of screaming beauty. The seasons came and went, and tiny Ilda had learned to crawl and then to walk. With the birth of his child came the renewal of his faith in the Nine. One evening, the smell of burning timber seemed too close as he tended the fields a ways away from his farm. That day, the pillars of black smoke were too close. His home, his family, his town, all of it gone. Eaten by flames.

He made it to his childhood home to find his parents and his brother had met the same fate. His father had made a last stand before he was felled, six corpses for his one. And that old saber still clutched in a stiff fist. He took it, rummaged through his ransacked childhood home and left that place in a longcoat and sash, saber on his hip. He looked every bit the thing he had tried to avoid all his life. A Stonehaven Irregular, a soldier, a killer.

He met the Irregulars along the road out from Bell’s Gate, their response too late to help anyone. Boian was with them, and that night, Janus wept into his best friend’s arms that he had not been able to save his family. The Stonehaven Irregulars of Bell’s Gate marched on, Janus the most ready to repay a debt of blood. Years passed, men died, and Janus had not been among them. High time that the Stonehaven Irregulars marched on Rihad, but were utterly defeated and broken there during the siege of one of Rihad’s forts.

Janus was taken prisoner, plucked from the fields of wounded to be hanged in Rihad. Before the day came that he was to be hanged, he escaped with the help of a stranger and smuggled out of the city through a network of tunnels. When he asked the stranger his name, he only gave one, Savian. They hid in a dingy shack of a house for three days, Janus not being able to leave and relying on Savian to bring back food and water. In the light of day, the man looked peculiar. Oddly feline, but manlike. On the third night, they made their escape from Rihad and set foot on the roads. When Janus asked why Savian had rescued him, he only gave muddied answers. Talk of skills and the need for them.

Before long, Savian and Janus had crossed the border into Cyrodiil, bedding down in Anvil before resuming their trek. By the end of it, the White Gold city was on the horizon. Janus was almost immediately put to work and training, brushing up and drilling in both old and new skills he’d learned from a lifetime of fighting. The purpose was unclear to him, but after a year of training, he was brought to the Head Intendants of the Penitus Oculatus with Savian at his side. Tensions were brewing in Skyrim, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak was rousing the people of Eastern Skyrim and amassing a host of unknown size with him, backed by unknown individuals.

Savian and Janus set forth to Skyrim at once. Under the employ as an “advisor” to the Penitus Oculatus, he was given the name Rudd and a life story that was the epitome of ordinary. Their mission was only to observe the happenings in Skyrim and find out if the Thalmor were truly playing a hand in the rising unrest. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak and a small host rode for Solitude, and it was there that Skyrim would be changed forever. Janus watched Torygg accept the offer of a duel with Ulfric Stormcloak, and he watched him die. Hasty scribbles were the only sound from Savian’s room in the inn that night.

To the Empire, it was an act of war. Ulfric Stormcloak went into hiding somewhere in Eastern Skyrim, and the Penitus Oculatus was given the job of rooting him out and gathering intelligence on his benefactors. Savian and Janus are put in charge of infiltrating behind Stormcloak lines with a select group of Inspectors and sowing mayhem. The first order of business was making contact with an old veteran named Brunwulf Free-Winter and offering the chance to end Ulfric’s tyranny and madness. A large sum of coin helped Brunwulf agree. Brunwulf’s task was to sow dissent inside Windhelm in small measurements, as well as keep an eye on troop movements and supplies into and out of the city with Savian.

Janus was to take the other Inspectors and form a militia under a lesser known anti-Stormcloak warlord named Ragnar Vargsson who had been operating in the area for months before Ulfric killed Torygg. Janus and the Inspectors trained Vargsson’s men in unconventional warfare and tradecraft. A ratline was set up and Brunwulf helped garner recruits for the growing band under Ragnar, who had come to be called Ragnar’s Rangers after a series of daring night raids and ambushes on soft targets and assassinations of high value personnel. As the war dragged on, the Legion leaned more and more on Ragnar’s Rangers and bands like them to punch holes in the Stormcloak lines. The war had a timely end in sight as the Dragonborn entered the fray on the side of the Empire.

Ragnar’s Rangers were tasked with sending back reports on particularly dug in strongholds, high value targets, and important supply depots. The Dovahkiin’s dragons proved instrumental in making precision strikes against these objectives, and played a crucial role when Tullius and the rest of the conventional forces of the Legion broke through the weakened lines and laid a laughably short siege on Windhelm.

The Penitus Oculatus celebrated a short-lived round of praise for the heroics that would be forever hidden in a dossier in a dusty cabinet. Janus and Savian shared a toast with the Rangers and the rest of their team before the news came of the Emperor’s assassination at the hands of the Dark Brotherhood, a weakened organization that shouldn’t have been able to reliably kill a beggar, much less the Emperor himself.

With the security blunder of the Penitus Oculatus came a wide purge of the ranks. The reshuffling had many in high places in the Oculatus sidelined, if not outright removed from the organization altogether. The machinations largely went over Janus’s head, save for the most visible consequence as Janus’s employment as a contractor was cut short, and the money with it. Savian himself was relegated to an embassy in a place Janus was not allowed to know about. As for Janus himself, there were only two options. Strike it out on his lonesome to find work, or stay with the Rangers, who had taken almost immediately to banditry and mercenary work. Tiring once more of war and death, Janus left Skyrim for High Rock, eager to get away from his past of blood.

Nowadays, he teaches swordplay to anyone with enough coin, and spends that coin in whatever tavern he beds down in that night. A simple life, hard-fought for and well-deserved...

Personality: Unflinchingly polite.

Capably violent.

Janus may be a simple wanderer, but there was once a preacher that walked in the footprints he’s left from Hammerfell to here. That priest of Stendarr would shake his head and offer absolution to the man he’d become, bottle in bloodied hands. A fall from faith had seen the naïveté of the young priest clipped away like angel’s wings and put a sword in his hand and vengeance in his heart.

For what more reason should a man have a loss of his faith than the loss of his home.

The years have worn away at him, and now all the faith in the good of the world he once had was a casualty of two wars. Lucky day if you get words out of him, but he has always been a man of his word, no matter how few they are now and how mean and snipped those are. He makes for a steadfast companion and a good friend to those who’ve sought out and chosen him, for the seeking and choosing of friends is something he has no want for these days. He settles for whoever stays.

Any humor out of him is sardonic, and not really for anybody else but for him. A way to deal with stress and what life offers, but he maintains an aloof and care-free image despite. Like the man, all his weapons are utilitarian. Even his saber, old as it is, holds no runes carved in it and is set with no jewels. As simple and forward as his fighting style. He holds no qualms with killing, and holds only to two rules- quick hands and patience. Even with such a seemingly passive demeanor, ask some of the shallow graves from Windhelm to Wayrest if he’s willing to die for someone else’s convenience. A survivor, a killer; patient and strong-willed.

A functioning alcoholic, quiet, and polite despite it all, there are flashes here and there of the old Janus. The man who wanted for nothing more but crops to sow and reap, a wife, and a daughter. One just needs to keep a watchful eye and open ears for him. He may say he’s washed his hands of the blood now, but he knows as well as anyone; he is what he is.

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>???
>0630...///

Ava woke up screaming.

Her eyes snapped open and immediately she was assaulted with bright fluorescent lighting stabbing into her eyes. She shut her eyes reflexively, her breathing coming in heavy, sob filled gasps as her shaking hands slapped over her torso. She searched for injuries, for bloody tears in her flesh like the ones she witnessed in her nightmare.

She felt something tug at her hands as she tried to move them and was suddenly aware of a loud, shrill rapid beeping piercing into her ears.

What the fuck is going on!? Her mind screamed, her heart started beating faster than before and the beeping grew louder and more rapid.

At the sound of her struggling and screaming, a door burst open and curtains were ripped away to reveal a man bedecked in scrubs; blue pants and a floral pattern shirt. He had tired eyes that his hopefully calming smile tried to reach, but to no avail, “Calm, calm, it’s okay!” He cooed, glancing at her vitals, and satisfied nothing but the fright was getting to her, looked back at her, “Do you know where you are? What happened?”

Ava jerked at the voice and peeled open her eyes, squinting both from the lights and the absence of her glasses. “W-who are you? Where am I!?” She asked, her eyes adjusting enough to the lights that she could make out the scrubs he was wearing.

She looked away from him, her eyes frantically darting around the room to take in her blurred surroundings. It looked like she was in a hospital room, but why was she in the hospital?

Her mind started racing over the past evenings events, but the last thing she remembered was failing to get into the CPS database and then going to sleep.

“It’s okay, Miss, you’re in the hospital. You’re safe. I’m Tony, what’s your name?” He asked, stepping back so he wasn’t looming over her.

“Why am I in the hospital?” She asked, her breathing starting to slow but there was still a quickness to it born of fear and confusion.

“You were found wandering. No ID, no shoes, nothing.” He looked sorry, clearing his throat, he said, “A gentleman brought you in, but he left before you woke. Do you have anyone you can call?”

“Gentleman?” Ava asked, her breathing returning somewhat to normal but her heart felt like it was trying to fly out of her chest. “Yeah, yeah I have people to call.” She said, rubbing her hand over her sweat slick forehead. “What did the man that brought me in look like?”

“Five-ten, six-foot, maybe? Black hair, white guy.” Tony said, scratching his own dusky skin, he was just a head taller than Ava, “Kinda looked, I don’t know, sad. He seemed like he cared a lot, he was really worried. Never gave us a name though.”

“Did he have an accent?” Ava asked with a frown, her mind whirling. It sounded like...But it couldn’t have been.

Tony shook his head, eyeing her vitals again before continuing, “No.” he shrugged, “Not one from around here. West coast, far from here.”

Ava continued to frown as she processed the information and tried to keep herself calm. “Okay, uh, I need to make a phone call, but one last question. Did I do or say anything...unusual?”

“You were screaming. When we stabilized you, you kept talking about Tom. Was that the guy’s name?” Tony asked. “The one that brought you in?”

“I...don’t know.” Ava answered, a chill running up her spine as the name rang familiar. “Uh, can I get a phone and a pad of paper and a pencil? Also what hospital is this?”

As Tony pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on, he smoothed out his scrubs and spoke, “United Hospital Center.” He smiled, “I’ll go get a phone and some paper.”

He turned back to her before he left, eyebrow quirked and pursed lips, “You know, if you get the feeling like you might’ve known this guy… like he did something to you… we’re more than happy to contact the police or something.”

He tried to regain a more positive stance, “But I am glad that you’re alright. I’m sorry for the fright you had.”

“Thank you.” Ava smiled tiredly, trying to ignore the creeping sense of dread in her stomach as she pieced together what happened. “I don’t believe he did, I think he was just...a kind bystander that helped out a sleeping walking woman.”

Tony chuckled and nodded, “Me too.”

---

EARLIER...///

Donnelley woke up reaching for his gun.

There was frantic knocking at the door and he looked at the clock, barely six o’clock in the morning. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and grasped up the pistol on his nightstand. Still in his boxers, he put his eye to the peephole and saw Avery, looking up and down the hallway before he went back to beating the shit out of his door. He ripped it open and grabbed Avery by the shoulder, hauling him in stumbling. “Shit!”

“You wanna wake up the whole goddamn floor, son?” Donnelley jabbed his finger into Avery’s chest, to which the younger man stepped back and smoothed his shirt down, fixing Donnelley with an indignant eye.

“She’s fucking gone, dude.” Avery opened, and Donnelley was frozen in confusion.

“What?”

“Ava, she’s fucking gone, dude.” Avery swallowed, running a hand through his hair and swearing under his breath.

“Fuck.” Donnelley threw on a pair of pants and rushed out the door, tossing the handgun on his bed, Avery on his heels.

“I woke up the guys and the girls are already awake.” Avery said from behind Donnelley, paying half-attention as he pounded a fist on THUNDER’s room.

“Open the fuck up, Queen, Ghost.” Donnelley said, voice raised.

When the door opened, Queen stood with rumpled hair and a leopard print sleep mask shoved up on his forehead. His eyes sharpened as he saw the expressions on the men's faces and he stepped back, opening the door to let them in.

He stood in his black silk boxers, the full extent of his tattoos on display over his lean muscled chest and back. "Morning, boys. What's up?"

“Get dressed,” Donnelley spoke pointedly as he made his way in, before glancing down at his own naked torso, “Ava’s… missing.”

Queen's attention snapped up, clearing the sleepiness. "How the hell is she missing with that hillbilly helicopter hovering around her?"

While he joked dryly he was pulling on a pair of jeans and digging out a clean t-shirt. Queen sat on the bed to put his boots on, glancing at Donnelley.

Ghost dressed swiftly, layers of hard muscle disappearing beneath his usual “gray man” aesthetic. Cargo pants, navy blue shirt, hiking boots, and his gun. He pulled on a dark brown ball cap and stood.

“It’s not like you weren’t sniffing at her panties,” Ghost grunted. “Does she have a phone? Has anybody tried calling her yet?”

Queen only ticked his eyebrows up with a sly smirk as he tucked away the compact handgun and knife, concealed from view.

“She left it.” Avery spoke, a voice of defeat already that Donnelley wanted to shove out of the room.

“Meet up in the men’s room.” Donnelley left it at that, heading there quick as he could, but making a detour to put on a shirt and a pair of jeans, as well as to grab his gun. By the time he got to his destination, he saw both Dave and Jason fully dressed and nodded at their readiness. He knocked at the lady’s room, hearing the shuffling of the girls getting ready, “It’s Donnelley.” He said.

Laine yanked the door open, dressed comfortably in black leggings and a Blondie t-shirt. "I'm calling the hospitals," she said, moving out of their way and picking up her phone.

Dave joined Donnelley, his face creased with worry. He had a dip jammed in his lip and his hat pulled low over his sleep-tousled hair. “We gonna go lookin’, or what?” He asked. “What’s the plan? Should we start goin’ to hospitals?”

“We need to figure out what the fuck even happened,” Donnelley said, rubbing the wrinkles in his forehead, he turned to Laine and Pari, “You two didn’t notice Ava walk on out?”

Pari shook her head, “No. We were all asleep, the girl’s quiet.”

“Nobody noticed anything?” Donnelley growled. Pari said nothing, just got to work packing her things.

“I thought we were safe-“

“Obviously fuckin’ not.” Donnelley held a knife-hand in Avery’s face, sighing as he withdrew it, “Call Detective Roy, see if State PD has anythin’ on anybody who looks like Ava. Fuck it, call Dawant, I don’t give a shit. Check with the front desk to see why they didn’t fuckin’ ask what the hell was goin’ on, check cameras.”

Donnelley paused, rubbing a slow hand along his lengthening beard, “If they came through, why didn’t they spring Jay?”

Laine tapped her phone, "No one fitting her description at the Clarksburg hospital. I'll try the others. Anyone check with the front desk?"

She was already going to the door, her brow furrowed. Laine had shared a bed with Ava as Pari took the other in the motel room. A fist of guilt gripped her heart, she must have slept through whatever woke Ava and prompted her to leave the room.

Dave started at the mention of Jay and his goons, his work-weathered hands balling into iron-hard fists. Without a word he stormed down the hall, banging on THUNDER's door until the imposing figure of Ghost pulled it open with an annoyed glare.

"Jay," Dave snarled, pushing past the operator. His blood was boiling, handsome face twisted with rage and worry. He barged into the bathroom and snatched Jay by the throat, opening the conversation with a thunderous punch that flattened the Nazi's nose.

"Where the fuck did they take her?!"

Ghost quirked an eyebrow but said nothing, simply leaning against the bathroom door and watching the show.

“What the fuck are you talking about!?” Jay screamed back, his voice noticeably more nasally after the blood started pouring from it, “What the fuck!”

“Dave, stand the fuck down!” Donnelley’s voice came from the doorway, his hand held out in peace but his face stern, “You think they’d leave their boy? Leave him alive, at least? We keep shoutin’ somebody’s gonna come askin’, let that fuckin’ prick bitch go.”

Queen glanced at Ghost then shrugged, going over to Dave to try and separate him from the helpless Jay. "C'mon, listen to Tex," he said, grabbing Dave's upper arm to pull him away.

Dave snarled and shoved Queen away, but stopped himself from swinging. With visible effort he mastered himself, taking deep, slow breaths. Finally he turned back to Jay, pointing a blunt finger at him.

"If you're lyin' to me, I'm gonna kill you," he growled. "By Jesus, I swear it. I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Queen saw the violence flash in Dave's eyes and held his hands up though he kept himself in a defensive stance in case the Ozark boy had second thoughts.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, man…” Avery had a hand to his forehead and was looking between Dave and the door, just waiting for a cop to come strolling in.

Dave growled and pushed his way out of the room, storming back to his own quarters. Ghost watched him go, then shot a glance at Queen and Donnelley.

"Didn't think the hillbilly was a fighter," he said. "At least he can throw a punch."

Queen grabbed some toilet paper and wiped at the blood on Jay's face and examined the damage to the nose. Satisfied the man could breathe, he tossed the paper in the toilet and flushed.

"Oh yeah, hell of a right hook to the tied up guy," Queen replied, then turned to Tex. "Want us to drive around the neighborhood, maybe she just went for a walk or something."

Ghost snorted and rolled his eyes. "She probably just quit. But if we're going to panic, I guess we're going to panic. You're driving, Queen."

Donnelley put his hands on his hips, looking from the path of destruction that Dave left to Jay, and the river of blood cascading down his confused face, “Shotgun, I guess.”

[Hr]

Laine returned from the office, holding the phone to her ear as she spoke, "Yes, mid twenties, a lot of red hair, glasses. Caucasian, petite build. I think she was wearing a t-shirt, with a cartoon on it. Yes, I'll hold again."

She leaned against the wall just inside the door, folding her free hand under her other arm as she waited.

Across from her, Donnelley sat on the edge of the bed, watching Laine as she stared at the ground with the phone to her ear. He wondered just how and why this could happen. He’d made a promise to Ava that she’d never be alone, and he aimed to keep that. He held his phone in his hand and he looked down at it, no calls or texts from Ava still. He was worried. But nobody needed another person to be flying into panic like Dave and his fists.

“How many have you called?”

Laine looked up and said, "Two, the hospitals in Clarksburg and I'm calling the one closer to Bridgeport. I'm on hold."

She put her hand on her hip, huffing a sigh as the audible Muzak tinkled over the phone. Donnelley sighed, putting his cell away and looking at Laine, “I need to ask you about Ava.” He said, “About what she saw and what happened.”

Laine shook her head, "I don't know much, other than I saw her screaming and clawing at her eyes as we got into the salt circle but I'm pretty sure it was before it arrived, I think, but it was chaotic."

The hold music cycled once more as Laine continued, "Something came into the house, something big and...well, I closed my eyes after reading the word that Renko gave us."

“Try to think back if you can. Did she see it before or after?” Donnelley asked.

Laine closed her eyes, the line clicked but went back on the infinite loop of smooth jazz. She pictured the scene, of Dave ushering Pari and Ava to the salt circle. Just before the thing appeared.

"Before," she said, opening her eyes. "When Dave brought them out of the room she was screaming and scratching, he got her to stop but the panic was there. It was before. You might talk to Dave, he mentioned something about 'before', said he had a talk with her about what happened."

Donnelley nodded, slow as he looked away from Laine. From what Ava had told him, he knew it was true. Why Foster had taken personal interest in Ava was beyond him, perhaps just a way to protect an asset that could be valuable in the future. Stick her in a place no one would think to look- Logistics- and pluck her out when the time came.

When the time came… time for what? Donnelley sighed, he was getting in his own head, like Iraq. He gave Laine a small smile as he stood, “We’ll find her. She’s alright.” Donnelley nodded, trying to sound like he knew for a fact, “Thank you for talkin’ with me.”

He turned for the door and stopped just short, “Some of the boys and I are going for a ride, see if we can find her on a stroll, maybe. Just call me if you need anything.”

Laine nodded, meeting his gaze the gnawing fear she felt but refused to voice reflected in his eyes.

"Ma'am, you still holding?"

Laine almost dropped her phone at the interruption of the hold music. She tapped the speaker button and replied, "Yes, I'm here."

"Sorry for the wait, but we did have someone brought in that matches your sister's description."

"Is she okay? Can I talk to her?" Laine snapped at the morsel of information.

"I can't release any information," the nurse said then paused, "But she's awake."

---

>UNITED HOSPITAL CENTER
>CLARKSBURG, WV
>JUL.22?.2019
>0630...///

Tony knocked before he entered again, a cell phone and some printer paper in either hand. He wheeled the little desk over to Ava’s bed and placed both items down, along with a pencil he retrieved from one of his pockets, “Here.” Tony smiled, taking a seat on one of the chairs, “Phone’s mine, by the way. Need a phone book or...?”

“No thanks, I know the number.” She said, giving him the best smile she could muster. “I...I don’t suppose I can have some privacy during this call?” She asked, her voice hopeful.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Tony stood, and gave her another smile before he rounded the corner outside.

Ava watched him leave then picked up the phone to quickly dial Donnelley’s burner. “Please pick up. Please pick up.” She whispered to herself as she held the phone to her ear, her eyes darting to the doorway.

“Who is this?” Donnelley’s voice came quick and firm, not recognizing the number from the sparse contact list in his issued phone.

Ava felt some of her anxiety ease away hearing the familiar voice. “It’s me, Ava.” She said, her voice softening unintentionally as she felt emotion well in her chest. “I’m at United Hospital.”

“You’re at the hospital?” He asked, his voice equal parts confusion and relief, “We’ll be there. Are you hurt?”

“No, just freaked out.” Ava answered. “I‘ll tell you everything when you get here.”

---

>UHC, Clarksburg, WV
>0700...///

Donnelley had the door open even before the vehicle came to a full stop in the parking space, stepping out and heading straight for the front door. Once they’d gotten confirmation that Ava was here and that they knew her, they were given the directions to her room. At every moment on the way here, and peering around every corner of the hospital’s hallways, Donnelley was looking for anyone watching them. The possibility this may be a trap did not elude him, get the team out in the open and snap photos of them, get their identities.

But the long walk was uneventful. They made it to Ava’s room’s door and Donnelley gingerly opened it. He stepped inside and the sight of Ava seemingly unharmed lifted a weight from his shoulders, “God, you’re alright…” he smiled.

Ava straightened up in bed when the door opened, the sight of Donnelley’s familiar face making relief flood through her. “Hi.” She said, giving a weak smile as she waved to him. “I’m sorry.”

Dave had been tense since the morning began. From the beginning he had seen himself as a sort of protector; he couldn’t really hang with the tactical boys on equal footing, but he was hell in a gunfight and viciously protective of his friends. When Ava went missing, it had felt like a failure. He’d let his guard down, and the most vulnerable of their little family had vanished from under him.

He slipped past Donnelley and approached the bed, bending down to pull Ava into a firm hug.

“Thank God, I thought they had ya,” he said, squeezing her tightly. “Are ya alright? You okay? Not hurt or nothin’?”

Ava squeaked from the strength of the hug, her arms pinned to her sides but she lifted her hands up to pat and hug Dave back as best she could. “I’m okay.” She answered, her voice muffled by his shirt as the scent of cologne mixed the smell of earth and pine filled her nose. She relaxed a little more. “I’m sorry for scaring you all.”

Laine appeared beside Donnelley in the doorway, the worried furrow of her brows still visible. "You sure did, what happened?"

“I slept walked.” Ava answered, patting Dave to release her from the hug.

“Right into the hospital?” Donnelley asked, “Do you remember anythin’? At all?”

“I remember a horrifying nightmare with the Hound.” Ava said when Dave pulled away from the hug. “According to the hospital staff I was screaming and crying about ‘Tom’.” She shuddered feeling the terror and anxiety start to creep back but she tried to focus on getting everything out. “They said I was found wandering and that a man brought me in. He didn’t leave a name or anything, but I had my suspicions so I drew this.”

She pulled out a folded up piece of paper from behind her pillow and handed it over to Dave. “It’s Renko, I showed it to the nurses that saw him bring me in and they said it looked a lot like him.”

Laine crossed her arms, studying the picture from her vantage point then looked at Ava. "Who is Tom?"

Ava shrugged stiffly and shook her head, her expression paling. “It’s...from the nightmare.” She straightened up in the bed and looked at them all, pleadingly. “Can we leave?”

“Yeah, ‘course we can,” Dave tucked the picture in his pocket and gave Ava a gentle pat on the shoulder. “We’ll talk about all this later. Gonna get you outta here first.”

“Tom,” Donnelley said, eyes wide as he looked to Laine, “No…”

Donnelley swallowed hard, placing his hands on his hips and pacing the room before he left, gingerly letting it close behind him before making his way back to the vehicles. He’d assumed Tom had maintained contact with Foster, maybe he’d been on a case that was pressing or his Supervising Agent with the FBI was grilling him harder than Jason’s. He hadn’t been around for a while, though.

---

Donnelley rapped his foot on the concrete in mania, dragging hard off a cigarette and paranoid eyes scanning the parking lot with an anxious violence set in his shoulders. The ring in his earpiece trilled again before being cut off and replaced with Foster’s voice, “Donnelley.”

“Foster, Ava had another dream-“

“Get to Massachusetts.” Foster said, words quick, “As soon as fucking possible.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>DAYS INN
>CLARKSBURG, WEST VIRGINIA
>JUL.21.2019
>0600...///

Another smoke cloud wafted by on the wind outside the Days Inn. The sky was not tinged with the pillars of black smoke, nor was there the thunder that the mines brought. Too close to civilization for that violence, miles between the dirty faces and black lung coal, and here. And even those long, tree-screened and green miles were not enough to put Donnelley at ease. And so he smoked, dropping a smoldering butt next to a couple others and grinding it down into the cement with a dirty heel of a shoed foot.

He heard the sound of the doors opening, but didn’t look to see who it was. The last few times he did, it was just tourists ready to get back on the road after a good night’s sleep.

It was Jason emerging from their room, eyes squinted to slits as he adjusted to the light. The glare teased a bright and sunny morning, and he hoped the wind brought an overcast to better fit this shit hole town. He took heavy steps joining Donnelley, taking a drag of a narrow e-cigarette and blowing a plume of soothing cannabis smoke out his nostrils. A hang over from a night of drugs lingered mostly in his head, a deep, dull ache he could only describe as head nausea.

He came up on Donnelley’s right, studying him, wondering when he ever slept. An elderly couple left their room across the parking lot, the opening and closing doors pulling Jason’s attention. The wife had a purple tinge to her silver hair, a style Jason was convinced compensated for a slow emergence of colorblindness from age. The husband looked like one of those winnebago types, striped polo shirt tucked into shorts, long socks and a ghillie hat over liver spotted scalp. The two of them a blissful, slow lurching from their narrow world to their last days. Jason imagined they thought travel could best fill that nagging dread, that any experience no matter how trivial could compensate for the growing realization they had wasted their lives. He stood there silently watching them slowly pack their car, not realizing the moment was stretching uncomfortably long.

“That girl,” he said, voice slightly raspy, “I want to check up on her, maybe get Laine to talk to her. Hold off a few days, you know?”

If they went to her now they would likely run into police, but after the initial reports and no one coming to claim her they wouldn’t be around. That is, if no one claimed her. Still, it was better to wait and let the potential intel slip away than raise any additional unwanted attention. Besides, she was a little girl and hadn’t said a thing to Jason. Except she had. One nagging phrase, the mere thought of it grabbing hold of his hangover and smearing it all over. His head began to throb.

Jason took a quick hit and offered the e-cigarette to Donnelley. “You alright?” he asked.

Donnelley was quiet for longer than he liked, mulling the question over. To anyone else, it would’ve been a simple matter, just a muttered ‘Yeah’ and a fake smile. But to Jason, to his team, that question carried weight. It mattered. Alright and not-alright in this job was less beaming versus moping and more mission-ready versus fingering the special bullet kept in your pack for that day that always comes.

But he wasn’t there yet. Fuck that, “Yeah, I’m good.” He said, looking at the vaporizer and then up Jason’s hand and arm to the man himself, “This shit is gettin’ weird, man.”

Donnelley waved off the vape and continued his vigilant stare off into the galaxy of his mind, meteors of doubt, looming planets of suspicion. “Ava had visions of that thing the others saw last night.” He cut himself off before he spilled any more than he had to without checking for people who could be listening for secrets. The Russians were everywhere, he had to assume. “Let’s talk in the car. I wanted to get everyone breakfast or somethin’.”

Jason wore cold worry on his face, watching Donnelley with sudden focus. He pocketed the e-cigarette and moved towards their SUV’s passenger side, giving one glance over his shoulder to their rooms. Visions. He could hardly discount them given the circumstances. Isn’t that what this all is, weird shit. What was weird was that he welcomed it. Anything, any glimpse to make sense of this small black hole they were all falling into, a hole borrowed into the earth, a hole with no bottom. And when Donnelley said what the other’s saw last night what exactly was that? Answers. Jason needed answers. He sat in the passenger seat and deflated into its padding with a sigh. Answers. It would keep him going, keep him focused.

As they pulled out he tapped the radio and found whatever fm station came first, the fiery sermon of a southern pastor ringing with righteous fervor. It reminded Jason of the deep south baptists he was happy to never predominately run into as a kid. They weren’t your charismatic Joel Osteens with their sharp tooth smiles.They wanted to scare and bully the faith into you. He turned it up to a distracting volume, one they’d have to talk over.

“What about Ava?” Jason asked.

-ain’t healed. You ain’t whole. Tell me, folks, when you go shopping at da grocery store do you see happy people? Do you see God glowin’ in them?

Donnelley pursed his lips at the choice of noise that Jason had chosen. He looked at the man and shook his head at the whole situation, “Ava had visions of what the Russian mob is callin’ the Hound. I’ve seen it before, workin’ with my old Group. What’s even more fucked is that she says it ain’t the first time she had visions.” Donnelley said, “She had them while she was contractin’ for the Agency. Said Foster picked her up and gave her a spot in the Program, but that was long before we met her.”

“I need to know what Foster said, who he told about her, and what Laine told Foster about what happened to them last night.” He frowned, a growl lost in the volume of whoever preacher man this was, “I get it, we like secrets and shit, bein’ all spooky. I don’t like it when I don’t know the secrets.”

“We need that girl too. Ava’s Intel said that the Russians gave her to Jay, along with some other children.” Donnelley said, “Maybe she knows where the rest are, or knows someone who does. She can verify if Jay feeds us bullshit.”

“We’d be lucky to get anything out of her,” Jason said. He was rubbing his palm against the gruff of his cheek, the rasping sound of stumble against skin buried in sermon. “The way she acted…”

Jason shook his head.

-be quelled. Psalms chapter nine, verse seventeen. ‘The wicked go down to the realm of the dead.’ and let me tell you, folks, that realm is real. It’s been coming up every day, little by -

“...iunno. Damaged. Near feral. When I looked her in the eyes it was like I wasn’t even seeing a person. We’d be lucky if she could remember her name.”

He nodded slowly, thinking as his eyes stared at the dashboard. He didn’t want to look outside, not with the sermon coming in over the surroundings of sagging, sad appalachian suburbia. “So we better get the girl as soon as we can,” he said. It didn’t matter if they’d draw attention. It was either them or the Russians, and he didn’t want to think about what they might do to a six year old loose end. “Problem is we don’t have a safehouse, do we? We can’t lay down in a fucking hotel for more than today, really.”

“We need to move like yesterday.” Donnelley nodded, almost mimicking Jason, scratching at his beard as he took full inventory of all the different mental boxes he shoved all his stress into, “Especially because we have that asshole sleepin’ in a bathtub in our room. Only a matter of time until some cleanin’ lady comes in and thinks we’re keepin’ him to fuck or somethin’.”

He snorted, a little bit of humor to lift his morning spirits. It was a weak flame though, as he looked out the windshield at the hotel and thought of poor Ava. That wind made it gutter. “Dave and Laine can do it. Pose as a couple and claim the girl if she ain’t been got already.” Donnelley sighed, rubbing at his tremoring, hungry stomach, “Let’s get breakfast and everyone briefed on the plans. After that, we’ll move and maybe I’ll put a call in for a place to lay our heads.”

Breakfast would be good, Jason thought. It hadn’t occurred to him until now how hungry he was, or at least his body was telling him he was hungry. Amphetamines diminished his appetite for days on end, and the coke would only make it worse. He’d have to force himself to eat for the next few days.

“Do we-,” he began to say, then paused. Baughman’s wife flashed in his mind. Her dead flesh wrapped around Heather. It undeniably proved some sort of background world. And then the books agent Baughman had been keeping. The Hound. The Three. Jason had no idea what the intrusion was, but it came in clear and demanding. The Three? He shook it off.

-you stagger. The shadows of the devil will reach out for you, yes they will. And you’ll be swallowed by sin and you won’t even know it. But the lord is waiting. He’s the ligh-

“Baughman,” he said, “the things he was reading about, whatever the Russians use or have or know about. Do we use it?”

He wouldn’t dare call it magic. Occultism? Was there anything to do or use that wasn’t blowing away whatever the hell came crawling? If there was, he wanted to know it. He wanted to stop firing in the dark.

Donnelley shook his head with a fervor, as if even uttering about its existence would bring back that Hound. “No.” he said through frowning lips as the SUV began its slow roll through the parking lot. Once he got to the edge of it, he stopped to let a family mosey by on the sidewalk, all smiles and ignorant happiness. Two men not ten feet away were talking about very real witchcraft and all they were thinking about was where the closest ice cream shop was. It’s what he fought for, Donnelley guessed, “The Program- we- search for and destroy that shit.”

The SUV lurched forward and he turned into their lane, following traffic towards wherever breakfast would be. “I’ve seen what it does.” He muttered, flashes of memory, the smell of blood and the curdled howling gurgling up from a beastly throat in the bowels of a Russian cathedral somewhere in Chechnya, “Nothin’ good.”

He slowly brought the SUV to a stop at a four-way and checked his mirrors. He set to looking side to side and scanning the streets as he spoke of the first thing that wasn’t about the sinking ship they were trying to bale out in West Virginia, “What’re you feelin’ for breakfast, man?”

“A foul mouthed girl with loose morals,” Jason said in a deadpan tone. He started scanning the roadside for some food. Everything seemed to be sit in diners or fast food chains that weren’t open. It didn’t really matter what he ate. But it was true what he said, he needed a little physical comfort. He wanted to leave someone sweaty and sore.

“Fuck man, I don’t know,” he added. “Something hearty. Maybe fried. So this Hound, what the fuck was it exactly?”

“Just,” Donnelley sighed and shrugged, no other word was as campfire spooky- or apt, “evil. Not the kind that blows up buildings for religion, but… like Satan.”

He breathed a chuckle, glancing at Jason before the SUV moved again and off they went, “Like the devil. I was told it could hunt you anywhere you go, appear anywhere, and it wouldn’t stop until it got you.” He remembered blowing Carlisle’s brains all over the inside of the ship, “Or somethin’ got you first.”

“Fried,” Donnelley nodded, “Some of that southern fried steak. Or some biscuits and gravy. Shit on a shingle.”

“I could get down with all of that,” Jason said. Satanic evil. No, he thought, a true evil, not the christian boogey man evil. The only evil Jason saw was the root of it all. A whole world of people preying on each other. He thought of Ghazni. Operators turning on each other, firing on anything in sight. It wasn’t so much evil as it was chaos. Pandemonium. But it was there, the type of Donnelley was talking about now. Why was this force only for the wrong side’s use? Donnelley had to be wrong, there had to be some equivalent that didn’t drive you mad or twist you into something hollow.

“Maybe we need to change our SOPs,” Jason said. “We’ve been compromised twice. I call that a real fuck up waiting to happen.” Jason sighed. He felt an urge again, a quick, warm pulse centered on his groin. He need some release. “You ever rotated your bed down location? Hop safehouses every few days. We had an op along the Syrian coast after Assad pulled in the Russian mercenaries. They’d gun us down if they could, assaulted us a few times. So we started rotating our base every few days, keep them guessing.”

Jason saw a restaurant sign growing in the distance, a local diner advertising pick up orders. The preacher began another fire and brimstone tirade and he turned it off, sick of his verbal venom. He tapped Donnelley’s right shoulder and pointed to the sign. “There’s a place,” he said.

“We could go dark,” Jason added after a moment. “Keep contact with only one handler, centralize everything. Leave false safehouses, small traps.”

“Had to do that in Chechnya.” Donnelley left off the part where it didn’t work because of his fuck up in the mountainous roads to the target. Even so, Jason had a point, and it only made him frustrated with himself that he’d never thought of it until now. Too complacent, and in his and Jason’s line of work, complacency was death. “As far as going dark,” he shook his head, “Somebody back at the Office is going to want to know how and why a fuckin’ GRU Officer found our Workin’ Group and made contact.”

Made contact was putting it lightly. He had two agents suffering from severe stress and mental fatigue now, and two compromised safehouses. As a Team Lead for the first time, he was making a great case for his continued leadership. He turned the SUV into the parking lot of the tiny diner, slapping the big vehicle in park and shutting off the engine. “Counterintel is going to be pullin’ their fuckin’ hair out and rearin’ to fuck the first thing they can get their hands on for us makin’ them do their job. Tighten the leash and make it a noose if they have to.” He sucked his teeth and shoved his door open, his mood only darkening to a shade of black at the prospect of a windowless room and a recorder across from some double-chinned, balding suit, “Burn that bridge when we get to it.”

Jason followed, giving the surrounding tree choked hills a panning observation. How the hell could anyone be content for their entire lives here, he wondered. A nice place to pass through, sure, but in the little time was here it became an oppressive surrounding. He once hooked up with a woman outside Oakland that hiked the big routes across the country. Pacific coastline down to central America. Through the Appalachian trail. She could have come through here, but he couldn’t manage her staying for long. These people here only saw their reality from the boundary of the mountains. Might as well be on another fucking planet. The restaurant’s grimy glass paneled door opened with a jingling bell as Donnelley entered, and Jason was two steps behind him.

---

>DAYS INN
>0720...///

This was starting to become a routine, a recurring theme. Sleepy eyes all on him as they all waited on his word of what the day would hold for them. He waited for them all to settle, eyeing each of his team, and Avery. He may as well be part of their Working Group now, the young PsyOps Specialist seeing more than most ever would in the tiny span of a single night. A baptism of fire, and looking over at Ava, that fire still burned in the minds of all of them. Just some felt more of the heat. “Alright.” Donnelley finally said, “Here’s the situation. You know me by now, I don’t sugarcoat this shit. We got two safehouses that have been compromised, two team members KIA up in beautiful Appalachia, and we still don’t know who, how, or why Maria Vasquez was killed and skinned.”

“To continue our operation here in West Virginia, we’re going to have to make some changes. We can’t stay here today, and wherever we move to, we can’t stay there for long neither.” He put his hands on his hips, still dressed in the blue fitted jeans and Cro-Mags band tee that clashed with his voice of authority. “Furthermore, we have a source of potential intel floating around in the outside world. Last night, THUNDER and I found a child. Ava’s Intel posited that this child was given over to Jay and his AB by the Russians.”

“They may be sensitive to our work here and I don’t want the Russians to get to them before we do. The child’s last known is a hospital in Benwood,” Donnelley folded his arms, “Dave, Laine, I want you two to claim the child. I don’t care how, but we need her in our custody.”

“I’ll put in a call to Foster and see if he can’t leverage some assistance. Set up some safehouses we can use, as well as some dummies.” He said, “Expect Foster to contact us to follow up on our Russian friend as well. We may be recalled to Langley.”

“When the time comes, be truthful.” Donnelley sighed, “It’ll be done and over with quicker that way. We can get back to work faster too.”

“Questions?” He asked, eyebrow quirking, “Suggestions?”

Ava shook her head, the scratches nearly faded from her face, but the bags beneath her eyes seemed a little darker. She had forced herself to get some sleep, snagging short hour long naps whenever the exhaustion got to be too much. She didn’t dare sleep much longer, always setting an hour long timer when she dozed off. She was afraid of the nightmares that would come or the possibility of more visions she didn’t understand plaguing her sleep.

What terrified her the most was going to sleep in bed or on the couch and suddenly waking up, on her feet and in another place. She hoped that if she did have a sleepwalking episode, someone would be able to stop her, but a little nagging voice in the back of her mind asked; what if they didn’t?

Ava glanced up at Dave, sitting beside her on the small couch before her eyes shifted back over to Donnelley. She shook her head at the nagging little thought, pushing her glasses up to rub at her eyes. She needed to find a solution to her current bought of insomnia, it was starting to make her paranoid.

Ghost's rough voice spoke up first, from the back of the room. He wore his vest and rifle, and had noted with approval that the redneck Dave was too.

"Jay," he growled. "You want me to liquidate that asset, or are we still using him?"

Laine sat on the corner of one of the beds, a cup of coffee in hand. She listened intent and at the mention of the child looked up sharply at Donnelley. Her mind raced at his suggestion that Dave and she try to pick up a traumatized child from a hospital. As she considered a plan Ghost's voice cut through her thoughts.

She looked at him, frowning slightly, "I don't think you need to do that. Isn't he on probation, he could go back to prison?"

"Didn't we kidnap and torture him without a warrant?" Ghost shrugged, seemingly bored by the whole ordeal. "He's racist trash with a history of violence and ties to outlaw bikers, street crews, and organized crime. Nobody will blink if he winds up in a ditch with two in his face."

Laine sighed, "You have me there."

She shifted on the bed, hiding her expression behind the styrofoam cup as she drained the lukewarm coffee. After a moment she said, "About the girl, I think we'd have to go in as child protective services. They wouldn't just release a child suffering trauma, not even to the parents if they followed protocol. The police might even already be involved."

Laine turned to face Ava, noting the strain on her pale features. "Maybe you can get us some official looking paperwork."

“I probably can.” She answered, lowering her glasses back over her eyes. “I’ll look into it and see what I can do.” She frowned as she thought the situation over. “What if there are CPS agents already on the scene?”

Laine pressed her lips together, "I'd thought about that. I should just call the hospital and ask. Inquire about the girl's status and go from there."

She took out her phone to look up the hospital number as the others talked.

“Speakin’ of Jay, I’m goin’ to want to get the audio you had of him last night.” Donnelley said to Laine, “Whatever info he gave you, Queen and Ava can try to verify it through any of their sources.”

“I want a bead on those associates of Jay too. Either look them up or ask Jay about them. After we get set up with some houses, we’ll move Jay there and move on his fuck-up friends.” Donnelley uncrossed his arms, “I’m goin’ to go bother Foster unless anybody else has anythin’.”

Dave raised his hand. He'd been perched beside Ava, listening as best he could through his fatigue fog. He hadn't slept; the clothes he was wearing were the same things he'd had on when the Hound came for them, right down to the plate carrier.

"I uh… I know we're s'posed to get this kid, and bring her wherever we're goin', but...What if she needs... medical?" He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand wearily over his short-cropped beard. "What I mean is...Fuck, I dunno. How are we supposed to take care of a kid? We gonna send her somewhere, or keep her with us?"

Laine glanced up at Dave, then rubbed her eyes. "I can try talking to her but she will need to go to someone who specializes in children. Otherwise we watch out for her until that can be settled. I'm calling the hospital now. But I agree, it's a dangerous proposition but it's probably worse to leave her where the Russians can snatch her back."

She stepped aside to use the phone, going into the bathroom but left the door open.

“If she needs medical, then we have Jason for simple things. If she needs a team of doctors and psychologists, then,” She probably might, Donnelley thought, but only shrugged, “She’s been closer to the Russians than any of us have ever been. Unless they kept her in a cage outside, she might know something. She might be able to give us something so another girl isn’t put where she was.”

“I hate to say it,” Donnelley clucked his tongue, “Unless you got Nikolai Gorochev and his daughter on speed dial, Jay and this girl are the best we got.”

He pursed his lips, head inclining towards Dave and Ava, “Unless what Renko said about the MacOnie in Charleston holds up.” Donnelley looked between the two, “He didn’t leave his business card or anything, did he?”

Ava shook her head, leaning her head against her fist. “No, he said not to worry about talking to him, he will know where to find us.” She scowled. “If he’s somewhere close by watching us, I’m going to find that fucker.”

“If none of us clocked him before he wanted us to know he was there, something makes me think we aren’t anytime soon.” Donnelley sighed, though the look on Ava’s face that seemed so alien a mood to attribute to her made him continue, “You should try though. I don’t like being watched.”

Donnelley nodded to Dave, “You see him, you call it in. I’m not goin’ to wait on his ass to talk to me.”

Laine returned to the room, her own dark mood expressed in a down turning of her mouth. "The hospital wouldn't give anything up. They're actually doing their job protecting her privacy unfortunately for us."

She tucked her phone into her pocket, then turned her attention to Ava and Dave, "We need to get into that hospital. I think impersonation of a social worker might be our best shot. If you could dip into child protective services and find an ID template or custody paperwork of some kind. Or even if they have a record of the girl yet. I'm not sure about this spy stuff, but it's a start. I'm open to other suggestions."

“We need to maintain low-visibility. Goin’ in with CPS as your cover would be our best bet, but if we’re goin’ to do it, it needs to get done soon.” Donnelley said.

"I think I'll need to maybe change my appearance," Laine said, then blushed slightly, then added in a defensive tone, "Maybe just a different look, a wig...like spies do."

A hint of a smile touched her lips as she glanced at Donnelley, recalling his ginger hair dyed black. "Dave needs a nap and I'll pick him up some clothes a state plainclothes officer might wear. Ava, if you're able to get that information, it would really help."

“I’ll get on it.” Ava nodded, pushing herself up from the couch. “Anything else?” She asked, looking between Donnelley and Laine.

Donnelley shook his head, almost halfway out the door already with phone in-hand, “Not from me.”

---

This was always the part Donnelley hated. Come crawling back to Foster so he could ask his Handler for help, a beggar asking for handouts. Especially after the on-again-off-again head butting he did with Foster all the time. It seemed the two men were alike enough to get along, but also different enough to be at each other’s throats quite a bit. He hoped Foster would be able to set aside the differences. Donnelley knew that sometimes he himself wasn’t.

But the fact he was holding his phone in front of himself, paralyzed with the possibility of being left to the wolves, he felt about ready to kiss as much ass as he needed to. His thumb hung over the call button on his burner, right over Foster’s contact. Finally, he pressed it, and the dial-tone began. It didn’t last long, to Foster’s credit, “Donnelley?”

“Who else?” Donnelley answered, “Listen, I need you to do something.”

“What is it?” Foster asked, his tone sounding genuine enough.

“We need a new safehouse. Jason and I were talkin’, and I think we really should do what we did back in…” Donnelley paused, biting back the name of that fucking place. He knew that it would bring back memories not only for him, but Foster as well, “You know. That place.”

“Chechnya.” Foster said, sounding not the least bit perturbed by that cursed word, “I’ve thought about it too. It sounds really smart. Ingenious.”

The way Foster said it made Donnelley frown, “But…”

“I asked the Gods, Donnelley,” Foster sighed, “You can guess what my prayers were answered with.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Donnelley un-balled a fist he didn’t realize he’d even made, took a long breath and blew it all out, “Of course. I understand.”

“I’m sorry, Donnelley.” Foster breathed, now sounding at least like he felt something about it, “With the way this case has turned out so far, we’re lucky they haven’t left us in the cold. I did my thing, you know.”

“Kneepads and sore jaw?” Donnelley attempted a smile to go along with the joke, but was unable. Shit fucking luck.

“Yeah,” Foster have a half-hearted chuckle, the defeat in his voice sounding like it was healing, but still there, “We’ll have to struggle on. They wanted results faster-“

“Faster!?” Donnelley fumed, balling the fist again and desperately searching for something to break, and desperately hoping he didn’t find anything, “Do those armchair investigators even fuckin’ know-“

“I know, Donnelley, I get it-“

“The fuck-“ Donnelley cut himself off, realizing he’d been shouting, then decided to take the conversation to one of the vehicles. He still had the keys to the Suburban from the breakfast run and he began a fast, angry pace to the driver side door, “The fuck you do.”

“You think I don’t?” Foster shot back, “You think I didn’t fucking mourn all of you back when I thought you’d died with Peake and Guzman in Chechnya?”

Donnelley heard Foster’s breath crackle in the phone’s earpiece, “I’m sorry-“

“You’d fucking better be! They were my friends, too, Donnelley. People that I’d known longer than some fucking functioning alcoholic Green Beret working through a fucking divorce.” Foster’s breath came on heavy until he spoke again, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Donnelley rolled his jaw, eyes on the steering wheel, “I already lost two good people on this Op. We don’t want to lose any more, we need to go dark, set up dummy houses, everythin’.”

“I know we do. But The Office doesn’t see it that way. Allocating safehouses over to the Program from the Agency isn’t easy.” Foster sighed, the image of him shrugging along with that was vivid in Donnelley’s mind, “That first one was a privilege. The second one was a fucking favor. And after getting contacted by a GRU Officer? Counterintel already called me, they want all of you in front of a recorder in Langley.”

“Okay. When and where?” Donnelley said, expecting that already.

“No ‘fuck off, fuck you’ punk rock bullshit from Donnelley?” Foster said, not expecting that ever.

“I don’t have time for that shit. There’s girls gettin’ skinned, my team’s frayed. Maybe a little stay-cation at The Office’ll be good for them.” Donnelley shrugged.

“Twenty-fifth.” Foster said, “Maybe we can ask those pricks in Logistics for those resources in-person. They’ll think twice when they see Ghost.”

---

Another denial, another argument, another reminder about what he was- and still was, in some regards. Another cigarette. Donnelley flicked the butt of his cigarette into the parking lot and turned for the door, making his way inside the hallways and finding the rooms his team was in. He knocked on the women’s bunks, hoping Laine was still inside, waiting for her to open the door.

She was making a list of things to buy and locations in Clarksburg, subterfuge was nothing she was trained for yet a disguise Laine could manage. The knock made her pause and she tucked her phone away, going to the door cautiously.

Through the peephole she saw only Donnelley so opened the door. Laine looked him over then let him in.

Donnelley stepped inside and looked for Avery, not seeing him. Part of him wanted to, to know how he was holding up. It would kill him if he found out Avery was on a fast track to a self-ventilated skull in a bathtub. He shook himself from the thought and put his eyes on Laine’s, “I’m goin’ to need the recordin’.” He said, “Listen to what he said. I want to ask him about Renko, didn’t get a chance to before… you know.”

She went to her laptop case and pulled out a thumb drive, the novelty one Pari had given to Ava a couple days earlier.

"I downloaded it, just in case that's a copy," Laine said, then met his gaze when he mentioned Renko.

"Well, ask him," she said, "He's been cooperative, so far. I'm not sure if it's my interrogation or the presence of Ghost. He seems very scared of him even if he's not asking any questions. It's effective at least."

Laine paused and continued, "Ava's information noted Jay's group thought Renko was a pain in the ass, Renko had the Russians tag him with their hound but he knew exactly how to handle it, he even seemed calm. He knew where we are or can find us when he wants. He's possibly an ally, I think. Or maybe it's wishful thinking."

Donnelley nodded for Laine to play the audio from her laptop. He pursed his lips at the mention of just who this Renko was. He wished he could’ve been there, seen him, talked to him. It wasn’t every day that Donnelley got to take part in the real spy games. Kidnapping confirmed ISIS and snapping photos of suspected ISIS in the hopes of confirming they were ISIS so that they could kidnap them got boring after a while.

“Enemy of my enemy,” he said, finally, “There’s a reason the Russians want him dead. I want to know why.”

Laine opened her laptop and booted it up, loading the recording. Her own voice sounded from the speakers as she introduced the people present, except Ghost, and the questions began:

Laine: Please understand, I'm here to help you but only if you help us. You're a liability for the Russians now and I think you know what that means, Jackson. Start from the beginning.

Jay: I started workin’ with the Mexicans. I don’t know which ones, but they paid good and let me use my own dudes for running guns and drugs. Then the Russians came, you know. I’m a businessman, so obviously I gotta go where the money is… and not end up like some of the Mexicans who didn’t get out when they could.

Laine: Elaborate please, on what Nikolai and his men have you doing.

Jay: Same thing, pretty much. You know, look dangerous, be dangerous. We buy and steal guns, smuggle them in and sell them to the Russians. We used to sell them to anybody, but the Russians are where we get the most money from. Then… they, uh… made us smuggle other things too.

…

Girls.

Laine: Girls like Maria Vasquez, kidnapped and trafficked. Who was she sold to?"

Jay: She wasn’t yet. The Russians take American girls and send them to Europe, they take European girls and send them here. Sometimes, though, they don’t make it out of Blackriver. It happens to people sometimes, you know, I’m sure Frank Wilkins blabbed about them two hikers up in them hills.

Some of the guys were born around Blackriver, the ones who work for me, and they know ‘bout this place. ‘Bout the MacOnies and the O’Dhoules. Some say the MacOnies do witchcraft, believe that Civil War shit about the MacOnies massacrin’ the O’Dhoule men, rapin’ their women and takin’ their children to give to...

...to somethin’ out in the woods. They say the MacOnies took the women and children and hid them in the mines, that’s why the Marshals didn’t find anythin’ back then. I usually tell ‘em to shut the fuck up, but when I saw what happened to Maria… I just do what they fuckin’ tell me, okay?

Laine: (silence) Did Maria go to a MacOnie? Did the Russians make an arrangement with them for more than guns?

Jay: (breathing becomes heavier)...Bad things happen to women out here sometimes. Real fuckin’ bad, scary, creepy shit happens in them hills. Shit that makes me not wanna go back, ever. Some say shit like this didn’t happen until the Russians came and Sheriff MacOnie went away. Until after Dulane blew up them people.

Laine: (inaudible murmur) 'The Sleeper has been awakened.' Has anyone ever mentioned that? I've seen up close what they did to Maria, tell me the details of what you know for certain. Where did the Sheriff go?

Jay: Nobody knows. The Russians came, the Sheriff left. Time was, the Sheriff was in the pocket of the Mexicans, same as his County Prosecutor brother. Now the Russians are here, he’s gone. Usually the Russians would sick the Hound on people and show the aftermath off, but… it’s like he just fuckin’ disappeared. What you said about my Mama, she’s safe?

Laine: No word, no rumor or anything about Sheriff MacOnie. A man of his position in that county doesn't just vanish. Did the Russians say anything about their dealing with the law in Blackriver? (Pause) Your mother is...(inaudible murmur).

Donnelley: Safe. Keep talkin’.

Jay: Uh… Okay… Well, yeah. The Sheriff, people say he’s on vacation. Easier to manage that way, or somethin’. Park Rangers are under our… their wing too. Those lost hikers turned up and I told the Rangers to keep it hid, then Maria happened and… you know what happened after that..

Donnelley: Got a lot of your buddies killed? Yeah, I remember.

Jay: (Silence) How long y’all keepin’ me like this?

Donnelley: Long as you’d like us to. Tell us the truth, we’ll turn you over to State PD, see what they want. Maybe we’ll let you visit your Ma. Never see us again, partner. ‘Less you want to.

Jay: (Silence) Okay. I’d like some water, somethin’ to eat. What else you wanna know?

(Whispering, unintelligible. Door opens and closes.)

Laine:Other than meth, what sort of drugs is your crew trafficking, anything prescription?

Jay: Anythin’ we can get. The Russians couldn’t take over the coke routes, but we make up for it in meth. Some of the lower guys steal ‘scripts, move ‘em out in Charleston and the other cities. You’d have to ask them though, I ain’t in charge of the little guys, I run the big routes through Blackriver.

Laine: Midazolam and Propofol. Ever hear any your boys moving that and where?

Jay: I don’t know… upon request, maybe.

(Door opens and closes, rustling of plastic bags.)

Donnelley: Food. Water. He been good?

Laine: He's fine. He said he doesn't know who might been sold Midazolam and Propofol or Maria. Unfortunately.

Jay: I don’t run the little guys, but I… I know who does.

Donnelley: And…

Jay: Big Clem. Clemence Jackson, Hubert O’Grady too. People call him Clovers.

Donnelley: (Silence) Huh. You’re bein’ very forthcomin’, friendo. I hope you’re tellin’ is the truth with all this play nice shit, because Laine ain’t always goin’ to be around…

I’ll check with Ava, see if she can get anything on Big Clem and Clovers. Maybe give him a break, have Ghost watch him while he eats and get Queen to relieve Ghost in an hour.

(Door opens and closes.)

Laine: What do you know about the girl? The girl they found with your mother. Said the Russians have her to you but why?

Jay: (Shuffles in seat) I dunno, man. They just gave her to me and I put the girl with my Ma. The other one, I dunno… I really don’t.

Laine: What instructions did they give you? You sure don't seem to know much for being the big boss. I think you're holding out on me. So again, what was the child for?

Jay: I ain’t in charge of the Russians, just my guys. I don’t know. They just gave them to me and… that’s it.

Donnelley listened to Laine’s closing remarks on the audio recording and looked to the woman herself, his face still stuck in a thoughtful frown, lips drawn thin and brow slightly furrowed. ”The other one?”

[Hr]

Dave leaned against the wall and knocked listlessly at the door to the women’s hotel room. Since the briefing he’d snagged a shower and changed clothes, but despite his exhaustion he couldn’t make himself sleep. His mind, sluggish as it was, kept trudging in circles around the events of the past two days.

He grumbled and knocked again, hefting his duffle bag in his left hand. He’d tucked his holstered pistol into his waistband and covered it with an old Hank Jr. T-shirt, but he knew that popgun wasn’t enough. He didn’t want to walk around with his gear out, so instead he’d stuck his AK and armor into his bag, so he could snatch them up in a hurry.

“Hey, you in there sugar?” He called, then paused. She was probably asleep; God knew she had to be tired, too. He hesitated, then backed up, turning to head back to the men’s room and let her doze.

The door clicked open and Ava poked her head out, her hair wrapped in a towel. “Oh, hey Dave.” She said, her lips splitting into a tired, but happy smile when she laid eyes on him. “Is everything okay?” She asked, her expression sobering with concern as she glanced up and down the hallway.

“Oh yeah, everythin’s fine,” Dave said. “Just figured if you was workin’ maybe you’d like some company. I can’t manage to sleep. I ain’t much of a computer guy, but I hear I’m fun at parties.” He gave her a sleepy grin and shrugged his shoulder. “Plus it ain’t good for any of us to be alone right now.”

“No kidding.” She said, her smile returning. “I’d love your company, come on in.” She opened the door wider and walked away. She stopped by the bed, setting down her small G26 on the nightstand and picking up Dave’s green flannel. “Um, here, you probably want this back.” She said, turning to face him with the shirt in her hands.

He shrugged and smiled, closing the door behind him.

“You can hang onto it, case it gets cold,” he said as he threw the bolt. “I got a hundred of them things.”

“You sure?” She asked.

“Yeah, you’re good.” He put a brief hand on her shoulder as he passed by and dropped his bag on the bed nearest the door. He joined it a moment later, sitting down with a groan and a pop from either knee. “You got any sleep yet?”

“Just some power naps here and there.” Ava answered, tossing the flannel over the back of a chair. “I have to get working on the CPS stuff so I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep for awhile.” She explained, reaching up to unwind the towel and letting her wet strands of hair fall down around her shoulders. “What about you Dave?” She asked, her expression turning concerned. “Have you gotten any sleep?”

“Nah, but I’m good,” He shrugged. “I figure I can’t need to sleep that bad or I woulda by now, right?”

“Well,” Ava frowned, draping the towel around her shoulders to dry portions of her hair, partially obscuring her shirt of two happy avocados surrounded by the words ‘let’s avo-cuddle’. “There gets a certain point where you’re up for too long and things get...weird. That’s why I’ve been forcing myself to nap.” She let the towel fall and looked Dave over worriedly. “You should try to sleep Dave, I know it’s...hard, after everything, but you should.”

“I know.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it’ll happen sooner or later. No sense tryin’ to force it, though. Tried that, and just laid there for 20 minutes starin’ at the wall.” He fought down a yawn despite his words.

“So uh...This CPS stuff. What’s the plan with all that?” Dave made a vague gesture towards her laptop.

“See if they’ve sent CPS agents to the hospital where the girl is.” Ava answered with a shrug, removing the towel and walking off to the bathroom to hang it up to dry. “If they haven’t, maybe find a way to get ahold of official paperwork so you and Laine can pose as CPS agents.”

Dave’s eyes were immediately drawn lower, and he watched with great interest as she walked to the bathroom in her grey yoga pants. “Right, that makes sense,” he said. “Kinda add to the disguise. Like with the badges.”

Ava re entered the room, placing her hands on her hips as she looked at him with a sigh and a smile. “Well, make yourself comfortable. I probably won’t be good for conversation, but the TV has some good channels so you can find something to watch.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, have you seen Blue Planet? I think the BBC Channel just has that on loop.” She said, picking up the remote and turning on the television mounted on the wall before tossing it over to him.

Dave kicked back on the bed and began listlessly flipping channels, occasionally looking over at Ava as she worked on whatever tech-sorcery she was performing.

"So uh… How you holdin' up, sugar?"

Ava pressed her lips together and she took in a deep breath. “I’m...as okay as I could be.” She answered, her eyes fixated on her computer. “Just, processing still and figuring out what it all might mean.”

"Yeah, I feel ya," he watched her as they spoke, feeling the tension in her words. "That part of why you ain't sleepin'?"

“...Part of it.” She answered, her voice growing quiet. She cleared her throat and glanced over at him. “What about you? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Who, me? I don’t sleep, I’m a redneck war machine.” He gave her a crooked grin, then sighed. “That an’ I’m worried if I do, then the next time I wake up it’ll be face to face with that…Hound or whatever it is.”

Ava faced him fully, her brows furrowing as she felt her heart go out to him. He had pulled her away from the jaws of that monster when she had been too disoriented from her visions to do anything. He had been there for her when she was emotionally raw from the experience. He had done so much to help her, it pained her to see him likewise struggling.

She offered him a smile. “Well, I have work to do and I won’t be going anywhere and clearly, I get advanced notice when that thing comes around.” She motioned to him. “You can try and sleep here if you want? Think of me as your...paranormal early alert system.”

He chuckled, his gaze lighting briefly on the scratch marks still visible around her eyes. “Yeah, we’ll give that a shot,” he said. “Just wake me up if somethin’ happens. Or if you just wanna talk, or...Whatever.”

“Alright,” She nodded and picked up her cat plushie next to her to throw at him. “Now, go to sleep Mountain Man.”

Dave caught the plushie and grinned, tucking it under his arm. “Wake me in a few hours, I don’t need to be out all day,” he said through a yawn.

“I will wake you if anything requires your attention.” She promised him, waving her hand at him. “Sleep well Dave.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>DAYS INN
>CLARKSBURG, WEST VIRGINIA
>JUL.21.2019
>0600...///

Another smoke cloud wafted by on the wind outside the Days Inn. The sky was not tinged with the pillars of black smoke, nor was there the thunder that the mines brought. Too close to civilization for that violence, miles between the dirty faces and black lung coal, and here. And even those long, tree-screened and green miles were not enough to put Donnelley at ease. And so he smoked, dropping a smoldering butt next to a couple others and grinding it down into the cement with a dirty heel of a shoed foot.

He heard the sound of the doors opening, but didn’t look to see who it was. The last few times he did, it was just tourists ready to get back on the road after a good night’s sleep.

It was Jason emerging from their room, eyes squinted to slits as he adjusted to the light. The glare teased a bright and sunny morning, and he hoped the wind brought an overcast to better fit this shit hole town. He took heavy steps joining Donnelley, taking a drag of a narrow e-cigarette and blowing a plume of soothing cannabis smoke out his nostrils. A hang over from a night of drugs lingered mostly in his head, a deep, dull ache he could only describe as head nausea.

He came up on Donnelley’s right, studying him, wondering when he ever slept. An elderly couple left their room across the parking lot, the opening and closing doors pulling Jason’s attention. The wife had a purple tinge to her silver hair, a style Jason was convinced compensated for a slow emergence of colorblindness from age. The husband looked like one of those winnebago types, striped polo shirt tucked into shorts, long socks and a ghillie hat over liver spotted scalp. The two of them a blissful, slow lurching from their narrow world to their last days. Jason imagined they thought travel could best fill that nagging dread, that any experience no matter how trivial could compensate for the growing realization they had wasted their lives. He stood there silently watching them slowly pack their car, not realizing the moment was stretching uncomfortably long.

“That girl,” he said, voice slightly raspy, “I want to check up on her, maybe get Laine to talk to her. Hold off a few days, you know?”

If they went to her now they would likely run into police, but after the initial reports and no one coming to claim her they wouldn’t be around. That is, if no one claimed her. Still, it was better to wait and let the potential intel slip away than raise any additional unwanted attention. Besides, she was a little girl and hadn’t said a thing to Jason. Except she had. One nagging phrase, the mere thought of it grabbing hold of his hangover and smearing it all over. His head began to throb.

Jason took a quick hit and offered the e-cigarette to Donnelley. “You alright?” he asked.

Donnelley was quiet for longer than he liked, mulling the question over. To anyone else, it would’ve been a simple matter, just a muttered ‘Yeah’ and a fake smile. But to Jason, to his team, that question carried weight. It mattered. Alright and not-alright in this job was less beaming versus moping and more mission-ready versus fingering the special bullet kept in your pack for that day that always comes.

But he wasn’t there yet. Fuck that, “Yeah, I’m good.” He said, looking at the vaporizer and then up Jason’s hand and arm to the man himself, “This shit is gettin’ weird, man.”

Donnelley waved off the vape and continued his vigilant stare off into the galaxy of his mind, meteors of doubt, looming planets of suspicion. “Ava had visions of that thing the others saw last night.” He cut himself off before he spilled any more than he had to without checking for people who could be listening for secrets. The Russians were everywhere, he had to assume. “Let’s talk in the car. I wanted to get everyone breakfast or somethin’.”

Jason wore cold worry on his face, watching Donnelley with sudden focus. He pocketed the e-cigarette and moved towards their SUV’s passenger side, giving one glance over his shoulder to their rooms. Visions. He could hardly discount them given the circumstances. Isn’t that what this all is, weird shit. What was weird was that he welcomed it. Anything, any glimpse to make sense of this small black hole they were all falling into, a hole borrowed into the earth, a hole with no bottom. And when Donnelley said what the other’s saw last night what exactly was that? Answers. Jason needed answers. He sat in the passenger seat and deflated into its padding with a sigh. Answers. It would keep him going, keep him focused.

As they pulled out he tapped the radio and found whatever fm station came first, the fiery sermon of a southern pastor ringing with righteous fervor. It reminded Jason of the deep south baptists he was happy to never predominately run into as a kid. They weren’t your charismatic Joel Osteens with their sharp tooth smiles.They wanted to scare and bully the faith into you. He turned it up to a distracting volume, one they’d have to talk over.

“What about Ava?” Jason asked.

-ain’t healed. You ain’t whole. Tell me, folks, when you go shopping at da grocery store do you see happy people? Do you see God glowin’ in them?

Donnelley pursed his lips at the choice of noise that Jason had chosen. He looked at the man and shook his head at the whole situation, “Ava had visions of what the Russian mob is callin’ the Hound. I’ve seen it before, workin’ with my old Group. What’s even more fucked is that she says it ain’t the first time she had visions.” Donnelley said, “She had them while she was contractin’ for the Agency. Said Foster picked her up and gave her a spot in the Program, but that was long before we met her.”

“I need to know what Foster said, who he told about her, and what Laine told Foster about what happened to them last night.” He frowned, a growl lost in the volume of whoever preacher man this was, “I get it, we like secrets and shit, bein’ all spooky. I don’t like it when I don’t know the secrets.”

“We need that girl too. Ava’s Intel said that the Russians gave her to Jay, along with some other children.” Donnelley said, “Maybe she knows where the rest are, or knows someone who does. She can verify if Jay feeds us bullshit.”

“We’d be lucky to get anything out of her,” Jason said. He was rubbing his palm against the gruff of his cheek, the rasping sound of stumble against skin buried in sermon. “The way she acted…”

Jason shook his head.

-be quelled. Psalms chapter nine, verse seventeen. ‘The wicked go down to the realm of the dead.’ and let me tell you, folks, that realm is real. It’s been coming up every day, little by -

“...iunno. Damaged. Near feral. When I looked her in the eyes it was like I wasn’t even seeing a person. We’d be lucky if she could remember her name.”

He nodded slowly, thinking as his eyes stared at the dashboard. He didn’t want to look outside, not with the sermon coming in over the surroundings of sagging, sad appalachian suburbia. “So we better get the girl as soon as we can,” he said. It didn’t matter if they’d draw attention. It was either them or the Russians, and he didn’t want to think about what they might do to a six year old loose end. “Problem is we don’t have a safehouse, do we? We can’t lay down in a fucking hotel for more than today, really.”

“We need to move like yesterday.” Donnelley nodded, almost mimicking Jason, scratching at his beard as he took full inventory of all the different mental boxes he shoved all his stress into, “Especially because we have that asshole sleepin’ in a bathtub in our room. Only a matter of time until some cleanin’ lady comes in and thinks we’re keepin’ him to fuck or somethin’.”

He snorted, a little bit of humor to lift his morning spirits. It was a weak flame though, as he looked out the windshield at the hotel and thought of poor Ava. That wind made it gutter. “Dave and Laine can do it. Pose as a couple and claim the girl if she ain’t been got already.” Donnelley sighed, rubbing at his tremoring, hungry stomach, “Let’s get breakfast and everyone briefed on the plans. After that, we’ll move and maybe I’ll put a call in for a place to lay our heads.”

Breakfast would be good, Jason thought. It hadn’t occurred to him until now how hungry he was, or at least his body was telling him he was hungry. Amphetamines diminished his appetite for days on end, and the coke would only make it worse. He’d have to force himself to eat for the next few days.

“Do we-,” he began to say, then paused. Baughman’s wife flashed in his mind. Her dead flesh wrapped around Heather. It undeniably proved some sort of background world. And then the books agent Baughman had been keeping. The Hound. The Three. Jason had no idea what the intrusion was, but it came in clear and demanding. The Three? He shook it off.

-you stagger. The shadows of the devil will reach out for you, yes they will. And you’ll be swallowed by sin and you won’t even know it. But the lord is waiting. He’s the ligh-

“Baughman,” he said, “the things he was reading about, whatever the Russians use or have or know about. Do we use it?”

He wouldn’t dare call it magic. Occultism? Was there anything to do or use that wasn’t blowing away whatever the hell came crawling? If there was, he wanted to know it. He wanted to stop firing in the dark.

Donnelley shook his head with a fervor, as if even uttering about its existence would bring back that Hound. “No.” he said through frowning lips as the SUV began its slow roll through the parking lot. Once he got to the edge of it, he stopped to let a family mosey by on the sidewalk, all smiles and ignorant happiness. Two men not ten feet away were talking about very real witchcraft and all they were thinking about was where the closest ice cream shop was. It’s what he fought for, Donnelley guessed, “The Program- we- search for and destroy that shit.”

The SUV lurched forward and he turned into their lane, following traffic towards wherever breakfast would be. “I’ve seen what it does.” He muttered, flashes of memory, the smell of blood and the curdled howling gurgling up from a beastly throat in the bowels of a Russian cathedral somewhere in Chechnya, “Nothin’ good.”

He slowly brought the SUV to a stop at a four-way and checked his mirrors. He set to looking side to side and scanning the streets as he spoke of the first thing that wasn’t about the sinking ship they were trying to bale out in West Virginia, “What’re you feelin’ for breakfast, man?”

“A foul mouthed girl with loose morals,” Jason said in a deadpan tone. He started scanning the roadside for some food. Everything seemed to be sit in diners or fast food chains that weren’t open. It didn’t really matter what he ate. But it was true what he said, he needed a little physical comfort. He wanted to leave someone sweaty and sore.

“Fuck man, I don’t know,” he added. “Something hearty. Maybe fried. So this Hound, what the fuck was it exactly?”

“Just,” Donnelley sighed and shrugged, no other word was as campfire spooky- or apt, “evil. Not the kind that blows up buildings for religion, but… like Satan.”

He breathed a chuckle, glancing at Jason before the SUV moved again and off they went, “Like the devil. I was told it could hunt you anywhere you go, appear anywhere, and it wouldn’t stop until it got you.” He remembered blowing Carlisle’s brains all over the inside of the ship, “Or somethin’ got you first.”

“Fried,” Donnelley nodded, “Some of that southern fried steak. Or some biscuits and gravy. Shit on a shingle.”

“I could get down with all of that,” Jason said. Satanic evil. No, he thought, a true evil, not the christian boogey man evil. The only evil Jason saw was the root of it all. A whole world of people preying on each other. He thought of Ghazni. Operators turning on each other, firing on anything in sight. It wasn’t so much evil as it was chaos. Pandemonium. But it was there, the type of Donnelley was talking about now. Why was this force only for the wrong side’s use? Donnelley had to be wrong, there had to be some equivalent that didn’t drive you mad or twist you into something hollow.

“Maybe we need to change our SOPs,” Jason said. “We’ve been compromised twice. I call that a real fuck up waiting to happen.” Jason sighed. He felt an urge again, a quick, warm pulse centered on his groin. He need some release. “You ever rotated your bed down location? Hop safehouses every few days. We had an op along the Syrian coast after Assad pulled in the Russian mercenaries. They’d gun us down if they could, assaulted us a few times. So we started rotating our base every few days, keep them guessing.”

Jason saw a restaurant sign growing in the distance, a local diner advertising pick up orders. The preacher began another fire and brimstone tirade and he turned it off, sick of his verbal venom. He tapped Donnelley’s right shoulder and pointed to the sign. “There’s a place,” he said.

“We could go dark,” Jason added after a moment. “Keep contact with only one handler, centralize everything. Leave false safehouses, small traps.”

“Had to do that in Chechnya.” Donnelley left off the part where it didn’t work because of his fuck up in the mountainous roads to the target. Even so, Jason had a point, and it only made him frustrated with himself that he’d never thought of it until now. Too complacent, and in his and Jason’s line of work, complacency was death. “As far as going dark,” he shook his head, “Somebody back at the Office is going to want to know how and why a fuckin’ GRU Officer found our Workin’ Group and made contact.”

Made contact was putting it lightly. He had two agents suffering from severe stress and mental fatigue now, and two compromised safehouses. As a Team Lead for the first time, he was making a great case for his continued leadership. He turned the SUV into the parking lot of the tiny diner, slapping the big vehicle in park and shutting off the engine. “Counterintel is going to be pullin’ their fuckin’ hair out and rearin’ to fuck the first thing they can get their hands on for us makin’ them do their job. Tighten the leash and make it a noose if they have to.” He sucked his teeth and shoved his door open, his mood only darkening to a shade of black at the prospect of a windowless room and a recorder across from some double-chinned, balding suit, “Burn that bridge when we get to it.”

Jason followed, giving the surrounding tree choked hills a panning observation. How the hell could anyone be content for their entire lives here, he wondered. A nice place to pass through, sure, but in the little time was here it became an oppressive surrounding. He once hooked up with a woman outside Oakland that hiked the big routes across the country. Pacific coastline down to central America. Through the Appalachian trail. She could have come through here, but he couldn’t manage her staying for long. These people here only saw their reality from the boundary of the mountains. Might as well be on another fucking planet. The restaurant’s grimy glass paneled door opened with a jingling bell as Donnelley entered, and Jason was two steps behind him.

---

>DAYS INN
>0720...///

This was starting to become a routine, a recurring theme. Sleepy eyes all on him as they all waited on his word of what the day would hold for them. He waited for them all to settle, eyeing each of his team, and Avery. He may as well be part of their Working Group now, the young PsyOps Specialist seeing more than most ever would in the tiny span of a single night. A baptism of fire, and looking over at Ava, that fire still burned in the minds of all of them. Just some felt more of the heat. “Alright.” Donnelley finally said, “Here’s the situation. You know me by now, I don’t sugarcoat this shit. We got two safehouses that have been compromised, two team members KIA up in beautiful Appalachia, and we still don’t know who, how, or why Maria Vasquez was killed and skinned.”

“To continue our operation here in West Virginia, we’re going to have to make some changes. We can’t stay here today, and wherever we move to, we can’t stay there for long neither.” He put his hands on his hips, still dressed in the blue fitted jeans and Cro-Mags band tee that clashed with his voice of authority. “Furthermore, we have a source of potential intel floating around in the outside world. Last night, THUNDER and I found a child. Ava’s Intel posited that this child was given over to Jay and his AB by the Russians.”

“They may be sensitive to our work here and I don’t want the Russians to get to them before we do. The child’s last known is a hospital in Benwood,” Donnelley folded his arms, “Dave, Laine, I want you two to claim the child. I don’t care how, but we need her in our custody.”

“I’ll put in a call to Foster and see if he can’t leverage some assistance. Set up some safehouses we can use, as well as some dummies.” He said, “Expect Foster to contact us to follow up on our Russian friend as well. We may be recalled to Langley.”

“When the time comes, be truthful.” Donnelley sighed, “It’ll be done and over with quicker that way. We can get back to work faster too.”

“Questions?” He asked, eyebrow quirking, “Suggestions?”

Ava shook her head, the scratches nearly faded from her face, but the bags beneath her eyes seemed a little darker. She had forced herself to get some sleep, snagging short hour long naps whenever the exhaustion got to be too much. She didn’t dare sleep much longer, always setting an hour long timer when she dozed off. She was afraid of the nightmares that would come or the possibility of more visions she didn’t understand plaguing her sleep.

What terrified her the most was going to sleep in bed or on the couch and suddenly waking up, on her feet and in another place. She hoped that if she did have a sleepwalking episode, someone would be able to stop her, but a little nagging voice in the back of her mind asked; what if they didn’t?

Ava glanced up at Dave, sitting beside her on the small couch before her eyes shifted back over to Donnelley. She shook her head at the nagging little thought, pushing her glasses up to rub at her eyes. She needed to find a solution to her current bought of insomnia, it was starting to make her paranoid.

Ghost's rough voice spoke up first, from the back of the room. He wore his vest and rifle, and had noted with approval that the redneck Dave was too.

"Jay," he growled. "You want me to liquidate that asset, or are we still using him?"

Laine sat on the corner of one of the beds, a cup of coffee in hand. She listened intent and at the mention of the child looked up sharply at Donnelley. Her mind raced at his suggestion that Dave and she try to pick up a traumatized child from a hospital. As she considered a plan Ghost's voice cut through her thoughts.

She looked at him, frowning slightly, "I don't think you need to do that. Isn't he on probation, he could go back to prison?"

"Didn't we kidnap and torture him without a warrant?" Ghost shrugged, seemingly bored by the whole ordeal. "He's racist trash with a history of violence and ties to outlaw bikers, street crews, and organized crime. Nobody will blink if he winds up in a ditch with two in his face."

Laine sighed, "You have me there."

She shifted on the bed, hiding her expression behind the styrofoam cup as she drained the lukewarm coffee. After a moment she said, "About the girl, I think we'd have to go in as child protective services. They wouldn't just release a child suffering trauma, not even to the parents if they followed protocol. The police might even already be involved."

Laine turned to face Ava, noting the strain on her pale features. "Maybe you can get us some official looking paperwork."

“I probably can.” She answered, lowering her glasses back over her eyes. “I’ll look into it and see what I can do.” She frowned as she thought the situation over. “What if there are CPS agents already on the scene?”

Laine pressed her lips together, "I'd thought about that. I should just call the hospital and ask. Inquire about the girl's status and go from there."

She took out her phone to look up the hospital number as the others talked.

“Speakin’ of Jay, I’m goin’ to want to get the audio you had of him last night.” Donnelley said to Laine, “Whatever info he gave you, Queen and Ava can try to verify it through any of their sources.”

“I want a bead on those associates of Jay too. Either look them up or ask Jay about them. After we get set up with some houses, we’ll move Jay there and move on his fuck-up friends.” Donnelley uncrossed his arms, “I’m goin’ to go bother Foster unless anybody else has anythin’.”

Dave raised his hand. He'd been perched beside Ava, listening as best he could through his fatigue fog. He hadn't slept; the clothes he was wearing were the same things he'd had on when the Hound came for them, right down to the plate carrier.

"I uh… I know we're s'posed to get this kid, and bring her wherever we're goin', but...What if she needs... medical?" He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand wearily over his short-cropped beard. "What I mean is...Fuck, I dunno. How are we supposed to take care of a kid? We gonna send her somewhere, or keep her with us?"

Laine glanced up at Dave, then rubbed her eyes. "I can try talking to her but she will need to go to someone who specializes in children. Otherwise we watch out for her until that can be settled. I'm calling the hospital now. But I agree, it's a dangerous proposition but it's probably worse to leave her where the Russians can snatch her back."

She stepped aside to use the phone, going into the bathroom but left the door open.

“If she needs medical, then we have Jason for simple things. If she needs a team of doctors and psychologists, then,” She probably might, Donnelley thought, but only shrugged, “She’s been closer to the Russians than any of us have ever been. Unless they kept her in a cage outside, she might know something. She might be able to give us something so another girl isn’t put where she was.”

“I hate to say it,” Donnelley clucked his tongue, “Unless you got Nikolai Gorochev and his daughter on speed dial, Jay and this girl are the best we got.”

He pursed his lips, head inclining towards Dave and Ava, “Unless what Renko said about the MacOnie in Charleston holds up.” Donnelley looked between the two, “He didn’t leave his business card or anything, did he?”

Ava shook her head, leaning her head against her fist. “No, he said not to worry about talking to him, he will know where to find us.” She scowled. “If he’s somewhere close by watching us, I’m going to find that fucker.”

“If none of us clocked him before he wanted us to know he was there, something makes me think we aren’t anytime soon.” Donnelley sighed, though the look on Ava’s face that seemed so alien a mood to attribute to her made him continue, “You should try though. I don’t like being watched.”

Donnelley nodded to Dave, “You see him, you call it in. I’m not goin’ to wait on his ass to talk to me.”

Laine returned to the room, her own dark mood expressed in a down turning of her mouth. "The hospital wouldn't give anything up. They're actually doing their job protecting her privacy unfortunately for us."

She tucked her phone into her pocket, then turned her attention to Ava and Dave, "We need to get into that hospital. I think impersonation of a social worker might be our best shot. If you could dip into child protective services and find an ID template or custody paperwork of some kind. Or even if they have a record of the girl yet. I'm not sure about this spy stuff, but it's a start. I'm open to other suggestions."

“We need to maintain low-visibility. Goin’ in with CPS as your cover would be our best bet, but if we’re goin’ to do it, it needs to get done soon.” Donnelley said.

"I think I'll need to maybe change my appearance," Laine said, then blushed slightly, then added in a defensive tone, "Maybe just a different look, a wig...like spies do."

A hint of a smile touched her lips as she glanced at Donnelley, recalling his ginger hair dyed black. "Dave needs a nap and I'll pick him up some clothes a state plainclothes officer might wear. Ava, if you're able to get that information, it would really help."

“I’ll get on it.” Ava nodded, pushing herself up from the couch. “Anything else?” She asked, looking between Donnelley and Laine.

Donnelley shook his head, almost halfway out the door already with phone in-hand, “Not from me.”

---

This was always the part Donnelley hated. Come crawling back to Foster so he could ask his Handler for help, a beggar asking for handouts. Especially after the on-again-off-again head butting he did with Foster all the time. It seemed the two men were alike enough to get along, but also different enough to be at each other’s throats quite a bit. He hoped Foster would be able to set aside the differences. Donnelley knew that sometimes he himself wasn’t.

But the fact he was holding his phone in front of himself, paralyzed with the possibility of being left to the wolves, he felt about ready to kiss as much ass as he needed to. His thumb hung over the call button on his burner, right over Foster’s contact. Finally, he pressed it, and the dial-tone began. It didn’t last long, to Foster’s credit, “Donnelley?”

“Who else?” Donnelley answered, “Listen, I need you to do something.”

“What is it?” Foster asked, his tone sounding genuine enough.

“We need a new safehouse. Jason and I were talkin’, and I think we really should do what we did back in…” Donnelley paused, biting back the name of that fucking place. He knew that it would bring back memories not only for him, but Foster as well, “You know. That place.”

“Chechnya.” Foster said, sounding not the least bit perturbed by that cursed word, “I’ve thought about it too. It sounds really smart. Ingenious.”

The way Foster said it made Donnelley frown, “But…”

“I asked the Gods, Donnelley,” Foster sighed, “You can guess what my prayers were answered with.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Donnelley un-balled a fist he didn’t realize he’d even made, took a long breath and blew it all out, “Of course. I understand.”

“I’m sorry, Donnelley.” Foster breathed, now sounding at least like he felt something about it, “With the way this case has turned out so far, we’re lucky they haven’t left us in the cold. I did my thing, you know.”

“Kneepads and sore jaw?” Donnelley attempted a smile to go along with the joke, but was unable. Shit fucking luck.

“Yeah,” Foster have a half-hearted chuckle, the defeat in his voice sounding like it was healing, but still there, “We’ll have to struggle on. They wanted results faster-“

“Faster!?” Donnelley fumed, balling the fist again and desperately searching for something to break, and desperately hoping he didn’t find anything, “Do those armchair investigators even fuckin’ know-“

“I know, Donnelley, I get it-“

“The fuck-“ Donnelley cut himself off, realizing he’d been shouting, then decided to take the conversation to one of the vehicles. He still had the keys to the Suburban from the breakfast run and he began a fast, angry pace to the driver side door, “The fuck you do.”

“You think I don’t?” Foster shot back, “You think I didn’t fucking mourn all of you back when I thought you’d died with Peake and Guzman in Chechnya?”

Donnelley heard Foster’s breath crackle in the phone’s earpiece, “I’m sorry-“

“You’d fucking better be! They were my friends, too, Donnelley. People that I’d known longer than some fucking functioning alcoholic Green Beret working through a fucking divorce.” Foster’s breath came on heavy until he spoke again, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Donnelley rolled his jaw, eyes on the steering wheel, “I already lost two good people on this Op. We don’t want to lose any more, we need to go dark, set up dummy houses, everythin’.”

“I know we do. But The Office doesn’t see it that way. Allocating safehouses over to the Program from the Agency isn’t easy.” Foster sighed, the image of him shrugging along with that was vivid in Donnelley’s mind, “That first one was a privilege. The second one was a fucking favor. And after getting contacted by a GRU Officer? Counterintel already called me, they want all of you in front of a recorder in Langley.”

“Okay. When and where?” Donnelley said, expecting that already.

“No ‘fuck off, fuck you’ punk rock bullshit from Donnelley?” Foster said, not expecting that ever.

“I don’t have time for that shit. There’s girls gettin’ skinned, my team’s frayed. Maybe a little stay-cation at The Office’ll be good for them.” Donnelley shrugged.

“Twenty-fifth.” Foster said, “Maybe we can ask those pricks in Logistics for those resources in-person. They’ll think twice when they see Ghost.”

---

Another denial, another argument, another reminder about what he was- and still was, in some regards. Another cigarette. Donnelley flicked the butt of his cigarette into the parking lot and turned for the door, making his way inside the hallways and finding the rooms his team was in. He knocked on the women’s bunks, hoping Laine was still inside, waiting for her to open the door.

She was making a list of things to buy and locations in Clarksburg, subterfuge was nothing she was trained for yet a disguise Laine could manage. The knock made her pause and she tucked her phone away, going to the door cautiously.

Through the peephole she saw only Donnelley so opened the door. Laine looked him over then let him in.

Donnelley stepped inside and looked for Avery, not seeing him. Part of him wanted to, to know how he was holding up. It would kill him if he found out Avery was on a fast track to a self-ventilated skull in a bathtub. He shook himself from the thought and put his eyes on Laine’s, “I’m goin’ to need the recordin’.” He said, “Listen to what he said. I want to ask him about Renko, didn’t get a chance to before… you know.”

She went to her laptop case and pulled out a thumb drive, the novelty one Pari had given to Ava a couple days earlier.

"I downloaded it, just in case that's a copy," Laine said, then met his gaze when he mentioned Renko.

"Well, ask him," she said, "He's been cooperative, so far. I'm not sure if it's my interrogation or the presence of Ghost. He seems very scared of him even if he's not asking any questions. It's effective at least."

Laine paused and continued, "Ava's information noted Jay's group thought Renko was a pain in the ass, Renko had the Russians tag him with their hound but he knew exactly how to handle it, he even seemed calm. He knew where we are or can find us when he wants. He's possibly an ally, I think. Or maybe it's wishful thinking."

Donnelley nodded for Laine to play the audio from her laptop. He pursed his lips at the mention of just who this Renko was. He wished he could’ve been there, seen him, talked to him. It wasn’t every day that Donnelley got to take part in the real spy games. Kidnapping confirmed ISIS and snapping photos of suspected ISIS in the hopes of confirming they were ISIS so that they could kidnap them got boring after a while.

“Enemy of my enemy,” he said, finally, “There’s a reason the Russians want him dead. I want to know why.”

Laine opened her laptop and booted it up, loading the recording. Her own voice sounded from the speakers as she introduced the people present, except Ghost, and the questions began:

Laine: Please understand, I'm here to help you but only if you help us. You're a liability for the Russians now and I think you know what that means, Jackson. Start from the beginning.

Jay: I started workin’ with the Mexicans. I don’t know which ones, but they paid good and let me use my own dudes for running guns and drugs. Then the Russians came, you know. I’m a businessman, so obviously I gotta go where the money is… and not end up like some of the Mexicans who didn’t get out when they could.

Laine: Elaborate please, on what Nikolai and his men have you doing.

Jay: Same thing, pretty much. You know, look dangerous, be dangerous. We buy and steal guns, smuggle them in and sell them to the Russians. We used to sell them to anybody, but the Russians are where we get the most money from. Then… they, uh… made us smuggle other things too.

…

Girls.

Laine: Girls like Maria Vasquez, kidnapped and trafficked. Who was she sold to?"

Jay: She wasn’t yet. The Russians take American girls and send them to Europe, they take European girls and send them here. Sometimes, though, they don’t make it out of Blackriver. It happens to people sometimes, you know, I’m sure Frank Wilkins blabbed about them two hikers up in them hills.

Some of the guys were born around Blackriver, the ones who work for me, and they know ‘bout this place. ‘Bout the MacOnies and the O’Dhoules. Some say the MacOnies do witchcraft, believe that Civil War shit about the MacOnies massacrin’ the O’Dhoule men, rapin’ their women and takin’ their children to give to...

...to somethin’ out in the woods. They say the MacOnies took the women and children and hid them in the mines, that’s why the Marshals didn’t find anythin’ back then. I usually tell ‘em to shut the fuck up, but when I saw what happened to Maria… I just do what they fuckin’ tell me, okay?

Laine: (silence) Did Maria go to a MacOnie? Did the Russians make an arrangement with them for more than guns?

Jay: (breathing becomes heavier)...Bad things happen to women out here sometimes. Real fuckin’ bad, scary, creepy shit happens in them hills. Shit that makes me not wanna go back, ever. Some say shit like this didn’t happen until the Russians came and Sheriff MacOnie went away. Until after Dulane blew up them people.

Laine: (inaudible murmur) 'The Sleeper has been awakened.' Has anyone ever mentioned that? I've seen up close what they did to Maria, tell me the details of what you know for certain. Where did the Sheriff go?

Jay: Nobody knows. The Russians came, the Sheriff left. Time was, the Sheriff was in the pocket of the Mexicans, same as his County Prosecutor brother. Now the Russians are here, he’s gone. Usually the Russians would sick the Hound on people and show the aftermath off, but… it’s like he just fuckin’ disappeared. What you said about my Mama, she’s safe?

Laine: No word, no rumor or anything about Sheriff MacOnie. A man of his position in that county doesn't just vanish. Did the Russians say anything about their dealing with the law in Blackriver? (Pause) Your mother is...(inaudible murmur).

Donnelley: Safe. Keep talkin’.

Jay: Uh… Okay… Well, yeah. The Sheriff, people say he’s on vacation. Easier to manage that way, or somethin’. Park Rangers are under our… their wing too. Those lost hikers turned up and I told the Rangers to keep it hid, then Maria happened and… you know what happened after that..

Donnelley: Got a lot of your buddies killed? Yeah, I remember.

Jay: (Silence) How long y’all keepin’ me like this?

Donnelley: Long as you’d like us to. Tell us the truth, we’ll turn you over to State PD, see what they want. Maybe we’ll let you visit your Ma. Never see us again, partner. ‘Less you want to.

Jay: (Silence) Okay. I’d like some water, somethin’ to eat. What else you wanna know?

(Whispering, unintelligible. Door opens and closes.)

Laine:Other than meth, what sort of drugs is your crew trafficking, anything prescription?

Jay: Anythin’ we can get. The Russians couldn’t take over the coke routes, but we make up for it in meth. Some of the lower guys steal ‘scripts, move ‘em out in Charleston and the other cities. You’d have to ask them though, I ain’t in charge of the little guys, I run the big routes through Blackriver.

Laine: Midazolam and Propofol. Ever hear any your boys moving that and where?

Jay: I don’t know… upon request, maybe.

(Door opens and closes, rustling of plastic bags.)

Donnelley: Food. Water. He been good?

Laine: He's fine. He said he doesn't know who might been sold Midazolam and Propofol or Maria. Unfortunately.

Jay: I don’t run the little guys, but I… I know who does.

Donnelley: And…

Jay: Big Clem. Clemence Jackson, Hubert O’Grady too. People call him Clovers.

Donnelley: (Silence) Huh. You’re bein’ very forthcomin’, friendo. I hope you’re tellin’ is the truth with all this play nice shit, because Laine ain’t always goin’ to be around…

I’ll check with Ava, see if she can get anything on Big Clem and Clovers. Maybe give him a break, have Ghost watch him while he eats and get Queen to relieve Ghost in an hour.

(Door opens and closes.)

Laine: What do you know about the girl? The girl they found with your mother. Said the Russians have her to you but why?

Jay: (Shuffles in seat) I dunno, man. They just gave her to me and I put the girl with my Ma. The other one, I dunno… I really don’t.

Laine: What instructions did they give you? You sure don't seem to know much for being the big boss. I think you're holding out on me. So again, what was the child for?

Donnelley listened to Laine’s closing remarks on the audio recording and looked to the woman herself, his face still stuck in a thoughtful frown, lips drawn thin and brow slightly furrowed. ”The other one?”

[Hr]

Dave leaned against the wall and knocked listlessly at the door to the women’s hotel room. Since the briefing he’d snagged a shower and changed clothes, but despite his exhaustion he couldn’t make himself sleep. His mind, sluggish as it was, kept trudging in circles around the events of the past two days.

He grumbled and knocked again, hefting his duffle bag in his left hand. He’d tucked his holstered pistol into his waistband and covered it with an old Hank Jr. T-shirt, but he knew that popgun wasn’t enough. He didn’t want to walk around with his gear out, so instead he’d stuck his AK and armor into his bag, so he could snatch them up in a hurry.

“Hey, you in there sugar?” He called, then paused. She was probably asleep; God knew she had to be tired, too. He hesitated, then backed up, turning to head back to the men’s room and let her doze.

The door clicked open and Ava poked her head out, her hair wrapped in a towel. “Oh, hey Dave.” She said, her lips splitting into a tired, but happy smile when she laid eyes on him. “Is everything okay?” She asked, her expression sobering with concern as she glanced up and down the hallway.

“Oh yeah, everythin’s fine,” Dave said. “Just figured if you was workin’ maybe you’d like some company. I can’t manage to sleep. I ain’t much of a computer guy, but I hear I’m fun at parties.” He gave her a sleepy grin and shrugged his shoulder. “Plus it ain’t good for any of us to be alone right now.”

“No kidding.” She said, her smile returning. “I’d love your company, come on in.” She opened the door wider and walked away. She stopped by the bed, setting down her small G26 on the nightstand and picking up Dave’s green flannel. “Um, here, you probably want this back.” She said, turning to face him with the shirt in her hands.

He shrugged and smiled, closing the door behind him.

“You can hang onto it, case it gets cold,” he said as he threw the bolt. “I got a hundred of them things.”

“You sure?” She asked.

“Yeah, you’re good.” He put a brief hand on her shoulder as he passed by and dropped his bag on the bed nearest the door. He joined it a moment later, sitting down with a groan and a pop from either knee. “You got any sleep yet?”

“Just some power naps here and there.” Ava answered, tossing the flannel over the back of a chair. “I have to get working on the CPS stuff so I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep for awhile.” She explained, reaching up to unwind the towel and letting her wet strands of hair fall down around her shoulders. “What about you Dave?” She asked, her expression turning concerned. “Have you gotten any sleep?”

“Nah, but I’m good,” He shrugged. “I figure I can’t need to sleep that bad or I woulda by now, right?”

“Well,” Ava frowned, draping the towel around her shoulders to dry portions of her hair, partially obscuring her shirt of two happy avocados surrounded by the words ‘let’s avo-cuddle’. “There gets a certain point where you’re up for too long and things get...weird. That’s why I’ve been forcing myself to nap.” She let the towel fall and looked Dave over worriedly. “You should try to sleep Dave, I know it’s...hard, after everything, but you should.”

“I know.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it’ll happen sooner or later. No sense tryin’ to force it, though. Tried that, and just laid there for 20 minutes starin’ at the wall.” He fought down a yawn despite his words.

“So uh...This CPS stuff. What’s the plan with all that?” Dave made a vague gesture towards her laptop.

“See if they’ve sent CPS agents to the hospital where the girl is.” Ava answered with a shrug, removing the towel and walking off to the bathroom to hang it up to dry. “If they haven’t, maybe find a way to get ahold of official paperwork so you and Laine can pose as CPS agents.”

Dave’s eyes were immediately drawn lower, and he watched with great interest as she walked to the bathroom in her grey yoga pants. “Right, that makes sense,” he said. “Kinda add to the disguise. Like with the badges.”

Ava re entered the room, placing her hands on her hips as she looked at him with a sigh and a smile. “Well, make yourself comfortable. I probably won’t be good for conversation, but the TV has some good channels so you can find something to watch.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, have you seen Blue Planet? I think the BBC Channel just has that on loop.” She said, picking up the remote and turning on the television mounted on the wall before tossing it over to him.

Dave kicked back on the bed and began listlessly flipping channels, occasionally looking over at Ava as she worked on whatever tech-sorcery she was performing.

"So uh… How you holdin' up, sugar?"

Ava pressed her lips together and she took in a deep breath. “I’m...as okay as I could be.” She answered, her eyes fixated on her computer. “Just, processing still and figuring out what it all might mean.”

"Yeah, I feel ya," he watched her as they spoke, feeling the tension in her words. "That part of why you ain't sleepin'?"

“...Part of it.” She answered, her voice growing quiet. She cleared her throat and glanced over at him. “What about you? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Who, me? I don’t sleep, I’m a redneck war machine.” He gave her a crooked grin, then sighed. “That an’ I’m worried if I do, then the next time I wake up it’ll be face to face with that…Hound or whatever it is.”

Ava faced him fully, her brows furrowing as she felt her heart go out to him. He had pulled her away from the jaws of that monster when she had been too disoriented from her visions to do anything. He had been there for her when she was emotionally raw from the experience. He had done so much to help her, it pained her to see him likewise struggling.

She offered him a smile. “Well, I have work to do and I won’t be going anywhere and clearly, I get advanced notice when that thing comes around.” She motioned to him. “You can try and sleep here if you want? Think of me as your...paranormal early alert system.”

He chuckled, his gaze lighting briefly on the scratch marks still visible around her eyes. “Yeah, we’ll give that a shot,” he said. “Just wake me up if somethin’ happens. Or if you just wanna talk, or...Whatever.”

“Alright,” She nodded and picked up her cat plushie next to her to throw at him. “Now, go to sleep Mountain Man.”

Dave caught the plushie and grinned, tucking it under his arm. “Wake me in a few hours, I don’t need to be out all day,” he said through a yawn.

“I will wake you if anything requires your attention.” She promised him, waving her hand at him. “Sleep well Dave.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>CLARKSBURG, WV
>JUL.20.2019
>0230...///

Clarksburg was a nice quiet little city much to Queen’s disappointment. It took him almost half an hour of driving to find a suitable seedy motel because even Fed towns had red light districts. The motel was one of those charge by the hour affairs he was so familiar with in his line of work. Borrowing Ghosts’ baseball cap and hoodie, he left Jay in his care while he went to check in. The clerk only made a passing glance at the gloves worn on a warm night and that he signed generically, Mr and Mr Smith.

Cash was more important and an extra hundred dollars made sure they would not be disturbed. Jay paid for his own torture cell, Queen smirked to himself as he left the tiny office. The night still held sway, the spare lighting casting long dark shadows as he made his way back to the car. The truck was gone, replaced by a piece of shit no one would miss until morning. Leaning into the window, he said, “Room 116, bottom floor at the corner. Should be private enough.”

Giving Ghost his hat back, Queen opened the door to get Jay out. “Keep your mouth shut,” he reminded him, “Or we might decide we don’t need you.”

The room was small with two full sized beds and wood panelling on the walls, a small table with cigarette burns in the veneer and a chair with mysterious stains on the seat made up the furnishings. An old tube tv was bolted in a corner, the convex glass covered in a layer of dust. The carpet and bedding were a matched shade of puke tan and avocado and it smelled like old semen and stale smoke under a recent layer of Lemon Pledge.

Queen stepped aside so Ghost could escort their guest into the room and he shut it after, pausing to text Tex the address. “Home sweet home,” he said, sniffing and rubbing his nose, checking for blood but it was clean.

“Look, man,” Jay swallowed, eyes darting left and right for some hope and finding none, “Whatever they’re payin’ you, we pay better. That asshole ain’t worth shit, the ginger with the scar.”

Jay didn’t make any attempt to wriggle out of his binds, he’d been trying the whole drive here and it hadn’t worked. Maybe words would. Neither of these guys looked like Feds, but neither did any of them. This one, the one with the long hair and tattoos, he looked like his ilk. “Consider it.” He said, hushed.

Queen lit a Kools, taking a deep drag of the menthol cigarette as Jay made his offer while Ghost had stepped away. "I always consider my options," he said, tilting his head up, looking down at the bound man. "The trouble is trust, my friend. Let's say I take your offer, how do I know you and yours won't just fuck me in the ass. You probably would. I know I would."

Queen smiled, his sea blue gaze lingering on Jay, "Gotta give me something, boss. To show you're not just blowing smoke."

He raised the cigarette to his lips, puffing slow and savoring the nicotine.

“Let me get that chance, man. Loosen somethin’ on me, just say I got away and I’ll give you somethin’.” Jay said, though there was pleading in his eyes.

"Tex won't believe that." Ghost's voice was a low growl from the doorway. He'd stepped out for some air, to have a rare cigarette and cool off after the hyper-vigilance of the raids. He knew himself, knew his temper. If he went into an interrogation keyed up there was a very real chance he'd go too far and kill the asset. It had happened before.

"Tex wouldn't believe somebody got away from me. People don't get away from me." He crossed the room to Jay, adopted a Hajj-squat in front of his chair, and removed his clear eye-pro.

Interrogation meant intimidation. Ghost was good at that. The best at that. He knew the effect his cold brown eyes could have on a man, especially one who was powerless. Ghost found Jay's gaze and held it, falling silent and giving the man the full effect of those reptilian orbs. Then he simply let the minutes pass, allowing his unrelenting stare to do its work.

Queen snorted and shook his head, stepping away to sit on one of the beds, letting Ghost do his thing. He found himself almost disappointed in Jay, he had been built up so much as this would be assassin, the connection to the Russians and a dangerous foe. Let Jay go and cross his fingers he'd get paid. What an asshole. Not that Queen would ever do it but that was just insulting.

After letting Jay squirm, Queen finished his cigarette, then said, "Sorry, you ain't got good credit."

“You think nobody’s gonna be lookin’ for me? Huh, fucker?” Jay snarled in Queen’s direction, though it could be noted that he deliberately avoided looking Ghost in the face, “Y’all on borrowed time! Better get what you want outta me now ‘cuz my boys find out I’m in this place, they’ll take turns on you, pretty boy!”

He frowned, shoulders rising and dropping and eyes furious, but still never straying Ghost’s way, “See how some real white boys fight.”

"I've killed more men than you've probably met," Ghost said lightly. "Especially as white trash from a town smaller than the bases I trained on. If your friends come, they'll die too, and the world will be a little bit better for it."

He reached out and gave that dislocated shoulder a slow, firm pull. "And once I've killed them, I'll take it out on you."

Jay yelped in Ghost’s face, almost trying to get back from his iron grip and only succeeding in squirming pitifully, “Fuck you, man, fuck y’all…”

Queen chuckled at the threats from the man tied up in the stained chair, then glanced at Ghost, "Think he'll be as stubborn as his Mama? I got twenty says he doesn't last as long as she did."

“What!?” Jay whipped his head in Queen’s direction, jaw clenched so hard he might think his teeth would break, “Bullshit!”

He looked at Queen and Ghost, and back, “Bullshit!” He barked again, “You ain’t do shit to her! Y’all have rules and laws, and shit, you can’t do shit to her!”

Queen shrugged, then grinned mischievously almost to himself. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and flipped the lid back and forth, thinking of the cocaine in his pocket. He could use some for what was coming but he waited. Queen said, "Alright, you've dealt with cops, maybe even Feds. You know the deal. We don't need a little meth bust."

There came a single knock at the door, followed by three in quick succession, and then one more. Donnelley and Jason were outside, and once Queen opened the door, Jay got another view of that smirking ginger asshole who looked at him like a child who gotten just what he wanted at Christmas. And wanted to beat the shit out of it. Donnelley stepped inside first as Jason closed the door behind him and stood next to Ghost, that same smile on him the whole time. “Hello, Jay.”

"Enjoy," Queen said, stepping over to the bathroom now that Tex had returned.

“He ask y’all to untie him or somethin’ yet?” Donnelley asked, holding Jay’s stare, “They always do. They never get it. They always talk.”

Donnelley smirked down at the huge Operator on his haunches, fixing Jay with that goddamn stare of his. Ghost was the best partner he could ask for when it came to things like this. Sometimes Good Cop, Bad Cop was the way to go. Other times you needed to be the hand dangling the asset above the shark. “Don’t they, Ghost.”

"Every time," Ghost said quietly. He stood, his knees cracking like muffled gunshots in the quiet of the room. He didn't wince, didn't grunt; all he did was curse within his own head. He was getting old, and he hated it.

Ghost walked a few steps away, turning so that Jay could watch him draw the combat knife at his belt. The razored glittered in the sickly light of the cheap motel bulbs, standing out against the matte finish of the blade. Ghost knew his part.

"So, should I take a few fingers now, to get us started?" He asked, his tone light and conversational. "Or do you want to see if he plans to cooperate first?"

Donnelley shrugged as he crossed his sinewy forearms, “I got some common courtesy.” Donnelley said, hiking up the legs of his trousers so he could take Ghost’s place in front of Jay, squatting down and holding his gaze. He could swear Jay was shaking a little, “Tell me if this sounds familiar to you, a’right, boy?”

Donnelley frowned, eyes narrowing, “NPS Rangers Frank Wilkins and Billy Britt find a husband scared shitless out in the woods. Somewhere near, his wife is completely fuckin’ skinned. When they report it to their Supervisor, Phill Hoffman, you show up and make sure everybody knows to keep their mouths shut.” Donnelley spoke, flexing his hands in and out of tight fists, “Frank and Billy nod and go along with big, bad Jay’s hush-hush. Billy goes to town on leave, somethin’ happens, he gets robbed and killed.”

“NPS Ranger Billy Britt, one of two people who know about David and Bethany Miller, killed the second he gets too far away from Blackriver. NPS Ranger Billy Britt, the one dude in Blackriver with our calling card gets robbed and killed.” Donnelley’s brows went up, “Frank Wilkins almost gets the same until I take him under my wing, you and your boys happily givin’ me and mine some target practice. What a fuckin’ coincidence.”

“The fuck’s your point, man? Y’all ‘ready know who I belong to, what’s your point.” Jay asked.

“Just like I refrained from scalpin’ your momma like a Comanche and hangin’ her from the streetlights, because she’s only the first link up the chain to what I really want,” Donnelley set his jaw and leaned in close, nose almost touching Jay’s, “Your momma gave you to me. You’re gonna give me Nikolai Gorochev, Phil Hoffman, and everybody else in Blackriver responsible for the murder, and cover-up of, Maria Vasquez.”

“Question one, Nikolai Gorochev’s daughter and her husband are going to stay at the River Valleys Retreat. Have they arrived yet?” Donnelley asked, and Jay did not answer, “Have. They. Arrived?”

Jay swallowed a mouthful of bloody spit in silence. Donnelley held his gaze for a few long moments and then nodded, grabbing the underside of the seat Jay was on and hauling him up and over, the back of Jay’s head smacking off the ground. Donnelley undid the knot keeping Jay’s hand tied and pulled his arm taut at the shoulder, resting his knee on his forearm to keep his hand on the floor, “Take a tip off his finger,” Donnelley looked to Ghost, “You choose which.”

Ghost studied the knife for a moment, letting things build. Then he knelt beside Donnelley and rested the edge of the blade against the first knuckle of Jay's pinky finger.

"He's a gangster," Ghost said. "Figure we'll start Yakuza style. See if he's as hard as those Eastern boys."

He put his left hand against the back of the blade, then leaned on it hard, simultaneously dragging the knife back with a sharp jerk. The knuckle parted, the tip of the finger rolling free with a small rush of blood.

"Next one comes off slower."

Jay’s scream was muffled by Donnelley’s hands over his mouth, pressing down on him hard and making sure he didn’t make too much noise as his head wriggled uselessly, tears welling up in his eyes and rolling down the sides of his head. “Have they arrived, Jay?” Jay shook his head and Donnelley hauled him back up to an upright position, tying his hand back to the arm of the chair, “Thank you.”

Jason was leaning against the wall, his big frame next to the door. He was staring with grim intensity, and when Jay began to scream he casually fingered the blinds to see if anyone was in earshot. This was always messy business. He remembered a time he watched what Jordani intelligence had done to a terrorist captive, the disregard of survival and the man’s slow, agonizing descent into an unrecognizable form. Always messy business. He dare not intervene, not on account of whatever decency protested inside him. He had to keep reminding himself this man deserved it, and continued to watch silently.

“Now, when are they going to arrive? Where are they now?” Jay stayed silent, head slowly hanging, “Come on. You can tell me anything, Jay, I’m here for you.”

Donnelley smirked, “And the longer you make this, the more creative I’ll get.”

At the first scream, Queen bent over the counter of the sink and snorted hard, clearing the line one a single take. He shuddered and shook his head, rolling his shoulders as he rubbed his nose vigorously. He twirled the rolled twenty dollar bill and began to cut another small line. No more screams but muffled voices, Tex’s voice.

After the next hit, he staggered back, bumping against the wall and muttered, “Shit, fuck yeah.”

Queen jumped in place like a runner warming up, his body wired up and the worry and exhaustion fled from his bones. He caught his reflection in the mirror and cursed, a trickle of blood smearing into the dark blonde beard. He washed it away and stuck a wad of toilet paper up his nose to soak it up before tossing it in the toilet.

Queen stepped out, looking around the room with a jittery jerk of his head. “We forgot the stereo, we need some fucking music for this shit.”

“We’ve got music,” Ghost said, nodding at Jay. He forced a grin he didn’t feel.

Torture was boring. There was no fight, no challenge. Ghost was a warrior, not an inquisitor, and these little sessions always felt like a waste of his time. Still, he knew his role, and he played it. “I think Tex here is losing his patience, so we might get the music going again.”

Queen looked at Ghost then over at Jay, who had blood dripping freely from one hand. He thumbed open the pack of Kools and tucked a cigarette behind his ear.

The micro uzi was now half hidden in the waistband of his tactical pants covered by the Molly Hatchet t-shirt. He didn't care to stand around and watch that asshole get chopped up. Tex would brief them on anything important he found out, it wasn't his case anyway.

"Hands bleed so much," he commented, then said to Tex, "Hey, I'm gonna keep an eye out on the parking lot."

He turned his attention towards Jason against the wall watching the interrogation. The big man's expression told him what he needed to know.

"¿Oye mano, vamos a hanguiar un rato?" Queen suggested, jerking his chin towards the door, "Wanna take a look with me?"

“I think we should all take a break.” Donnelley sucked his teeth, just as his phone began to ring. He dug the vibrating thing out of his pocket and saw who it was, Laine. He looked back to Jay, pitifully bleeding in his seat. This’d take time, time he wasn’t sure they had before Nikolai’s daughter could slip beyond their grasp. “How does that sound, Jay? We can all just have ourselves a minute.”

---

>DAYS INN
>0330...///

“You gonna be a good boy for me, Jay?” Donnelley eyed the man in the back seat, trussed up like a buck. His furious eyes met with Donnelley’s smiling ones as he pushed the door open and left Jay alone in the back of the truck. With his feet on concrete in the parking lot of yet another hotel, he reached up toward the sky, growling with the effort of the stretch before taking a drag from his cigarette and sending it off into the night with a flick of his fingers.

It was all business from here. He knew the tone in Laine’s voice from countless arguments in the past with another woman. He took a deep breath as he checked his phone for the room numbers, finding his way there through hallways, leaving the rest of the team to deal with the mess of a man they’d turned Jay into. He didn’t even give the man at the welcome desk a glance as he passed. He had bridges to mend. When he finally got to the door, his knuckles rapped sharply against them, stepping back and waiting for whoever would answer.

The knock brought Laine out of her thoughts, the file spilling out of her lap as she stood up from the bed. Checking her weapon still tucked into her shoulder holster, she glanced at Dave and Avery. "That sounded like his knock," she said, though as Laine approached the door she kept from standing directly in front of it.

Ava lifted her head from her laptop, glancing over at the door as the knock sounded. Her heart immediately began to beat quicker, her stomach flipping with anxiety as she eyed the door. She shut her laptop and stood up from the bed, inching herself further from the door.

The knocking came again, more incessant this time and Avery took the risk of peering through the hole. “It’s Donnelley-“

“Yes, it’s Donnelley, open the goddamn door.” Came his voice from the other side as Avery opened it.

“Hey, boss.” Avery said, looking the other man up and down.

“Hey,” Donnelley smiled, looking into the room at the others, “Y’all alright?”

Ava relaxed when the door opened to reveal Donnelley. She smiled, it was a small one filled with exhaustion, but a smile nonetheless. The red scratch marks over her eyes had dulled to a less jarring pink, though they still stood out against her pale skin. “Hey,” She said softly with a small wave of her hand. “I’m...okay.”

"Peachy," Laine said, moving away from the door to allow him inside. She looked at him in silence for a beat then continued, "We're alive. Did you get anything useful from Jay or was that his answer?"

She gestured to a few drops of blood splattered on the cuff of his jeans. He stepped back, shuffling that foot back an inch and sighing, “We got Jay.”

Dave’s blue eyes flashed a cold light, and he grinned. “Hell yeah. Y’all come out of it alright? Nobody got hurt or nothin’?”

“Nobody that didn’t need to.” Donnelley flashed a fleeting grin to Dave. His enthusiasm for gunfights and violence wavered in the face of Laine, and how any of these faces could have not been here when he got back. “What about y’all? Can’t have been an easy thing.” He said, knowing it wasn’t easy when he had to do it, “Looks like you came out the other side though.”

“We did.” Ava nodded, fiddling with the sleeve of the flannel shirt she borrowed from Dave so she wouldn’t touch her eyes. The news of Jay’s capture got her heart racing again, her mind going to the bullet still inside of her abdomen. “Where, uh, are the others?”

Donnelley thrust his thumb over his shoulder, “Outside with Jay.” The longer he looked, the more he could see the pink lines over her face, feeling something sink in his gut. While they were out tweaking, running guns, and blowing up meth labs, his people were hunted. “I’m glad y’all made it. I’m,” he glanced towards Laine and cleared his throat, looking towards Dave, Avery, and Ava, “I wish I could’ve been there.”

“We managed,” Dave shrugged and gave Ava a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Me an’ Avery got the security locked down, man. A-Team, right Avery?” He grinned at the other man. True to form, Dave still wore his flak, and his AK was slung around his neck.

“Hell yeah.” Avery gave a weak chuckle, looking to Dave and back to Donnelley. He still had his Remington in his fist and his Glock tucked in his waist, “Not bad for a PsyOps dude, huh.”

“Not bad at all.” Donnelley nodded. He felt like he couldn’t feel more sheepish if he’d been wringing his hands and pouting in front of all of them. These were newbies, not yet knowing the very real rigors of working for the Program, and being absent from that trial by fire left him feeling like a weak leader. “About Renko…” he looked to Laine.

“About Renko,” she echoed then pressed her lips into a fine line. “He showed up on our doorstep trailing a...”

Laine paused, not wanting to bring up the horror that had entered their world. She shrugged, “He brought something with him and I’m pretty sure you know what it was. The fact there’s even Russian spies watching us was a surprise. He left after it was over and basically said he owed us for helping. He gave us some information about a MacOnie.”

Laine looked at Ava, then back at Donnelley as she chewed the inside of her lip, digging in hard before crossing her arms under her chest. “Anyway, that’s what happened. I didn’t have time to interrogate him and I wasn’t going to force him to stay. So if we fucked up according to spy versus spy games, then I’ll take the responsibility.”

Donnelley sighed, “No, no. You did fine.” He said,taking a couple steps into the room and sinking into a chair, almost immediately feeling the weight of the night in his bones. He didn’t want to get up, “So he barges in, has you banish a demon, and tells you about ‘a MacOnie.’”

He clucked his tongue, “Sounds pretty extenuating.” He eyed Dave and Avery’s weaponry and armor, giving them a smirk, “They just let y’all in like that?”

"Something like that, all in a night's work, you know," Laine said, then gave a smile that did not touch her eyes. "Oh, we took a little precaution, signed in as different couples. Dave and Ava on a honeymoon, I'm robbing the cradle with Avery. Fake names and the whole thing. Smuggled in the weapons, funny how no one really pays attention at two AM."

“Ain’t it?” Donnelley snorted.

“Helps when you got pretty women doin’ the talkin’,” Dave grinned. “I didn’t go near the window, just stood there by the truck holdin’ our bags and gave ‘im a wave.”

Another knock, the classic 'shave and a haircut, two bits' secret knock and a voice, a high pitched falsetto with a thick Spanish accent, "Housekeeping, you need towel? You want mint for pillow?"

“Door’s unlocked, slut.” Donnelley’s voice rose, waiting for Queen to come in.

The voice came again, "You want blow job? ¡Ay Dios!"

The door popped open and Queen stepped in, a big grin on his face and his eyes danced. He looked over at the group, noticing the weariness on their faces. The storm gathering in Laine's expression and he quickly decided not to mess with her, turning to Ava with a bright smile.

He ignored the presence of Dave and his big dumb flannel on the young woman. Might as well have his class ring on her neck. Queen smirked to himself until he noticed the scratches on her face. Self inflicted, he guessed, his brow furrowing for a moment before the chemicals swept away the concern.

"Angel! Your information was on point," Queen announced, flashing her a wolfish grin. "Wanna see the big fish we caught? Don't worry, he's still squirming."

Ava returned Queen’s smile, his arrival snapping her out of the silence her thoughts had swallowed her into. “Oh, that’s good. I’ve actually been sifting through the data you sent and found some interesting information so thank you for that.”

She hesitated for a moment at the mention of seeing Jay. She was surprised to find that she did, a morbidly curious side of her that wanted to see the man that tried to kill them and she had dedicated hours digging into the life of.

There was still that part of her tugging her back though, making her hesitate. A part of her that realized she was crossing a line from being a disconnected observer, to being an active participant in the darker side of Program fieldwork.

She turned her gaze to Donnelley, her brow furrowing as she asked, “Is...Is that okay?”

Donnelley opened his mouth, but the words first to his lips didn’t leave. He wanted to say ‘only if it’s okay with you,’ but he knew now more concretely than ever that the training wheels and handholding had to come off at some point. They’d faced down the evil in the world, true malevolence, just like he had a full five times in his life. “Go.” He nodded, tilting his head at the door. “Everybody.”

Laine held back, glancing at Donnelley, "I'm sure I'll get to see him soon, if we're questioning him."

The unspoken remainder of the sentence was a flash of her green eyes at the blood splatter on the cuff of his jeans.

Queen grinned with delight, then offered Ava his arm in a playful southern gentleman manner. "Do me the honor?"

Dave put a hand on Ava's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, a hard stare fixed on Queen. He was fully aware of the insult the man was paying him by acting like he wasn't even there.

"C'mon sugar, let's take a look at our boogeyman," he gave her a tight smile. "See he ain't all we built him up to be."

Ava looked up between the two men, sensing a note of tension in the air between the two of them. “Um, yeah, we can, all of us.” She said, smiling nervously up at them in hopes of diffusing the stress mounting.

She patted Dave’s hand on her shoulder and awkwardly hooked her arm with Queen’s.

Queen grinned, a flash of challenge in his seawater eyes towards Dave as he looked over Ava's head. "Wait til you hear how we finally got him," he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. "It all started with a squeak toy."

Dave rolled his eyes but followed along, gripping his rifle tightly to keep from clenching his fists. Queen hadn’t been back ten minutes and Dave found himself inexplicably driven to punch the man. It wasn’t his usual MO, but it had been a real bastard of a night and his nerves were raw. He fell in behind Queen and Ava and briefly entertained himself with the mental image of his buttstock meeting the back of the raggedy bastard’s head.

Queen held Ava close as he chattered about the wild hunt, leaving out the more gruesome aspects. He joked about the scaring the guard dog after he fired. "I aimed just to the side, he tucked that stump tail and ran," he chuckled, then dusted over the death of Jay's mother, her role in giving up her son wrought from a mother's fear for his life. He lied easily, making a light adventure of what had been a grisly job.

The story concluded as they approached the car, he said with a more serious tone, "Then we found the..."

He hesitated, then released Ava's arm reluctantly as Ghost's close observation was not something he wanted. He held up a room card instead, "107 is our room, we should take our boy in there," Queen said, flipping the swipe card between his fingers with a well practiced gesture.

Ghost watched the trio approach, his reptile-eyes moving lazily from one to the other as he leaned against the car. He noted how cozy Queen seemed to be getting with the little redhead, and how the hick seemed to want to put a manure-shovel through his brain, and bit back a frustrated grumble. The sight of the keycard made him take a quick look around; he’d tossed his rifle in the trunk and put a light jacket on over his flak. His pistol still rode at his thigh, but it was dark, and at a distance he figured people were less likely to notice it.

“You bring your friends to gawk at the animal?” Ghost said. “Doesn’t take this many people to walk a meth-head up some stairs.”

Ava shrunk back towards Dave, partially from Ghost’s words, but her eyes were glued to the car. Her heart was beating quicker as her stomach curled with anxiety. The entire walk from the hotel room she had only half listened to Queen as her mind focused on edging closer to that line.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers digging into the thick fabric of the flannel sleeve. Avery stepped around her, seemingly ignoring Ghost save for a sidelong glance cast his way. He peered into the dark windows of the SUV and laid eyes on Jay. His lips pursed and he turned away, clearing his throat as he sided back up with Dave.

“Well, uh,” Avery scratched the back of his neck and looked around at his teammates standing around, “Let’s get him inside, I guess.”

---

With the absence of the rest of the team the air between Donnelley and Laine grew thick with a litany of unspoken things. A pregnant silence hung over Donnelley’s shoulders as he and Laine looked at each other, a recurring theme of tension and hotel rooms playing out yet again. He looked to the closed door and then nodded to Laine.

“I hope everything went well on your man hunt and there was no unavoidable deaths,” her voice had a higher pitch than normal, a razor of sarcasm under the concern. Laine hated the sound as it reminded her of her mother when she was about to launch into a passive aggressive diatribe.

She cleared her throat, speaking in a more even tone, "We can step inside the room next door, if you want."

Donnelley nodded, gesturing to the door in question, “No.” Donnelley said, one part of him not wanting to get up and the other part of him wanting it straight from Laine without any sort of waiting. “Just talk to me.”

Laine took a deep breath, her hands resting on her hips as she turned to him. The anger had been building since the flight from the Safehouse now looking at Donnelley, he became a focus for her fear and uncertainty.

"So, apparently the Russian intelligence knows we're here, despite changing our Safehouse location at the last minute," Laine walked around, pacing back and forth. "That thing...shit, Ava nearly clawed her eyes out, and Avery was damn near catatonic afterwards. Dave held it together, thankfully. Without his cool head you'd have more dead agents."

“I don’t blame them.” Donnelley said quietly, sighing as he leaned forward and rubbed at his face. He looked at Laine and cut to the chase, speaking the words into the dangerous space between them, “I’m sorry.”

The silence persisted like it always did with Laine. Tugging more and more out of him, “You did everything right, Laine. It wasn’t all Dave, I’m sure. You were there too.” He said consolingly, trying to bridge that gap again, mend the bridge, “You’re all alive, that’s what matters.”

Laine rolled her jaw, glancing aside. Damn him. She wanted to be angry, to rid that demon of fear and helplessness against the man who was responsible for them. “I was there, but I couldn’t look,” Laine said, turning back to him. “I’ve never been too afraid to witness but I was. I needed you there, we needed you. We’re not secret agents, we’re not fucking ghost busters or exorcists. We’re analysts, and Dave is just a civilian, a skilled one but...”

She dropped her hands, then looked at him in silence for a long moment, “You should have been there. Those men, your old team, could have found Jay, you didn’t need to go, did you?”

“I did. It’s our case, not theirs, and I needed to be in that position with them.” Donnelley tried to make his tone seem less matter of fact, but to him it was just valid. The truth. A hard pill, but he’d had to swallow several. “You know that. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Jason was there, he knows how to handle himself in that situation,” she said, “You went because that’s fun, that’s not sitting in a hotel and going over files with the nerds.”

Laine bit her tongue after it slipped out and she felt her face flush, resentment that had built up over the hours flooded out.

Donnelley pursed his lips, almost hurt by the accusation of abandoning his team to go party with his friends and kick a few doors in. “That’s my job, Laine. I do it for the Agency and I do it for the Program, that’s always been my job.” Donnelley sighed, sitting back in the chair and looking away from Laine, feeling the shell start to harden around not only her, but himself. “I ain’t gonna pretend like kickin’ doors hasn’t been what I’ve been doin’ my whole life.”

“But don’t you pretend like I don’t care a shit about you,” Donnelley stood, letting that hang in the air for a few moments before he continued, “Like I don’t care about everybody on this team. I already lost two people. One’s in fuckin’ therapy for I don’t know how long and the other two ain’t ever comin’ back.”

“If you’re askin’ me if I regret not bein’ there during that, the whole thing at the safehouse, then yes. I almost lost you once already on the goddamn first day.” He said, sharing Laine’s glare, “But if you’re asking me if I think I’m too much of a hotshot cowboy that’s too high-speed for paperwork?”

“Don’t you fuckin’ insult me like that.” He said, slowly shaking his head, “I can’t be everywhere. Sooner or later, UMBRA is going to have to be able to work without me being over your shoulder. That’s the fact of it. I wasn’t there for Jason, I was there for oversight.”

“And I know for damn sure this ain’t all about me not doin’ any damn paperwork…” Donnelley sighed.

Laine tensed, wanting to fight, wanting to scream the tension out of her chest that had grown since Renko's appearance. "Of course it's not about damn paperwork, it's about Russians with interdementional evil guard dogs they can sic on anyone they want to get rid of and there is fuck all we can do about it."

She ran her hand through her short dark hair, leaving it partially ruffled and sticking out. "I can't help, I don't understand it even when it's right in my face. Ava, she almost clawed her eyes out because the thing projected itself or something into her mind moments before it materialized in the living room of the goddamn Safehouse. How do I help her? It's all in your head, kid? It's not and I don't..."

Her voice, already raspy with emotion, cracked. "Avery, the kid was in severe shock, I honestly am worried he might hurt himself because of what he saw. Dave said it was similar to what he saw in the mountains."

She crossed her arms tight under her chest, drawing inward, "I didn't see it. I refused the look, I was afraid. Donnelley, I was so fucking afraid to look."

Donnelley took a tentative step towards Laine, offering her a look of sympathy and understanding. She was right, they were new, and there are damn few people in the world that could stand a chance against whatever he saw on that ship with THUNDER and what they all saw in the Safehouse.

“I know.” He offered, stopping just in front of her with a hand reaching out, but stopping just short, “I know. You think I’m not scared everyday? I saw it too, and Jesus fuck, it scares the shit out of me every time I manage to go to sleep.”

Laine shook her head, "I've never been able to not face what I needed to, I've never been a coward unable to look into the darkness. But fuck, the darkness is looking back and it has teeth."

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze then said softly, "Goddamnit, I wanted to be angry at you. I want to blame you for not being there and it's not fair. I'm sorry."

Laine let her hands slip, rubbing her arms as if suddenly cold. "I shouldn't put it on you that burden. I know you already carry so much."

“I know, I wish I was there, Laine.” Donnelley nodded ever so slightly, keeping his eyes on Laine before he tried at a small smirk, “I’ll let you slap me, if you’d like.”

Laine pressed her lips together tight, this time trying not to smile, "Stop it. I want to be mad otherwise I'll curl up in a ball and cry."

His offer made her breath hitch, halfway between a laugh and a sob. She made to reach her hand back in an exaggerated wind up, but she checked her blow at the last moment. She let it land against the scarred side of his face, a firm caress rather than a slap. Laine cupped his cheek, not trusting herself to speak.

Donnelley went as far as to close his eyes and offer his jaw out, but was taken by surprise when her hand fell into a caress along the scar marring the side of his cheek. He opened his eyes and looked into Laine’s green gaze, the tension in the air turning lighter before he leaned forward and planted his lips on hers, savoring the moment.

She returned his kiss, closing her eyes and leaned into him, the tension in her shoulders starting to relax. Laine broke the kiss to take a breath, leaning her forehead to his. A dozen questions about Jay and Renko ran through her mind but she held back.

Her body now pressed against him, she murmured, "You always know how to disarm me. I was going to really tear into you."

“Yeah, I’m sure of that.” Donnelley chuckled and kissed her forehead, “I’m promising you that’s the last time any of you get caught up like that. I’m sorry.”

Laine sighed, pulling back enough to look at him. "You can't promise that."

A small teasing smile flickered on her face as she finished the statement, "Mr Donnelley."

“I can promise I’ll try to keep it.” He chuckled as she called him by his formal title, a sure way to get a rise out of him, “Don’t go temptin’ me now, I might not be able to resist those charms of yours, Doctor.”

Laine gave his cheek a pat, slipping her hand down to his shoulder, "Then I better not tempt you too much, the night isn't over yet."

Reality settled back around them and she let him go, reaching up to smooth her hair down. "How do you want to proceed?"

“You lead with Jason. I’ll be there, but I think the fact I beat his ass wouldn’t be the best rapport to go off of.” Donnelley frowned and shrugged, “‘Less that’s too crazy an idea.”

"Probably not," she agreed, then gave him a coy smile, "Look at you, not going to the power drill right away."

She sat on the end of a bed, looking up at him, "Do we even try pretending anything is official, like his Miranda or is that already not an option?"

“We’ve been going under the official cover of being Feds after the Russians. Best we keep it that way, I want him to have some hope he’s getting out of this.” Donnelley smirked, “I’m a merciful God.”

Laine smoothed the comforter under her hands, "Hope is what will get him to be honest. Because he's in a bad place, ratting out any mob is a death sentence let alone one that could send an assassin like the thing after Renko."

She glanced up at him, "I know you want revenge on Jay, I can't say that I wouldn't mind you giving him a few smacks but this is the best way."

“You trust me that I know when it’s time to stop playing games and put my nose to the grinder.” Donnelley nodded, placing his hands on his waist, “My guys in the Agency know, and some IS dudes in Guantanamo and shallow graves are proof. Jay’ll talk.”

Laine bit her lower lip and nodded, glancing away from him, "You certainly know how to do that."

Donnelley furrowed his brow and sighed, “I meant to say that you’re right. It’s not all like that.” He pursed his lips, sitting down next to her, “We’ll take our time, do things right.”

Laine looked at him, putting her hand over his with a squeeze of solidarity and something more personal.

---

>THIRTY MINUTES LATER...///

Jay sat alone in the hotel room, a lot nicer than the one they’d had him in near McMecken’s Run and the clubhouse. His mind flashed back there, wondering if Bobby or Candy were still alive, wondering if his mother was okay. Even her asshole boyfriend, Chuck. Fuckin’ Chuck. Fuck Chuck, he snorted at his own humor in the still air of the room before it got a lot more weighty with the sound of the door opening.

And who would be standing in the doorway and closing the door behind him than that fucking asshole Gorochev wanted him to kill. He should’ve just shot him on the porch of that cabin and been done with it...

Donnelley looked Jay up and down, still unimpressed with this hillbilly assassin crime-boss. Jay looked at him with that same bane in his eyes, like if he concentrated hard enough, Jay could do what Taliban, Chechen militia, ISIS, and a shitload of West Texas tweakers couldn’t. And so Donnelley donned that smirk he always had and made a few kissy-faces at Jay. “You ain’t scarin’ shit with that mean mug, boy.”

“Fuck you.” Jay growled.

“Mhm.” Donnelley chuckled, looking behind him as the door opened and shut again.

In the time it took to get Jay settled, Laine put herself together. Changing her jeans and t-shirt to slacks and a button down blouse, her hair now neat and glasses perched on her nose. She held a folder in her hand and stepped into the room.

She looked at Donnelley over Jay's head, then down at the man, "Mr Jackson Mitterick, aka Jay. Aka the man with attempted murder of federal agents charges among many others hanging over his head. Just a reminder, you have the right to remain silent but I would suggest that you talk to us."

Jay eyed Laine up, a smirk growing at the corners of his lips, before it vanished with the appearance of Donnelley’s firm hand on his shoulder, “Please talk, Jay.” Donnelley said, hand giving Jay’s shoulder a friendly squeeze, “We need what you know.”

“Please don’t. I’m bored. Gouging some answers out of you might be the only thing I get to do for a while.” Ghost’s harsh growl announced his presence as he exited the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him. He’d shed his hoodie and armor, and wore only a white wifebeater with his tactical pants.

The pale fabric accentuated his tanned skin, and clung to the hard ridges of his hulking frame. The operator tanned regularly, in the sun when he could, in tanning beds when he had to. There was a bodybuilding maxim: the darker the tan, the bigger the man. It added definition to his vicious musculature, and he liked the way the pale scars that covered his body stood out. Many of those scars were visible now, divots and lines that told a violent story.

He walked to the other side of the room, passing between Laine and Jay to lean against the wall next to the door. Anybody coming in would be immediately faced with a very unhappy doorman.

“Me and Ghost’re gettin’ bored, man.” Donnelley said, looking at Ghost with a small smirk before patting Jay on the back of the head with a little more force than he needed. He sided up with Ghost and crossed his arms, “Whichever way this goes, Jay, we’re gettin’ answers. Please answer the nice lady’s questions.”

“Should I take my shirt off too?” He turned his head and mumbled to Ghost, a smirk barely hidden on his lips.

Ghost gave him a sideways look. “You’re too small, leave it on,” he grunted. “You wanna take your shirt off and be scary, start lifting with me.”

“Hell yeah,” Donnelley nodded, “Try to schedule in some sessions after my Hot Yoga.”

Laine watched Jay as the other men spoke, only allowing a brief moment to take in the detail of Ghost's muscular arms and shoulders as he passed her field of vision. She tapped the folder against her palm, then spoke to the prisoner.

"We need what you know about the Russians and about murdered girls in Blackriver," Laine continued, "Please understand, I'm here to help you but only if you help us. You're a liability for the Russians now and I think you know what that means, Jackson. Start from the beginning."

Holding the mic outward so it would pick up the voice of Jay, Laine started the recording. Jay nodded, knowing what would be coming to him if he didn’t do what Laine said. His eyes grew distant as he opened his mouth and let go of the things he remembered.

---

Donnelley rapped his knuckles on the door to the ladies’ room. Laine and Ghost were working Jay over, so he figured he was in good hands for the time being. The news about Ava concerned him, how she had taken the coming of the otherworldly beast the hardest, next to Avery. The younger man was next on his list. He waited for the door to open, mulling over how to or even if he should broach the subject of the Hound with Ava so soon.

A few moments ticked by before Ava opened the door, one of her hands tucked slightly behind her, her tired eyes peering up at Donnelley from behind her glasses. She managed to muster up a smile for him, the pink scratch marks on her face still visible against her pale skin. “Hi Donnelley, is everything alright?”

“Just peachy.” Donnelley have a smile that reached his own eyes, red from exhaustion as well, “I’m makin’ the rounds, wanna make sure all my best friends are alright.”

He hung about in the doorway, scratching the back of his hand, “Got a moment for me?”

“Of course.” She nodded, stepping back from the door and opening it wider so he could come inside. “I finished going through that stuff Queen sent me so I have some information for you.” She said, her hand moving forward from behind her back to reveal the pistol she had been hiding. She flipped the safety on as she turned to walk over to the small sitting area in the room. Just a small sofa that was tinged slightly yellow and looked more comfortable than it was, seated in front of a low coffee table with Ava’s laptop resting on top of it and a paper coffee cup.

Donnelley stepped inside, closing the door behind himself and eyed the gun. She was learning, getting used to how dangerous this life was for Working Groups in the field. He didn’t know if he liked that, but in the end, he didn’t like how most of the things in his life had went. He sat down on the edge of one of the beds, “Go on, what you got for me?”

“I have the names of three of Jay’s closer associates and was able to dig up their criminal records; all linked to the Aryan Brotherhood. Gary ‘Sly’ Bruster, Hubert ‘Clovers’ O’Grady, Clemence ‘Big Clem’ Jackson.” Ava said, sitting down on the couch and setting her handgun down on the coffee table. “Text messages gave me info on their personal lives, one of them has a son in Juvy and I’ve got addresses for each of them, but I don’t know how current they are.” She pulled one of the musty throw pillows into her lap and wrapped her arms loosely over it.

“And, I found something disturbing in the texts.” She added, looking over to him with a disquiet frown. “The Russian’s gave Jay and by extension Jay gave them, a group of ‘creepy’ children.”

Donnelley’s brow furrowed at Ava’s words, the image of the child sitting alone in that dark meth-house room. She had said children, so there was more than just her. “What did they say about the children?”

“Not much.” Ava answered, her frown deepening. “They didn’t even seem to know why they were given these kids. Just that they were from Jay and Jay got them from the Russian’s with no explanation. They didn’t sound like they wanted the kids either, there was talk about just turning them over to CPS, but they were afraid of retaliation from Jay. They also expressed being creeped or weirded out by the children, but they never specified what made them creepy. It seems like each of those associates were put in charge of at least one or more.”

She squeezed her arms tighter around the pillow. “Those poor kids.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for them. Get with Queen and have him track down those fuckin’ assholes.” Donnelley said, shaking his head slow as he rubbed his beard, “Maybe we’ll find those kids. Sound good?”

“I hope so.” Ava said, her brows knitting together in concern. “I’d hate to think of them going through what Maria did.” She said with a shudder crawling up her back.

“Yeah.” Donnelley nodded, eyes growing distant and the moment growing quiet. Remembering finding Maria for the first time. Learning her name and seeing her picture, getting to know her as she was… “How are you holding up, Ava?” He asked, almost trying too hard to move things away from Maria and the things done to her.

Ava glanced over to him at the question and then looked away, pulling the pillow tighter against her chest. “I’m...alright, I guess.” She answered, her voice growing quieter than usual. “I’m alive.”

Donnelley rolled his jaw and nodded in agreement, eyes focused but soft on Ava’s own, though she didn’t hold his gaze. Her eyes were distant, and the scratch marks were faded, the anger guttering but still smoldering pink. “You remember our conversation in the restaurant? When it was just you and me?”

“Yeah,” She breathed out, tearing her eyes away from the point in space she was staring at to look back over at him. “I do.” She tried to pull her lips into a ghost of a smile. “About not being alone, right?”

Donnelley added his own smile, hopibg to strengthen hers. He checked his watch and sucked his teeth, “Yeah.” He said, looking back at Ava, “It’s not just you that’s still alive. We all are, and come a few hours, there’ll be another sunrise for all of us to wake up to.”

“I don’t know about Agent Whoever that was supervising you in Logistics, but…” He chuckled, “If I say I got an open-door policy, you best believe I got one. You ever wanna talk, yell at me, discuss the plan… or, hell, just cry. I know I done a lot of it. Ain’t ashamed of it neither.”

He breathed a laugh at himself and scratched at his beard, “Point is, you can come to me. Or any of us.” He said, “Whatever you saw there, Ava, I’ll be standin’ my ground and grittin’ my teeth next to you if it shows up again.”

Ava grew quiet, her eyes dropping down as her smile faded. “Can...Can I talk to you about something? Right now?” She asked, lifting her eyes back up to his; a dark shadow creeping over her bright blue gaze.

Donnelley’s smile drooped a bit as he nodded, leaning forward and knitting his fingers together in front of him, noticing the trouble on Ava’s brow, “Anything.”

Ava took in a deep breath, her hands starting to tremble as they gripped onto the pillow. “I...I saw the Hound, before it came.” She said, her voice surprisingly steady even though there was a tremor in her hands. “And-and I don’t know what that means because it’s...not the first time.”

Donnelley’s brows furrowed just the slightest as he listened to Ava. This was the first time he’d ever heard of that from her, “It’s happened before this?”

“Kind of? I was asleep at the time but I think it counts.” She said, sniffing slightly as she blinked her eyes to keep back the tears that were gathering. “It was how I was recruited into the Program, back when I worked in the CIA. I had an...episode, where I had nightmares of…” She paused as her voice caught for a moment.

“I’m not goin’ to force you.” Donnelley said, clearing his throat and looking to the side for a moment, “Who knows about this?”

“Foster.” She answered immediately, rubbing her sleeve across her nose; then immediately looking down at it guiltily. “He’s, um, he said he told them to recruit me...because of the dreams.”

Donnelley leaned back and sighed hard, looking away from Ava. Foster knows, he thought, and nobody else but who he told about it. That included damn near everyone, and that included him. He nodded sharp at that, looking back at Ava, “Okay.” He said, letting the moment quiet down and unintentionally putting some weight between him and Ava, “If you need anything else, I’m always around. You have my number too.”

He smiled, levering himself up with his hands on his knees. He stretched his arms out to the side and dropped them at his hips, yawning, “I’m damn beat.” He chuckled, “Try to get some rest, okay? I know it’s hard, but…”

He shifted on his feet, “Maria still needs justice.”

“I know.” She nodded, looking down at her laptop. “...Do you know what it means?” She asked, looking back up at him, her eyes searching and hoping for answers. “Why I’m seeing these things?”

He looked back at Ava, sitting on the bed and alone. Her words reflected ones he’d heard years and years ago, a younger Donnelley giving the same answer, and just as helpful. A set of words he’d been saying more and more these days. He looked down at the ground and muttered almost helplessly, “I don’t know.”

He stood there for a few long, painful moments, wanting to do something. But there was nothing he could do for the wounds Ava had now. He swallowed hard, stepping towards her and sitting next to her as she stared down at the ground. “I’m sorry.” He said, letting those useless words dissipate on the stagnant air.

Ava’s lip trembled as she reached up and took off her glasses, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. She opened her mouth to say something, before shutting it when the words got caught in her throat. She took in a deep breath and let herself lean against his arm.

Donnelley looked down at her, only able to see the top of her head, but knowing there was a procession of tears down her cheeks. He reached over her and gently placed his hand on her shoulder, “It’s okay,” he offered, “It’s okay.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>CLARKSBURG, WV
>JUL.19.2019
>ZERO HOUR...///

The television set’s light played heavy on the angles of Avery’s slack face. He let go a snore and the rise of his chest made the remote slide off of him and clatter to the ground as he jolted awake, flailing for his pistol before he calmed himself. “Fuck me…” Shoulders heaving with shuddering breath as he sat in silence.

He sat up, looking at the television. The news channels were still talking about the violent kidnapping of Gregory Carlisle, the deaths of his guards and his daughter. His wife was sobbing uncontrollably on the screen, the muted TV making it a bit more distanced from reality. “Shit.”

He switched the channel to something else, Dragonball. He let go a chuckle as he settled back on the couch, the change in channels being a change in mood for him.

“I know this show.” Dave’s voice came from near the back door; a little bit of alone-time had more or less recentered his mood and he felt ready to join the others without worrying about saying something he’d regret. He pulled the door shut behind him and walked over to the couch, poking at the dip in his lip with the tip of his tongue. “This is that Dragon Ball, right? My boy used to watch this. Had all the little action figures and stuff.” He smiled, as he did whenever his son was mentioned.

“Hell yeah,” Avery chuckled, looking at Dave, “I had all the seasons and shit. Used to watch them with my team in Africa.”

A few seconds passed as Avery upped the volume a couple notches, “Were you ever in?”

“In, like...In the military?” Dave shook his head. “Nah...I uh… I never served. Learned everythin’ back when I was growin’ up.”

“No shit?” Avery turned around on the couch to look at Dave, “Like a hitman or something? Lotta SOF dudes running around, how’d they get you?”

“My Old Man is kinda the Arkansas version of bin Laden,” Dave said, focusing on the TV rather than meeting Avery’s eyes. He figured the younger man would hear the stories one way or the other. “Kind of a Sovereign Citizen boogieman. Former Marine Recon, back in ‘Nam. Anyway, I went to basic training instead of school as a kid.”

“Damn.” Avery said, quietly turning back to the TV. The anime went on in their silence for a few beats, neither of them talking to each other. Finally, Avery turned back around, “How, though? You know, they get military dudes and Feds and stuff. How’d you get picked up?”

“Oh.” Dave shrugged. “Found one of them slabs on my mountain. Had a body on it. I ran my mouth, then some prick named Bob showed up with a briefcase of cash, and… Well, you know. Program shit.”

---

Laine was sitting at the dining table with her laptop, eavesdropping on the news, the growing horror about the firefight becoming more clear. Not that Carlisle had been sympathetic, he was a piece of garbage that preyed on children. He had information though, to bigger monsters that needed to be taken down. But his kids at least had been innocent, maybe the wife too. She turned her focus on her laptop, trying not to let her mind wander down the dark alleys of memory. Laine had known a man like Carlisle once, or at least the potential to be one, she did not stick around to find out.

Once the blaring cartoon came on, she shook out of the recollection of the photographer’s studio and what happened there. She put the earbuds in, drowning out the shrieks of Dragonball-Z with Sisters of Mercy. Laine worked on refining the rough draft of her profile for the unsub, going back over autopsy reports and forensics. Pari had her own laptop out, lost in her work with her own headphones on, expensive Beats from the look of them. The FBI agents were in their own worlds, working the case from opposite ends.

The sound of footsteps on hardwood came from the short hallway leading to the bedrooms. A moment later, Ava poked her head out with a grin, her hair falling down her back in damp waves. “I thought I heard Dragon Ball! Hell yeah, I’m going to hang out with you guys.” She said, stepping out of the hallway, dressed in a pair of comfortable pajama pants and loose grey shirt. A cartoon fox with glasses was printed on the front with the words ‘Oh for fox sake’ beneath it.

She had her laptop tucked under her arm and her phone in hand as she passed by Dave to sit down. She glanced up at him and paused for a moment to give him an inquisitive smile. “Hey, are you okay?”

Dave brightened visibly when Ava appeared. He smiled at her reassuringly. “Yeah, I’m good, sugar. Been kind of a weird day, is all. I’ll tell ya about it later.”

He nodded at her laptop. “You joinin’ the other brains, or you gonna watch cartoons with us?”

Her smile grew more relaxed and natural hearing that reassurance and seeing his own smile. “Cartoons with you guys. No contest.” She said, making her way over to the recliner and sitting herself down in it. “Only thing that would be better than Dragon Ball would be watching the Last Airbender.” She chuckled, folding her legs up on the recliner, putting her laptop on her legs and opening it; her phone resting on the arm next to her.

Dave circled the couch and sat down beside Avery, picking the side closest to the recliner.

“I know that show, too,” he said proudly. “It’s the kung fu one, with the magic and stuff. That’s another one Mal used to watch. Hell, he still might, and just don’t talk about it anymore. But now he’s kinda gettin’ to that age where it’s all sports and stuff.”

“Shit, I remember that.” Avery smiled at the both of them, looking over from his quiet attention on whatever over the top fight had been going on in the show, “Soccer for me. What about you guys?”

Dave shrugged. “I liked demolitions trainin’?” He grinned. “But no, I didn’t play sports. Just did combatives and shit with my brother. And the older recruits.”

Avery’s eyes widened with his grin, “You got to blow shit up as a kid? Man, I would’ve loved that!”

He looked to Ava and smiled, “I think you’d be a soccer girl. Or cheer?”

Ava stopped fiddling with her laptop to shoot a confused look over at Dave. At Avery’s question however, she blinked and shifted her gaze over to the young Army Vet. “Uuuh, I was more of an indoor kid.” She answered with a shrug and a sheepish smile. “I mostly played video games when I wasn’t busy with school.”

Dave briefly thought back to playing games of ‘Bull in the Ring’ with the other recruits, fending off attacks from multiple angles. His father had been a big believer in full-contact training.

“It was alright,” he said, shrugging. “I got pretty good at it. Kept me in shape.”

“I’ve always been kinda skinny. Even after Selection and everything, I was a string bean.” Avery chuckled, getting up from his seat and heading for the kitchen. He opened the door of the fridge and returned with a beer in hand, glancing at Pari and then Laine. “What are you guys doing?”

Laine glanced up at the kid, popping out one of the earbuds, "What's up?"

When he repeated the question, Laine sighed and stretched her arms over her head. "Running in mental circles, to be honest. I'm doing a comparison of skeletal injuries of the last four victims. A friend of mine at CJIS sent me some three-dimensional models to look over."

On the screen was a group of detailed models of human pelvis, four of them, divided into quadrants that she could manipulate simultaneously with the mouse. "I could use one of those beers."

“Sure thing!” Avery smiled, leaving for a moment to fetch another beer. He handed it to Laine and took a peek at the screen of her laptop, “So what’s that for-“

A knock at the door made his eyebrow quirk and he looked to Dave, already fully kitted for a war and found himself lacking. “The boys can’t be back already…”

Ava leaned around the recliner to look at the door, glancing over at Avery and then Dave. Her heart started to beat a little faster and her stomach did a flip as her mind raced back to the night of the shooting. “Maybe, it’s one of the neighbors?” She suggested, her voice growing softer than usual.

Dave rose to his feet, taking a few steps to put himself between Ava and the door. His AK and vest sat against the wall and he crossed quickly to them, slinging the vest on and picking up his rifle. After a quick brass check he clacked off the safety, pulled the stock tight into his shoulder, and centered his red-dot on the door.

“Avery, your call. We gonna answer it, or just let ‘em think nobody’s home?” He asked.

Avery had not been this focused since his time in Africa. He swallowed down a nervous mouthful of spit and nodded at Ava, “Hand me my gun.”

When he got it in his hands he looked at Dave, “Dude, the lights are on and the TV’s going…” Avery shrugged, going for the door and hiding the pistol behind his back, “Flash!”

He listened for the answer to the challenge word and heard nothing. “Fuck.” He said, “We need to check the perimeter.”

The knock made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, anything unexpected was bad. She slapped her laptop closed and stood up, shaking Pari out of her concentration.

"I'm going to the bedroom, come with me," Laine said, then turned looking around for Ava.

"Ava..." Laine hissed, moving quickly to the living room. "Come with me, now."

She grabbed for her hand, listening to the men speak quietly and Laine said to Dave, "We're going to hide out, I have my gun. Do what you need to do."

Ava shut her laptop and shoved her phone into her pajama pocket before going with the pull of Laine’s hand. Her hands were trembling softly, her palms sweaty and clammy but she held onto Laine’s hand tight as she glanced nervously at the door. The color had seemingly drained from her face, leaving it as white as a sheet as the shooting back at the cabin played out in the back of her mind.

Dave’s mind spun for a moment and he took a steadying breath. “Alright you guys get in there an’ get low. Hear that, sugar? We’re gonna be fine, but you go keep your head down. Avery, fuckin’...Try an’ find a window. Get an angle. See if you can get a peek at what we’re dealin’ with. Shit pops off I’m just gonna let rip through that door, but I don’t wanna do that if I don’t have to.”

He walked to the couch, taking a low stance behind it. It wouldn’t stop a bullet, but he could at least drop and get concealment if things started going south.

Laine pulled Ava along, hustling her towards the bedroom. "It'll be alright," she muttered, more to herself than Ava.

Pari was already inside, laying prone, almost under her bunk. Laine grabbed her shoulder holster and pulled her Glock, double-checking the chambered round. She took the extra magazine and tucked it into her pocket of her black jeans. When she picked up the Kevlar vest and the helmet marked with the bold white letters "FBI" she paused.

Laine looked at Ava and said, "Get up, real quick."

Ava jumped as Laine spoke to her, snapping her out of the partial daze she had found herself in. She pushed herself up off the floor, her eyes darting around as she sniffed loudly at the air. “Do...do you smell wires burning?” She asked Laine in a whisper. “Like...ozone and something metallic is burning?”

"What?" Laine asked as she put the kevlar soft vest over Ava's head, strapping her in. "What smell...ozone?"

A prickle of recognition crawled across her scalp. Michael. The Russians. "Stay here, if you have a gun, keep it ready."

Laine made for the bedroom door, "And stay down."

Avery was busy checking the windows, taking quick scans outside of each one before returning to Dave’s side, “Fucking nothing, dude.”

Again, the knocks at the door, getting more frantic as they went on. Avery looked sidelong at Dave before he stalked towards the door, his eye going over the peep-hole. “Nothing.” He swallowed again, fingers creeping towards the deadbolt and sliding it back, looking over his shoulder at Dave. He turned the knob and swung it open. Nothing.

“Don’t shoot!” Came a voice from the other side, a vague accent tinging the words. “Don’t shoot, please!”

A hand first, then a man came into view, holding a pistol to his own temple and he stuck his hand out just as he spotted Dave behind a couch, “Stop! I’m a dead man already and if you do not listen to what I say, I will kill myself and leave you to deal with the mess!”

A few moments stretched on as Avery looked between the stranger and Dave. The stranger spoke again, “Something is coming, and we must stop it before it comes through!” He looked between Avery and Dave, dropping his backpack and retrieving salt from it, welcoming himself inside with his gun to his head again, “Good, we must begin, is anyone else here?”

Avery’s eyes went about the room as the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end. The room chilled with the Stranger’s arrival and there was the smell of burning wires. “You smell that?” The Stranger asked, eyes wide as he was busy making a circle of the salt around himself, big enough to fit a few more, “That’s it, it’s close. Is there anyone else here?”

Avery looked to Dave, his tongue not moving and looking to the other man to hopefully answer.

“Fuckin’...What?” Dave looked from the Stranger to Avery and back. “What do you mean, somethin’s comin’?”

He watched the man draw his circle with mounting alarm; the sudden stink of an electrical fire raised the hairs on his arms and he held his aim on the newcomer. “Who are you, man? How’d you even...What the fuck is this about?”

“Just get inside!” The Stranger yelled, Avery not wasting time in following him.

Laine came out of the bedroom, her gun drawn and stared at the man. "What's going on, is he Russian?"

“Fuck if I know!” Dave said sharply. “Look man, we’re gonna be more likely to listen if you put that fuckin’ gun down.”

"What's he doing with the salt, that's occult..." Laine trailed off, the smell was stronger and anxiety gripped her. Something Donnelley said about New York nagged at her but her focus was on the stranger. "Sir, please. Put the gun down and tell us what's happening."

The Stranger threw his gun to the ground, not caring where it landed. He shook his finger at Dave and his own gun, “Your guns may kill me, but they will not kill what’s coming.” He smiled nervously, “Now, please-“

The lights flickered and the television went to static as an ungodly howl resonated through the room, Avery feeling it in his chest as if it came from right next to him as he let go a weak whimper from his lips, “What the fuck is it?”

The lights went out without warning, “Something from hell.” The Stranger said, voice quivering as he took Avery by the shoulder, “Get inside and steel yourselves!”

“Fuck it,” Dave spat. “Get in the goddamn circle. Ava! Pari! Get the fuck in here right goddamn now!”

He headed down the hall towards the spare bedroom, shouting. His heart was pounding, his hand slick on the grip of his rifle; he knew that howl. He’d spent a day and a night hiding from it.

“Fuckin’ move it, get out here! Get over there with the others!”

Laine moved quickly, glancing back as Dave passed her to gather the other two. The howl made her knees tremble and her mind scrambled to make reasoning of it but there was none. She stepped inside the circle, any silliness she might have felt gone with the very real fear gripping her chest. She still held her gun despite the stranger's dismissal of their usefulness.

There was a thump from the bedroom before Ava came stumbling out of the doorway, her glasses absent as she rubbed, practically clawing at her eyes. She shook her head as she ran into the hallway, crying out with a shaking and rough voice, “Stop! Stop! What is this!? Make it stop! Make it stop!”

Dave caught her as she staggered past. He was now uttering a steady stream of profanity and minor blasphemies, but he let his rifle dangle and picked her up, crushing her to his chest.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he said, carrying her bodily down the hallway back towards the group. Pari passed them up and he gave her a one-handed shove of encouragement. “Right over there, c’mon, with the weird guy. Avery, that dude does anythin’ stupid, shoot his ass, I kinda got my hands full!”

He hauled Ava into the circle with the others, squeezing her tight. “Relax, sugar,” he said, his voice rough with tension. “Just relax.”

The Stranger was already handing out sheets of paper, the first going to Avery, “Read this and keep your eyes closed, it cannot touch us if we are in the circle but it will not go away if we do not read! Loud!”

As if whatever was coming had sucked the air from the room, all went quiet and still. No breeze, no drafts from the door or sounds even from their own hearts. Everything deathly silent until a rumble of thunder rattled everything in the room, a glass breaking on the floor from its fall, “Read!”

The Stranger began in earnest, chanting the bizarre incarnation of whatever unknown language graced the pages. The longer it went on, the less reality seemed to grip the world. The lights flickered and shadows danced along the walls, demented voices slithered from the quiet, “Close your eyes if you must!”

A terrifying roar and howl came from the air before something coalesced from thin air, a shape, and then a form, and then movement like ripples in the air until it revealed itself in all its horror and rot. The thing stalked on all fours, biting at the air around them, staring into them with ghostlights set in deep pits in its skull. Flesh hung ragged from its limbs as it moved without tendons. The Stranger stared back unmoved and only spoke the words louder through gritted teeth though his eyes grew bloodshot and his lips trickled red.

Dave caught a glimpse of the thing and then looked away, holding tightly to Ava. He focused on the paper the Stranger had given him, mumbling his way through the words a few times before he managed to get them sounded out, listening to the others for clues to pronunciation. He squeezed Ava and leaned against Laine, seeking comfort in physical contact as he shouted the strange syllables written on the page.

Laine took the paper, staring at the writing and began to recite the words though they were alien on her tongue. She could sense it close, the sound of it snapping and growling, it was a physical threat just feet away. Only a sprinkle of goddamn sodium chloride and a stranger's advice stood between them.

Ava kept her hands over her eyes, her fingernails digging into the delicate skin of her eyelids as the flashes of visions of a half decayed and sinewy Hellhound continued to play across the darkness of her shut eyes. She leaned into Dave, breathing heavily and using him as a focus, an anchor point. The warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne and the strength of his arm around her was grounding, a spot of guiding hearth of fire in the darkness and madness trying to overtake her mind.

She gritted her teeth through the images of empty eye sockets, lit from within with sickly unnatural spectral light. She heard the other’s voices around her, chanting together as one and listened intently to the words they were saying. Then, looking into those hollow sockets with her mind’s eye, she started to chant with them.

The temptation to look up at the creature was strong but Laine forced herself to resist, looking instead at the paper. Repeating the words over and over, entering a sort of trance that a Catholic might experience saying the rosary. The words flowed in rhythm with the others, she first had heard Pari's distinct accent and Dave's drawl but now they spoke as one.

The litany rose and fell as Laine remembered Donnelley's voice, the conviction. It looked right at me, it was real. This thing was no doubt looking at them, she could feel its malice.

As their chanting carried on, things only grew more chaotic. The beast thrashed about the room, knocking head-sized holes in the wall and overturning furniture in its rage and frustration. Chinks in its corporeal form began to rip away at its flesh and bone as it howled, charging and biting, but every time stopped in thin air at the edges of the salt circle as if it were a wall of iron.

The Stranger’s voice grew louder and louder until he was shrieking the incantation and the beast fell away, yelping. Gradually, pieces of it turned to dust that floated away on an unnatural wind until nothing was left of it but the ghostlights. They lingered, letting go one last rumbling growl before fading to nothingness.

Of a sudden, the Stranger clutched at his chest and coughed up a fine spray of red. What at first sounded like sobs rendered into laughter the louder they grew until the Stranger crawled to a couch that hadn’t been overturned to sit on it, weakly laughing with a grin as strong as ever.

“Yes!” He raised his hands to the air and let loose a string of Russian curses before he began to rummage around in his backpack, bringing out a bottle of vodka that he uncapped and flicked the plastic cap away into a corner of the room. After a hearty gulp, he set it on the table, putting his feet up and sighing like a man who had gotten through yet another hard day’s work, “Thank you, my friends, very much. Now that you have helped me, perhaps I owe you some things in return.”

He smiled at them all one by one, “First, I am a Russian agent,” he said nonchalantly with a shrug as if he’d introduced himself as a plumber, his accent making a little more sense, he smiled all the wider and held his arms out, “Let us put some cards on the table, Da?”

“What,” Avery put his trembling hand down and let his paper flutter to the ground, “the fuck…”

The paper still gripped between her fingers, Laine finally dragged her gaze from it and faced the dark-haired stranger. "What the...what was that?" She asked, dazed for a moment and stepped back, gathering her thoughts.

Laine could taste blood and reached up, rubbing the back of her hand against her mouth, leaving a bright red smear. Wiping it on her jeans, she tasted blood again, "What the hell?"

She shot a look at the Russian, also bloody mouthed, and rubbed her hand across her lips. "You brought that here, how did you know where..."

Laine caught herself, then looked at the others in various states of bewilderment. How the hell did this man find them in Clarksburg, it had been a last minute change after Charleston had been compromised.

Ava trembled against Dave, tasting blood on her tongue as she tried to catch her breath. Her throat felt raw and rough, as though she had been screaming for hours. The stinging from the scratches over her eyes was a dull note of pain against the adrenaline rushing through her body.

“The Hound.” She whispered, her voice croaking with roughness. “It was the Hound. I didn’t look but I saw it. I saw it.”

"Shh, you're okay sugar," Dave rasped. He carried her to the recliner and sat her down, then stood there beside her, hovering protectively.

"That-" he broke off to gag and then spit a sludge of dip and blood onto the ground at his feet. After a few more harsh coughs he shook himself. "That's the thing from the mountain. The thing that killed my team. I know that sound."

He spat again, grimaced, and then dug out his can, snapping it a few times.

“How did I know?” He chuckled, which erupted into a coughing fit of blood before he wiped his mouth again and took another swig, “I am Russian agent. I come from GRU-SV8, we are like you. Hunting what horrors are from beyond. But our countries, they are not friends.”

He frowned, before he replaced his smile and nudged the vodka in their direction, “But, hopefully, we can be.”

Dave looked around at the others, then sighed. He looked at Avery, remembering how the younger man had automatically delegated the authority to him.

“Fuck it.” He reached out and took a good pull from the bottle, fighting back a gag as he choked down the mix of liquor and blood. When he’d finished he shivered and offered it back. “We really need to teach y’all how to make liquor, cuz I can’t drink this paint thinner all night.”

Laine frowned at what the Russian told her. A similar group like them but from Russia and the Russian mob was pulling supernatural strings in West Virginia. Maybe but it did not explain how he knew about the Safehouse. She stepped out of the circle and said, "I think we need to all sit down and catch our breath. I should call the boss."

Laine reached for her phone and hesitated. Her instinct was to reach out for Donnelley, to pull him back to make them safe but he was probably deep into snatching Jay. He might have his phone turned off but if he did not then be another worry while his focus was on the dangerous job. Instead, she tapped Foster's contact and called him. As she waited, she looked at the Russian, giving him a controlled smile.

Ava eventually caught her breath, her body still shook and her skin was drenched in a cold sweat, but she wasn’t hyperventilating and felt like she could focus her surroundings. She slowly lowered her hands from her eyes and looked over at the strange man that had brought Hell to their doorstep. She could only dimly make out his shape in the darkness without her glasses, the only illumination in the house coming from the faint orange light of the streetlamp outside and Laine’s cell phone.

She didn’t say anything, just watched him as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her own phone. She turned on the flashlight and pointed it over at the stranger so they could see him better.

Pari used her phone to light her way to the kitchen, searching for flashlights or candles in the drawers.

Dave glanced down at Ava with a reassuring smile, reaching over and giving her shoulder a quick squeeze.

“So,” he said, looking at the stranger. “I think maybe some names are in order. An’ maybe you tellin’ us how you knew that shit was comin’. And…” He paused and frowned. “Man, we got a lot to cover, let’s start with names. I’m Dave.”

“Dave,” The Stranger let it roll off his tongue as if trying it out, while he held his hand out for a shake. He smiled all the wider, almost seeming excited to be with someone else for a while, “My name is Renko.”

Ava straightened in her seat, her eyes focusing on the fuzzy image of their new ‘friend’ in shock. “Huh, Queen was right.” She muttered to herself. At least they didn’t have to go to the trouble of finding him now, but...How did he find them?

“Hello?” Foster’s groggy voice came over the other line of Laine’s phone. “Laine?”

“We have an unexpected visitor,” Laine said, as the others were introducing themselves. She paused, the name triggering instant recognition. “Renko, he says he is with the Russian version of our team. He was followed by..uh...something. Something dangerous but it went away.”

“The GRU?” It sounded as if Foster sat up in a hurry, “Who- What does he want? What do you mean?”

“He said GRU-SV8, he calls himself Renko which is a name mentioned in the intel that has been gathered. I don’t know what he wants except he arrived here with a gun to his own head and was followed by ....something. I don’t know what it was except it was kept away by salt and some strange sort of prayer or chant he had us recite. I plan on speaking to him now, but you might want to come down here,” Laine said, eyeing the man the whole time. “We lost power, too. This place is compromised.”

“Then move,” Foster said, “move and tell me where. Keep him talking, but don’t tell him anything sensitive.”

“Right,” she said, mind already racing to possible places. “I’ll call you later.”

Laine disconnected the phone once he ended the call and looked at the group, their features cast in sharp ugly shadows created by the flashlights. Pari had returned with two small flashlights and a first aid kit found in the bathroom.

“Boss says we’re moving locations tonight, pack your things,” Laine said, tucking her phone against her palm and then took a few steps over to the Russian.

“Renko,” Laine turned to him, meeting his dark gaze in the low light. “We’re going to be moving but let’s have a quick chat. How did you find our location? I think that if we’re going to establish a working relationship we need to get a few things in the open. Second, what the fuck was that thing and will it come back?”

“For me. That was the fourth time it has happened in three years. I was working a case on the Tadjbegskye Bratva,” He said, sighing, “I am surveilling you. The GRU wants Intelligence on active Delta Green teams. You are one.”

“The Old Man would shit if he knew he’d been right about the fuckin’ Russians,” Dave grumbled. “Er...No offense, hoss.” He gave Renko a tight, apologetic smile, then turned to Ava. “You okay, sugar? Sure, you’re doin’ fine. Listen, we gotta get packed, you and Pari go grab y’alls bags. Okay?”

He threw a glance at Avery. “For fuck’s sake, man, get your rifle an’ vest. We gotta boogie an’ us two are on security detail. Renko...Sorry, bud, but uh...Just keep bein’ cool, okay? An’ leave that gun on the ground. We got plenty of guns on us an’ I really don’t wanna have to shoot you. You seem pretty cool.”

Ava looked up at Dave and glanced over at Renko for a moment, still unsettled by what just happened but trying to focus on the present. She looked away as she stood up from the chair, reaching out to grab Dave’s arm. “You should...probably search him for any electronics and confiscate them.” She said softly before releasing him to head for the women’s bunkroom, using the flashlight of her phone to light the way and carefully stepping her bare feet around the debris on the floor.

“I am a spy. I understand.” Renko shrugged at Dave, “I think you all are pretty cool too. I like all of you, you saved my life.”

“Yeah, well, I feel like that’s mutual, bud,” Dave said. “You got any electronics on ya? Phone, anything like that where we might get traced?”

“If I wanted to bring the GRU here, I would not have knocked.” Renko smiled before he stood, brushing himself off and holding his arms out, “Search, please.”

Laine glanced at Dave, the silent question hanging between them. “I know how, it’s part of the training. Unless you…”

She made a gesture of patting down then shrugged, waiting for Dave to make the call as he had suggested it.

“Oh, uh...I’ve got...You know.” Dave hefted his AK. “Prob’ly better if you do it and I cover ya.”

Laine nodded then faced Renko, going through the pat down method taught at the FBI Academy, running her hands along his arms and neck, under his arms and along his torso and belt. She glanced at him but continued, going down his legs and up to his groin and then the ankles. Standing up, she shook her head, “Nothing I could find.”

Taking a couple of steps back, she glanced at Renko wryly, “If you have anything tucked into an orifice that’ll be your secret to keep. I’m Laine, I suppose it’s polite to give you my name now.”

“Don’t worry,” he shrugged, “We stay just friends. I want to be trusted, because I need friends too. We all need some from time to time, yes?”

“I can tell you where the Sheriff of Blackriver’s cousin is.” Renko smiled. “The first gift of my friendship.”

Laine nodded, the tension that was ever-present when UMBRA was activated, about who you could and could not trust or speak openly with was only alleviated by having the trust of the team. His mention of the cousin made her look sharply at him, a gut feeling she recognized going off inside of her. “Tell me about this cousin,” she said, tucking her laptop under her arm, “We have to go but I need to know about him.”

She held off asking the direct questions about the cousin, instead letting Renko fill in the space with his information without coloring it with her suspicions.

“He is in Charleston. He parties, has many friends in the Bratva, secures the deals between his family and Nikolai’s.” Renko showed his first hint of anything negative as he frowned, “Nikolai is a stain on Russia, him and all his kind. I will lose no sleep if and when he dies.”

“We have a goal that is the same. You want to find Nikolai, I want him dead.” Renko shrugged, “I too must go. Do not worry about talking to me again, I will know where to find you.”

He winked and trod off towards the still-open door.

“Hold on,” Laine called out, “You’re not going to just take off like that. What if that thing comes back?”

“Then I’ll come back with it. I told you, they want me.” Renko smiled before turning back for the door.

Dave shifted his gaze from Renko to Laine. Bratva, spies, occult bullshit...All of this was well outside his usual area of responsibility. He was a demo guy, and not even a professionally trained one.

“Look, just let him go, Laine,” he said. “We ain’t keepin’ him around if he doesn’t wanna stay, short of tyin’ him up. Let’s just get movin’. We gotta leave. I wanna take my truck, we can load the bags an’ shit in the bed. Probably best if we have two vehicles, anyway.”

Laine sighed deeply, "Right, I'm not going to detain him against his will."

She watched Renko leave and said, "Stay safe."

Laine turned away, then back to Dave, "We'll need to pack up for the other guys. I'll get Donnelley's gear if you and Avery want to get the others."

Once she turned in the hall and entered the women's bedroom, the other two packing what little they had unpacked.

"We'll need to box up some of the food and the mugs of course so wherever we go we don't start from nothing," Laine said, looking at Pari as she finished clasping her designer suitcase closed.

"I'll take care of it, the Prius has surprising trunk space," Pari said, dragging her suitcase behind her as she left the room.

Laine grabbed her duffel bag and tucked her cellphone in chin to use the light as she tossed her clothes into the bag. Zipping her laptop into its carrying case she looked over at Ava, "How are you holding up?"

Ava was sitting on her bed, her glasses retrieved and back on her face as she mechanically went through the motions of folding her clothes up and putting them in her duffle bag. She looked over at Laine, angry red scratch marks over her eyes now visible from the light of Laine’s phone.

She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it a moment later as a croaking sound came out. She took in a deep breath and just shook her head, looking down as she zipped up her duffle bag.

"Ava?" Laine put the laptop case down and moved closer, shining the bright light at Ava’s face. The bright red scratches stood out starkly on her fair skin. “You scratched yourself, what happened?”

Lowering the light so as not to continue blinding her, Laine sat beside Ava, looking at her intently. She was still strapped into the blue FBI vest over her pajamas and at the moment it shook Laine just how futile the gesture had been. They had all been so damn frail in the presence of whatever that was, Laine had not looked but sensed the creature and heard its unearthly howls.

Ava looked up at her, tears shining in her eyes. “I saw it.” She whispered, her voice soft and hoarse. “Before it came, I saw it in my head and heard it, clear as day. I didn’t look at it, but I still saw it.” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. “I thought I was going crazy...Maybe I did go crazy, I started scratching my eyes because some part of me thought that would make it go away.”

Laine raised her brows slightly, her green eyes peering curiously at Ava as she explained. “I didn’t look either but I didn’t see it in my head. How long before it arrived did you see and hear it in your head? What did you feel?”

Ava squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I-I don’t want to talk about it.” She said, her voice cracking as she took in another series of deep breaths. Her hands started to shake again and she gripped her arms tighter to try to still them. “I-It...I can’t. Not right now.”

“Alright,” Laine murmured, putting a light hand on her shoulder, brushing back her wild curls. “We don’t need to talk about it now. Take deep breaths, Ava, nice and slow.”

Laine inhaled deep and let the breath out slowly, the same deep breathing exercises taught to her a long time ago by a therapist. “Deep breath, count to ten and release. It’s what I do when I’ve seen too much.”

Ava nodded before following Laine’s instructions, taking in deep, shaky breaths and holding it for a moment then breathing it out. She repeated the exercise until it felt like she wasn’t about to fall to pieces. She could at least hold it together for a little longer. “Okay.” She said as she released her last breath. “I’m okay-ish now.” She looked up at Laine and tried to give her a thankful smile. “Thank you, Laine.”

Laine gave her shoulder a brief rub, patting the Kevlar. “Anytime. And okay-ish is good. It’s been a night and it’s not over yet. Look, whatever it was, it’s gone. It’s gone and Renko who trailed it in here is gone, too. But Foster told me we need to move locations, I need your help finding some motel we can hole up in, again. I’m going to call Donnelley, he needs to know what’s going on.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” Ava said with a frown. “This is the second time I’ve been in a Safe House for two days and we had to bug out to a motel. I hope this doesn’t become a pattern.” She said, reaching over and knocking her knuckles against the wood of her nightstand.

Laine nodded and muttered as she took out her phone, scrolling through her contacts, “It makes me wonder how these are actually ‘safe’.”

"I need a cigarette," she said as she tapped his contact and the call started.

“We’re a little busy.” Came Donnelley’s voice from her phone’s speaker.

"Yeah? Well, we had Renko from GRU drop by for a quick visit. Brought a fucking....thing from Hell with him and we're breaking camp, other than that it's been a quiet night," Laine said, her tension unleashing now that she didn't have to keep her compsure so tight.

“What?” Donnelley said, the shortness in his voice masking the confusion. Somewhere behind him, a scream could before it was muffled again. “GRU? Russian? What did he say?”

"That he wanted to be friends, that we saved his life and the same Bratva we're after is after him," Laine said, ignoring the scream. "He gave me information on a cousin of the Sheriff, he's in Charleston. We're leaving the house, GRU has us under surveillance."

"But that thing... Jesus fuck, Donnelley," she said, her husky voice cracking slightly. "He used a damn salt ring to keep it away."

“It works.” Donnelley said, an image of him shrugging along with the statement, “Listen, you need to be careful with this. I don’t know why he exposed himself if he has you under surveillance, but he wants something.”

Donnelley sighed hard, “Keep him friendly. Don’t tell him more than you need to. Get every piece of information from him that you can. Sooner or later, he’s goin’ to ask for somethin’.” He said, “I want to know what it is. We’ll talk when we get back.”

"He's gone," Laine snapped, "And so are we, I'll let you know where we end up."

“Do that.” Donnelley said, the sound of him toying with his phone apparent, “Who the fuck said you could talk?-“ and the call ended.

Laine looked at her phone, then jammed it in her back pocket before glancing at Ava, "Let me know once you get the motel arranged."

She went down the hallway and to the room marked "Men" and opened the door. Inside it was tidy but with a scent of tobacco and it reminded her. She dug out her pack of Djarums and lit one, not caring anymore about smoking inside now. Laine had almost felt settled in and they were on the run again.

She found his duffel bag and opened drawers, looking to see if he had put anything away for a prolonged stay. As she put away jeans and t-shirts, boxer briefs and socks she found a small leather book. It was an old fashioned photo book with plastic sleeves and about the size of her hand.

Laine flipped through it, the first photo of a young, unscarred Donnelley cradling an infant beside an attractive woman with blonde hair. His ex and his daughter, the next few pictures featuring a growing girl riding a tricycle and going trick or treating in a cowgirl outfit and Donnelley dressed like a cowboy. Laine smiled slightly and turned the page. An older Tilly, beaming between her parents with a soccer trophy in her hands. Then it ended and the photos were of him and other men in military gear, unknown faces until the last two photos. Scarred Donnelley and the tattooed man Queen, smiling unabashed drunken grins with drinks in hand. The last photos was a team picture with grim faced Ghost hulking in the center, flanked by Donnelley and an unknown man with Polynesian features.

She put it in the duffel bag, sliding it into a pocket where she found a couple of issues of Hustler and Swank and a three pack of condoms. That gave her a moments pause but she had no time to think about it. Laine left them there and finished packing, taking the bag with hers over her shoulders.

---

Ava watched Laine leave the room and glanced around at the darkness and quiet of the bedroom. Her skin started to crawl sitting in the room alone, the shadows and stillness of the room starting to feel oppressive and she stood. She had pulled on her Uggs so her feet wouldn’t be cut up and she gathered up her duffle bag, her laptop bag and the stuffed cat Laine had gotten her. She crushed it against her chest as she left the room, making her way to the living room to be close to another person.

She entered into the room and paused. In the dim light provided by the candles Pari had lit, she saw Avery standing in the center of the room, staring into space. She swallowed, her brow furrowing in concern as she set her things on the non-destroyed couch and walked up to him.

“Avery?” She called out softly, moving into his field of vision so she didn’t startle him. “Are you,” She hesitated before she finished that sentence. ‘Are you okay?’ Of course he wasn’t okay, none of them were okay after what they had just experienced.

Ava shut her mouth, cleared her throat to buy herself time before asking, “A-are you hurt?”

Avery shook his head without looking at her. It was understandable that everyone would be shaken, but the lack of youthful energy of the man before her was so unlike the Avery who’d greeted them at the door and treated them like friends. No smiles on his lips, “Nuh.” He slowly came to put his eyes on Ava’s, slack-jawed and with eyes quickly starting to glisten, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

His lip quivered just as his hands snapped to his face and he collapsed to sit on the floor, heaving sobs from his mouth like a terrified child. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jesus fucking Christ, Jesus fuck…”

Ava jumped as Avery broke down, staring at the Army Vet with wide eyes for a heart beat before she sat down next to him. She was smaller than he was, but still, she reached over to put an arm around his shoulders in a half embrace. “I know.” She whispered to him, leaning against him, hoping that the offer of physical comfort would be enough to help pull him back. “I know.” She said again, blinking her own eyes to keep back the tears.

Laine walked into the living room and saw the two leaning in together. Her stomach knotted, recalling her first time faced with the deadly supernatural. She set the bags down and went over, listening to the young man sobbing.

She looked at Ava, who was hardly much better off after their conversation. Laine sat on the other side of Avery, waiting a moment until he quieted.

"Avery," she started to say, then hesitated. Laine watched how easily Ava hugged him and felt a twinge of envy, it was never that easy for her.

"Avery, we're safe," Laine murmured, then put her hand on his shoulder. "You did good, we're all alive. We're safe."

Avery quieted with a few deep breaths that hitched in his throat. By the time he quieted, he was breathing evenly. Deep, long, but even. He stood, placing his hand on Ava’s shoulder and squeezing it for a moment before he wiped a glistening trail of snot from his upper lip. “Fuck,” he dug the heels of his palms over his eyes to try to dry them and turned for the rooms, “I, uh…”

He looked at Laine and then Ava, before he looked away from both, closing his eyes and letting his head hang. He cleared his throat, speaking softly and more defeated than ever, “I’m going to get my things.”

Laine held his shoulder, finding herself rubbing in slow circles in an instinctive comforting gesture. "There is no shame in being afraid," she spoke in a quiet, measured tone. "Everyone of us was terrified and we've experienced the...weird shit. I don't even know how one gets used to it. I ran off screaming after my first uh.. encounter."

She thought briefly at Donnelley's unconcerned reply to the mention of the creature and the salt. Taking her own deep breath, she said to Avery, "Yeah, let's get out of here. Ava's found us a motel. It'll be alright, dude. Maybe you can drive with me, we can talk about home. I got my eye on that Camaro."

Laine stood up, watching him then glanced at Ava. Both of them looked worse for wear and she was keeping herself as composed as she could but the knot of tension and anxiety grew hot in her chest.

Avery swallowed, a half-hearted smile flashed across his lips and a single bark of a chuckle that sounded more hollow than anything huffed past his lips, “Yeah,” he said, “Okay.”

While they were speaking Dave tottered out of the men's room, bent beneath the weight of his and Ghost's bags. Judging by the rattle and weight, he was pretty sure that Ghost's bag was nothing but guns, ammunition, and wrenches.

"Hey, I'm 'bout done in there, 'cept for your shit, Jason's, an' Queen's," he grunted. He paused, hitching the bags higher on his struggling shoulders. The hollow look in his eyes and the concern on the faces of the women spoke volumes, and Dave bit back a curse and pasted on a smile. "Know what, I'll take care of that shit, just get your weapons, alright buddy? I'm gonna need you if bullets start flyin'."

Avery seemed to perk up in all the wrong ways at the appearance of Dave. He returned Dave’s smile, but it was a disjointed little thing on his gaunt face. “No, I got it, man.” Avery chuckled, stepping in Dave’s direction to pat him good-naturedly on the shoulder, every muscle in him seemed stiff as his voice croaked, “I’m fine, man.”

His eyes glanced Ava and Laine’s direction before he refocused them on Dave, nodding, “I’m fine.” He said, almost more to himself than Dave, sniffling as he stepped past him to retrieve what little he had in the house.

Ava looked up at Dave and then glanced at Laine with concern in her eyes. “I don’t think he’s fine.” She whispered to both of them, pushing herself up to stand again.

Dave watched him walk away, his jaw working. He was frustrated; God knew he himself wasn't fine. But he had a responsibility. He had to be fine because freaking out was a luxury he couldn't afford.

"I think you're right," he said quietly. "But… He ain't got a choice. We can panic later, but Christ, he's the only other shooter we got right now."

He looked at Laine, some of his own worry showing in his steel blue eyes. "Can you talk to him? On the drive? I don't wanna push, but shit… I can't watch our backs alone, I need him. I know it's heartless as hell, but…"

He trailed off, shook his head. "Just try an' get him centered? Please? We need another serious gun in this fight."

Laine met Dave's gaze then stood up, speaking quietly, "That's my plan, I'll do my best. He's had a shock, probably his first time seeing...the weird shit. But you're right, we need him. We gotta keep our collective shit together."

She moved to pick up the bags, hefting Donnelley's over her shoulder. "You didn't happen to find the keys to that Camaro in the guys' room?"

"Wasn't lookin'," Dave shrugged. "I grabbed my shit and Ghost's cuz he's bunked next to me. I still gotta get Queen's and Jason's bags, and Avery's dependin' on if he does it or not."

"Alright, just take any keys you can find," Laine suggested, "I figured you could take Ava and I was going to have Avery ride with Pari but now, I guess I'll take him with me...shit, that leaves her alone. I'll figure it out."

She shook her head and went for the door, looking over her shoulder at Ava and the destroyed furniture and dents in the walls beyond her. That unreal thing had been real. Fuck you, Renko, this cousin better be legit. Laine thought as she left the house.

---

It had taken Dave three trips to get the men’s bags loaded into the bed of his truck, and by the time he was done he’d worked up a healthy sweat. Between the weight of the bags, his own gear, and the rifle he refused to take off, it was a nice workout hauling clothes, guns, and ammo at maximum speed through a destroyed house and slinging them into an F250.

Once everything was loaded up he’d taken Ava’s bag from her. “C’mon, sugar, you’re with me,” he said, giving her a wink and the most reassuring smile he could manage under the circumstances. “You found us a lil’ hideaway yet?”

“Yeah, it’s a little Days Inn over in Bridgeport.” She said, frowning as she looked around the eerily quiet neighborhood. She still wore the FBI ballistic vest Laine had given her over her lounge clothes, her arms crossed over her chest to hide the large yellow letters. She let Dave take her duffle bag, but she kept her laptop bag on her shoulder. “I already gave the address to Laine and Pari, so I can give you directions.”

Dave nodded along as she spoke. He looked her over, then unzipped his bag and dug around for a moment.

“Here,” he said, retrieving a green flannel shirt. “Put that on. Cover up that vest for ya. Might hafta roll the sleeves a bit.” He shook out the shirt and held it up for her.

“Oh, thanks.” Ava smiled slightly as she took the flannel shirt and hurriedly put it on. She stopped realizing she still had her laptop bag on her shoulder and sighed. She took it off, set it down and then put on the flannel. “I know I should have taken it off and given it back to Laine.” She said while buttoning the shirt, the sleeves and fit almost comically large on her. “But, well...I didn’t want to.” She admitted with a frown while glancing up at him. “You know?”

“Can’t say I blame ya,” Dave said. He tapped the front of his chest rig, the ballistic plate producing a dull thunk. “I’ve got a coat in the back I can put on if I need to get out, but I think I’ll be fine takin’ it off just to get our rooms. You go ahead an’ keep that secret squirrel vest on, though.”

He reached into the backseat and, with a crinkle of plastic, produced a water bottle, which he passed to Ava before grabbing one for himself.

“So,” he said, taking a large swig and swishing it around to clear the blood from his mouth. He spat it on the ground and grimaced. “So. How far’s this Bridgeport?”

“Ten minutes.” She answered as she took the water bottle. She rolled up the sleeves to her elbows before cracking open the water. “Not that far, so Donnelley and the others can find it, but it’s a small city and the inn is on the edge of town so we can at least have some security.” She took a small sip and grimaced as the cool water came in contact with her scratchy throat. “They’d got a breakfast bar with a waffle station.”

Dave nodded. “Well...I do like waffles,” he said. He gave her another smile. “Good find, sugar. You ready to mount up?”

“Yeah.” She said with a nod, clearing her throat. “I need some tea when we get there.” She said, taking another swig from the water bottle. She glanced over at the safehouse as she started to head for the passenger side. Just last night they were all having a nice, relaxing cookout in the backyard. That time seemed so far away already.

Breathing out through her nose, she turned away to open the passenger door and climb inside.

Dave climbed into the driver’s side, finally removing his rifle and laying it across the floorboard in front of the bench seat where he could reach it should the need arise. The pistol he kept strapped to his thigh; it was a more practical weapon from a vehicle, anyway. He pulled the door shut and jammed the key in the ignition, the big truck turning over with a rumble.

“Alrighty, let’s take us a drive,” he said, forcing some cheer into his voice.

“Mm,” Ava mumbled as she leaned against the door, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the window. She gave him the initial directions to find the highway that would take them to Bridgeport and then fell silent, staring out the window with her arms wrapped around herself.

Dave followed her directions, watching the mirrors for signs of pursuit. Once he’d merged them onto the highway he frowned, turning his attention to Ava. He’d seen the scratches on her eyes, heard her screaming when the thing had been about to make itself known. He felt a dull ache at the thought of the fear she must have felt; he’d had everybody else to focus on. It seemed easier.

“You did real good in there, sugar,” he said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat, then reached over and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You kept it together. I heard you readin’ with the rest of us.”

Ava jumped slightly at the hand on her shoulder, but quickly relaxed. “Thanks.” She said softly, sitting herself upright and looking to him with a small ghost of a smile. “I’m glad that we all are okay, that was...really scary back there.” She said, letting out a shaky breath and rubbing her hands together. “Getting chased out of another safehouse, by that...thing.” She shuddered, the image of that beast flashing across her mind in vivid detail. She felt her throat tighten and she started to take deep, steady breaths.

Dave watched her from the corner of his eye as she spoke. At the change in her demeanor he held his arm out. “C’mere,” he said. “C’mere, it’s alright.”

Ava looked over at him, taking in the outstretched arm for a moment before undoing her seatbelt. She slid over the bench to him and tucked her head under his arm and against his chest, curling up against him. “I-I saw it, before it came.” She said, her body trembling as she gripped a hand onto his shirt. “I saw it and I heard it, in my head. It felt like it was right on top of me, looking at me.”

He squeezed her tightly to him, despite their mutual body armor rigs preventing the best contact. He could feel her shaking and he drew her in, reaching down to gently take her hand.

“It’s gone now,” he rumbled, his voice pitched low, comforting. “It’s gone, an’ now we got a buddy who can get rid of it if it comes back. An’ ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you when I’m around, okay, sugar?”

“He brought it to us.” She said in a whisper, reaching up to take off her glasses so she could press her face against his chest. “What if he does it again and next time, we can’t stop it? What if it comes after us next and he’s not there?”

Ava squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the dam of emotions threaten to spill over. “Why didn’t any of you see it like I did?”

Dave hit his hazards and allowed the truck to slow, drifting to the side of the road. It rolled to a stop and he dropped it into park, then wrapped both arms tightly around Ava, resting his chin on her soft curls.

“Shhh,” he said quietly. He felt his heart kick up at the voicing of his own unspoken fear, but kept his tone steady and soft. “I can’t answer that, sugar. There’s powers at work here we don’t understand, but you got me. You got this whole team, all of us, we’re in this with you. We’re gonna get through all this.”

Ava choked on a sob and buried her face against his chest. “It’s happening again.” She said, her voice soft and straining with emotion as she tried to keep some semblance of control.

“What’s happening again?” He looked around, eyeing the darkness outside the truck.

“I’m seeing things again.” She answered, her body trembling in his arms. “Like when the Program recruited me.”

He relaxed and gave her a gentle squeeze. “We’ll...I dunno. Talk to Foster, maybe. He’s got you out here for a reason, I figure a weirdo like him knows plenty of what’s goin’ on. He might know some people.”

Like a flip had been switched, the flood Ava had been keeping at bay came rushing forth. She broke down and started crying into his chest.

Dave shifted to get better access, holding onto her and letting her cry. He reached up and stroked her hair gently, speaking quiet, comforting words, his cheek on the top of her head.

“It’s alright, sugar,” he said, keeping his eyes on the darkness outside the windows. “Everythin’s gonna be okay.”

---

Dave pulled the truck into the parking lot of the Days Inn about 20 minutes later than intended. After Ava had vented he’d stopped so she could get some tea, and they had driven the rest of the way in comfortable silence, his arm looped around her. He stopped the Ford in an empty space and glanced down at the mass of curly red hair that was leaned against his chest.

“Tea helpin’?”

“Yeah, I love lavender tea.” She answered quietly, relaxed under the comfortable weight and warmth of Dave’s strong arm over her shoulders. Cradling the warm cup in her hands helped with some of the chills and the liquid soothed the roughness of her throat.

“Thank you Dave.” She said, looking up at him. “For everything.”

“Hey, of course,” he said, smiling. “You know I’m here for ya, sugar.” He gave her a squeeze.

“I know.” She smiled, glancing down as her head rested on his shoulder without much thought. “...How are you doing?” She asked, her eyes turning back up to him. “I don’t think I’ve asked you that yet, I’m sorry.”

“I’m…” He trailed off, then sighed. Honesty was probably the best policy. “I’m scared. Real scared. I’m okay in a gunfight, but...Avery, he froze up, an’ I’m kinda...You know. Just doin’ what makes sense. I kinda wound up havin’ to make some decisions back there and now I’m just hopin’ shit goes right.” He gave her a nervous grin. “But I’m managin’ so far.”

“I’m sorry.” Ava said again, leaning against him a little more since she couldn’t hug him. “For what it’s worth, I think you made all the right calls and did great.” She said, looking back up at him with a small smile.

“Well, thanks,” he said. He laughed a little. “Been a real shit-show of a night. You think you’re gonna be able to get some rest? I ain’t. If you’re not, well...I’ll probably set up to keep watch for a few hours, once we get checked in. You can hang out with me, if ya like.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be sleeping either.” She said with a sigh, hesitating a moment before sitting herself upright. “Especially since Donnelley asked me to keep by my phone and computer all night.” She stared down at her tea and then lifted her head with a small smile. “I’m going to watch the most wholesome thing I can find if that’s alright?”

Dave laughed. “You watch whatever you wanna watch. I’m just happy for the company.”

“Me too.” She smiled a little wider and easier, happy to hear him laugh. She took a sip of her tea and scooted away from him. “I guess we should go find the others?”

“Yeah, guess so,” he said.

---

Music rumbled at a low volume from the speakers of the Chevy Camaro as it rolled through the dark streets, Laine following the directions she made Avery give her off his phone. She wanted to make him focus on something other than what was in his head, there would be time enough at the motel. Street lights flickered over their faces as they drove and Laine glanced at him, “What’s the next turn?”

She already knew it, Laine had looked over the directions before getting into the car. Pari was a few car lengths behind her, somewhere in that bright Prius. Bridgeport was not far but it felt better to be out of the city. Swearing internally she remembered how she had insisted to Donnelley that Clarksburg would be safe.

Avery hadn’t blinked until he realized his eyes were burning, clamping his eyelids shut and shaking his head, “What?” He said, before realizing almost too late, “Left, left, turn left.”

He sighed, shaking his head, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Laine hung a sharp left, taking it too fast but the low slung Camaro performed admirably. She stepped on the gas and pulled away into the darkness of the stretch of road that lead to Bridgeport.

"Avery, there is nothing to be sorry for," she said, her voice slightly husky with the California coming through stronger as she spoke. "My first time wasn't easy either. I could have been killed if not for the team saving me. I wanted to run and never look back. I was terrified and I couldn't comprehend what I saw, what had tried to kill me. But Donnelley told me something that has stuck with me and it keeps me coming back, even when all I want to do is hide and pretend I never knew this war existed."

She glanced at the kid, he seemed so damn young even though only about ten years separated them. Laine paused, giving him a chance to absorb before she continued. "He said that this is the only war that matters, that we measure success by seeing another sunrise. That's all. Just another sunrise."

Laine smiled sadly, then glanced at him, "I think of those sunrises back home, the golden glow over the city and as it touches the beach and washed warm over the ocean. I think...that's worth it. I want to see that again."

“Where are you from?” Avery asked, looking at her from the phone in his lap. “I’m from San Fran. Hunter’s Point.”

He swallowed, “Another sunrise…” he shook his head, “That’s enough for him?”

"I'm from LA, born in Van Nuys but spent most of my growing up in Torrance," Laine replied.

She turned into the parking lot of the Day's Inn, smiling slightly at the appropriate choice Ava had made. Perhaps it had been subconscious but the glowing sun on the sign seemed to reinforce her point.

"That's what he said," Laine recalled, "Another sunrise... another day to fight the darkness."

Avery nodded, taking a moment of silence to appreciate the words. These people were a class above any he’d met, and beneath all of the shock and terror coursing through him, he found himself admiring them, “Another sunrise.” He said before opening the door and stepping out, “Another sunrise.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>CLARKSBURG, WV
>JUL.19.2019
>2000HRS...///

Behind the door labeled ‘Men’, loud and angry music played from a speaker mingled with the sounds of clicks and clacks of brass checks and magazines, buckles, and zippers being worked. Donnelley had packed light, This was supposed to be a precise strike with no room for error. Just another snatch-and-grab. He looked at himself in the full-length mirror, dressed to impress. His black slacks, his white button-up, his hair done up. He indeed looked like a Fed.

His tactical gear was in the corner, ready. He slipped a cigarette between his lips and sighed to himself, another day at the office. This was American soil, and here he was breaking the law to get the objective. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d done for the Program. Ghost could attest to that. Memories of Libya stabbed from the corners of his mind and he shook them off, turning for the door.

He switched the music off and exited his room, wanting to get some conversation before the quiet could get to him, knocking on the door to the men’s bunks and standing back for it to open.

It was Queen who opened the door, still wearing his Molly Hatchet t-shirt and a sly smile. "It's the big boss man, fellas. Everyone look busy."

He stepped back to let Donnelley in and closed the door behind him.

“Everyone’s kits in order?” Donnelley asked, his eyes sweeping the room, seeing the faces of his tactical team in varying degrees of intensity.

Jason was kneeling over a black GoRuck bag looking over the trauma kit he was packing. He wasn’t about to sling it over his shoulder for the exfil, but he’d stash it in their vehicle just in case. His sidearm was already holstered underneath his armpit, and his shotgun had both magazine tubes loaded with slugs. He was ready to bang, but a nagging weight of anxiety crushed his ribs in. He’d have to swallow it down and try to keep up. None of the guys around him had rust to shake off. There was a medication rattle deep within his backpack as he wrestled a bottle of Adderall free. Best get focused, he thought.

“Just in time,” Jason said, pouring a few Adderall on a nearby drawer top and beginning to crush the pills up with the butt end of a magazine.

"Locked, cocked, and ready to rock," Queen drawled, sitting on his bunk. "How we going in?"

He gestured to Donnelley's business suit and raised his brow.

“Dress appropriately.” Donnelley spoke around his cigarette, “Jay’s goin’ to find out who he’s up against.”

Queen pulled off his jeans, kicking them aside, “And I so looked forward to ingratiating myself with a buncha dumbass Nazi hillbillies.”

He grabbed his DEA tactical gear from his suitcase and pulled on the black tactical pants, followed by the boots.

Ghost looked over his dark cargo pants and charcoal hoodie.

"I'm good," he grunted. "We goin' in as cops or goons, I'll look the part either way."

“I reckon,” Donnelley snorted, “You always been good at lookin’ scary, you scary sumbitch.”

Jason scraped a few lines of the crushed pills and railed one through a cut plastic straw. His head shook and he flexed his jaw open while snorting the amphetamine deeper up his nostril. The pressure in his chest grew and he flexed his back muscles to pop his spine in a quick rattle, then looked over at Queen and gestured the straw his way as the come-up hit.

Donnelley turned to the rest and nodded over to his room, “We’re bringin’ along one of them laser pointers on the trip. Verify Jay is in there, case the place and go in hard. We don’t have the blueprints to this place, but it ain’t big. Close quarters, we keep up with that violence of action and we’ll catch them with their dicks out.”

“If Jay doesn’t happen to be there, we get an HVT bagged and gagged and ask him questions in the field. I’m gonna run down everyone Jay knows until he’s shittin’ himself.” Donnelley smirked. “I want our window to be as small as we can make it. One of these guys gets to a phone, they’ll be waitin’ for us. Quick strikes, all night, until we find this fucker or find out he’s too far away. Our prime goal is gettin’ to these Russians, Jay is our key in.”

Queen nodded, adjusting the straps of his Kevlar vest, black with white DEA letters on the front. "We'll get em, fast and clean."

He had zip ties and a taser stuffed into his pockets and he glanced over at Jason after hearing the sharp inhalation. “Este güey,” Queen gasped in Mexican Spanish, giving a playful grin to the big Puerto Rican. “I didn’t know you were down.”

With a flourish, he took the straw and helped himself, snorting a short line of the crunchy powder. Queen rubbed his nose then dug into his own pocket, a small baggie of cocaine in his palm. “In case you wanna up the ante.”

Donnelley held his hand out now that he was done playing leader, “Anybody sharin’?”

“Of course,” Jason answered, and cocked his head down at the straw in Queen’s hand. “Don’t mind if I do,” Jason added, grinning at the baggy of coke. It would be his first time taking cocaine for a job, but it couldn’t be any worse than uppers, right? More than anything he knew he couldn’t say no.

“Help yourself, compliments of the Miami field office of the Drug Enforcement Agency,” Queen said then glanced over at Ghost, “Want your ice?”

Ghost took his skull pipe out of a pouch on his flak, extending a hand. He'd watched them snorting pills with disdain; it was party-boy shit, reeking of college kids and club bathrooms. If you were going to catch a pre-gig buzz, you could at least do it like a professional.

After a bump of coke, Queen brought the tiny ziplock bag that held the confiscated meth from the lab he had helped bust before the Cuban case. The cook had been a chemistry student and it showed, the meth wasn’t bathroom sink trash.

“Same as what I gave you in New York,” he assured the big man as he passed over a rock, watching him prepare the pipe, studying the evil sardonic grin and smiled back at it. “Light it up.”

Ghost sparked the pipe and took a heavy drag. The effect was almost immediate. He felt his muscles tighten, and his pulse began to beat rapidly.

"I'll need that later," he growled as he exhaled, offering the bag to Queen. The pipe went back into its case, the remains of the rock nestled inside.

Queen grinned then took the bag, tucking it away, “I got it. Feeling that good shit, gonna let this monster loose, boys. Fuck them and theirs.”

His face felt numb and his mind sharp, the thoughts racing to one goal. Get fucking Jay.

He picked up his micro Uzi and slung it over his chest, his 9mm tucked away in the holster at his hip. “Alright, Tex, let’s ruin their night.”

“First things first,” Donnelley stretched up toward the ceiling, hearing his shoulder and back let loose a series of rattling pops, “Fuckin’ hand me that straw.”

---

A few minutes of drug-fueled chit-chat later, Donnelley was the first out of the room, intent on checking on the rest of his team. He had to make sure everything was in order before they left. He couldn’t forgive himself if he sped off without making sure his people were as safe as they could be. Jay and his attack on the Safehouse was sobering for him. They weren’t invincible and untraceable. They were dealing with an enemy that was smart, and had unnatural resources, of New York was anything to go by. Avery was asleep on the couch and he slapped the man’s foot hard, jerking him awake with a yelp, “Stay the fuck up, kid.”

“Yessir.” He groggily nodded as Donnelley made his way towards the front door.

He closed it behind him and finally lit that cigarette, watching the streets with careful eyes, tempered with the unbridled rush of amphetamines and coke, willing him to do something with the jittery, restless aggression.

Dave watched Donnelley pass through the house and, after a moment's hesitation, followed after him. He joined the man outside, pulling the door to.

"Hey man," he said, stepping up beside him. "What's the deal with the brief? When we doin' that?" He figured he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it face to face.

Donnelley turned when he heard the front door open and close again, seeing Dave stepping up to him. The look on his face told Donnelley he knew already. It didn’t help. “I need you to stay.” Donnelley said, his face not betraying any of his feelings about the decision, “I can’t have the people here unprotected, not after Blackriver.”

Dave's frown deepened, but he gave him a slow nod, hanging his head a little.

"Yeah, I can do that, man. You know I'll watch 'em. I guess uh… Be careful, man. Watch your back." He offered his hand, biting back his disappointment in favor of an encouraging smile. "I'll have everythin' safe and sound when y'all get done."

Donnelley offered his consoling smile, trying to turn it into something more brave and fierce as he clapped his hand with Dave’s, “Ain’t another soul here I’d trust, man.” Donnelley said, “I’ll double-tap some shitheads for ya.”

Dave's smile widened, becoming a genuine grin.

"Alright man, I'll see you when you're done." He patted Donnelley on the shoulder and then headed into the house, heading to prep his gear.

Queen stepped out of the room, a loose swagger in his stride now as he was dressed for the raid, a combination of black tactical gear and the DEA vest over his Molly Hatchet t-shirt. His eyes were noticeably dilated, the pale irises only rings around the dark pupils, causing him to blink in the bright kitchen lights. Queen spotted Ava and he slid his sunglasses in place, despite the fact they were going out into the dark. He leaned against the wall, his hand resting on the micro Uzi, “Get ready, cause I’m coming home with all the hard drives and phones. I’m gonna keep you busy all night.”

Ava shut the fridge, a can of cherry 7-Up in hand as she looked up at Queen. Her eyes widened slightly seeing him in tactical gear and heavily armed. “Um, okay, I’ll get my stuff ready.” She said, giving him a small smile. “It certainly won’t be the first time I stayed up all night for work.” She lightly plucked the tab of the soda can with her finger, creating a soft metallic ‘tink’ sound.

“I know we got off on a shaky foot, but be careful, okay?” She said, her deep blue eyes bright with sincerity as she creased her brow with worry.

Queen sniffed then grinned at her, his eyes dancing behind the dark aviator lenses, “Nah, don’t worry about me, Angel. You got us good intel, that’s all we need. Ain’t no one killed me yet.”

He moved towards her, giving her a quick look over before grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “We’ve worked together for a long time, Ghost and Tex, er Donnelley, and myself. Like a well oiled machine.”

Ava flushed lightly hearing him call her ‘angel’, looking down as she cracked open the soda with a soft hiss. “Alright, I trust you guys.” She said, taking a sip of her drink. Ava glanced back up at him as she lowered the can, a corner of her lips pulling up into a little smile. “You call Donnelley Tex?”

Queen rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek as she turned pink under her freckles at his compliment. He smiled, leaning back against the counter to keep himself still, “I do appreciate your thoughtfulness, though it’s been a while since anyone worried about me. Kinda nice, even if it’s just, you know...being polite.”

He cast a glance at her, biting his lip slightly at the numbness there. Queen chuckled, “And yeah, Donnelley is Big Tex. I gave him that name, well I started calling him that and it stuck, despite his protests. You all don’t have those names but in teams like ours, it’s a good idea.”

“Oh?” She asked, tilting her head to the side a little, like a curious kitten. “Why’s that? Is it because it’s something you all bond over?”

He sniffed and pinched his nose in a quick gesture, then shook his head, “More like the jobs we do, it’s a good idea not to use any names. Even among people you think you can trust.”

Queen eyed her and flashed a crooked grin, “Angel, I know what you could do if you had my name and all the things you could find on me and my family, anyone connected. Even if I’m careful, there’s always a cyber footprint here or paper trail there. You’re as dangerous as any of us, look what you did to Jay and his buddies.”

He laughed and poked the tip of his tongue briefly between his teeth. Queen met her gaze behind his dark glasses, “I know because I do the same shit in my way, find people that need finding and it all starts with a name. Not that I wouldn’t trust you, of course, as long as Donnelley does.”

Ava frowned for a moment before she slowly nodded. “I understand and I don’t hold it against you, Queen. Especially since this is the Program.”

He shrugged, tossing the water bottle back and forth for a moment, “Yeah it’s no big deal, just how it is. I worked years of undercover, it’s practically second nature for me to conceal.”

Queen paused and ran a hand through his shaggy dark blonde hair, “Kinda sucks, you know. When your world is shrunk down to a handful of people. But such is the life of a superhero, we sacrifice.”

After a dramatic eye rolling sigh before smiling at her, hoping to amuse the young woman after the serious turn. He looked at her longer this time and then set down the bottle, “You know what, that looks good. Can I get one of those sodas? I don’t think I’ve had cherry 7-up since I was twelve.”

“Of course.” She smiled, stepping over to the refrigerator to open it and pull out another can of soda. She shut the door with her elbow and held out the unopened can to him. “Here, hope it tastes as good as when you were a kid.”

Queen eagerly took the cold pink can and popped the top, tipping it slightly towards Ava with a sly grin, "I'm sure I will, I love the taste of cherry."

Dave entered in time to catch Queen's remark and his jaw clenched. He forced a smile onto his face.

"Hey, sugar," he nodded at Ava. "Looks like we're gonna be hangin' together."

He nodded at Queen as well, determined to make amends. "Y'all be careful out there. Jay don't fuck around."

Queen took a drink, side eyeing Dave but only nodded, suppressing a burp. "No worries, this is what we do."

He smiled, his gaze on the other man, "Too bad though, I was looking forward to working with you."

"Well, it'll happen, don't doubt that," Dave said. "I got a feelin' there's plenty more crazy shit to come."

Queen glanced at Ava then at Dave, taking another drink of the 7-up. "Yep, no doubt. That's what we do in the Program."

“Definitely, there’s still a lot we can do, especially when we have more intel.” Ava piped up, smiling warmly over at Dave. “And I’m glad you’re staying with us, Dave. Help keep this place safe, right?”

Dave returned her smile. "That's the plan, sugar. Keep the bad guys out. Y'all are gonna be just fine with me and Avery here."

Queen grinned, his gaze shifting behind the sunglasses, "No doubt, you'll have plenty of intel after tonight, Angel. We'll go through it, should be interesting based on that email account you found."

Ava looked down bashfully at her new nickname, her pale cheeks flushing pink beneath her freckles once again. “Very interesting and useful.” She agreed with a clearing of her throat before taking a drink of her soda.

Donnelley shut the door behind him and went straight for his room, grabbing up his go-bag, flak, and rifle. He stopped in the kitchen doorway and looked at everyone assembled before settling on Queen, “Five mikes, wrap it up. Get the boys too.”

He looked at Ava and Dave, “Y’all good here?”

Dave's jaw worked for a moment. "Yeah, we're good," he grunted. "I'm gonna go...do some stuff. Be safe."

Ava lifted her head, watching Dave leave with a surprised frown. “Um, okay Dave?” She said as he left the kitchen, doubting he actually heard her. She glanced at Queen in confusion before turning her gaze to Donnelley. “So, you guys are leaving soon?”

Queen set down the can as Dave left, watching him walk away before giving Ava an enigmatic smile. "Gotta hit while the iron's hot, as they say."

He turned, giving Donnelley a nod before heading off to find Ghost and Jason. Donnelley clapped his shoulder while he passed and looked back to Ava, nodding, “Yep. We’re out for blood tonight. Ain’t gonna stop until we get Jay.” He stepped a little closer to Ava, “How you feelin’?”

“I’m alright,” She answered with a frown, her finger idly playing with the tab of the soda can. “I’m just...worried about you all leaving and possibly getting shot at.” She said, leaning back against the counter. “I know you’re experienced professionals, but after being in the middle of a shoot out…” She suppressed a shiver and rose her soda up to her lips. “I’ve a better understanding of them.”

“I know.” Donnelley nodded at her, eyes intently watching her wilt a bit. He gave a consoling smile, “We’ll be back by the mornin’. Early enough for you to wake up to the smell of pancakes and bacon again.”

He chuckled, “My treat.” Donnelley said, “‘Sides, they know what happened last time they tried it with us.”

“I need to ask you a favor.” Donnelley said, his smile sobering up some, “You’re the only one I trust with this.”

Ava stood a little straighter at his words and the expression on his face. “Of course.” She said with a nod, her gaze turning curious. “What is it?”

“Stay on your phone and your laptop tonight.” He nodded as he watched her stand at the ready, made him feel like he’d put his trust in the right place. She was one thing he could thank Foster for, “We’ll be feeding you names and intel. As fast as you can, I need you to give us addresses. Understood?”

Ava nodded, the curiosity giving way to a firm expression in the face of his request. “Sure, I can do that.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “You expecting to hit multiple targets tonight?”

“I’m hoping we don’t have to.” Donnelley shrugged, “We’ll be back, don’t you worry on that.”

A small smile turned up the corner of her lips as she looked back up at him. “I’ll hold you to it.” She chuckled. Ava glanced around him, in the direction Queen had left and set her soda down on the counter. She stepped up to Donnelley and gave him as firm a hug as she could. “All the same, be safe and good luck.”

Donnelley’s brows rose as he lifted his arms without thinking for Ava’s hug. Something in that gave it that much more importance in coming back in one piece. Tilly’s hugs might’ve been smaller, but they held the same message. After a quick second, he returned it, stepped back and winked. A little bit of bravado for them both, “Ain’t gonna get Tex and the boys.”

The smile returned with the hug as the short embrace ended, but Ava felt some of her nervous energy subside. “Right, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

---

Dave stalked from the room without a backward glance, digging out his dip and snapping the can hard as he angled for the front door. Once outside he dug out a generous pinch and crammed it into his lip.

Laine strolled up the block, passing the Camaro and the Prius until she turned up the walkway. She saw Dave, his brow furrowed and lip full of dip. Her gaze traced the features of his handsome face before she announced her presence, "Hey, Dave. I guess I didn't miss the guys leaving. How are you doing?"

"I ain't goin'," Dave grumbled. He mentally kicked himself and forced a smile onto his face. "Got pulled to help watch the house, keep y'all safe. It'll be a good night. The other guys are inside, they're leavin' in a minute."

She looked at him, at the forced dimpled smile and said, "Well, I appreciate you staying with us. I know it's tough to be left behind, but honestly I would rather have someone I know we can depend on. I don't know Avery or those other two, I'm sure they're well trained but..."

Laine shrugged, looking up at him, "I know you'll throw down for us. If it comes to that, there is a reason we're here in Clarksburg and not Charleston."

Dave's forced smile grew a little brighter. "Yeah, I got y'all's backs. I think we're probably good for tonight, don't think there's any way anybody knows we're here. But if not, we can handle business. I still got a score to settle."

Laine smiled slightly, "Let's hope for a quiet night. Maybe you can suggest some of that Ozark mountain music, since I've already had a taste of that good ole mountain dew."

"I might can manage that," he said. "There's probably some on the YouTube. Once the guys leave we'll take a look."

His mountain man charm tickled her and Laine chuckled, flashing a full smile before sobering. "I should grab Donnelley before he leaves, since I won't be there to ask anything of Jay."

"Oh, yeah, probably," Dave said. His expression was a little lighter, the darkness behind his steel eyes having faded a bit with easy conversation. "I'm kinda disappointed I won't get a piece of the bastard, after he got Ava shot. But I guess Donnelley will handle that."

Laine gave him a brief, penetrating look, searching his eyes before replying, "You got yours with...you know and Ava is fine, don't get too caught up in wanting revenge. Justice isn't vengeance."

"Yeah, I know," Dave said, looking at the ground briefly. "Just, seein' her get hurt, and still havin' the guts to come out here? I feel like the bastard's got it comin'."

"I know, and that goes for you, too," Laine said, unconsciously touching her neck, rubbing her fingers against her pulse briefly. "Trust me, I understand your desire but I also know it's a dark road and you're a good man, Dave. So, I'll remind you of that if I need to."

"I appreciate it," he nodded and then gave her another smile, this one almost like his old self. "You doin' good? Didn't know you went for a walk, that ain't really safe."

"Yeah, I just went around the block, sometimes I just need a moment alone," Laine said, "Clear my head. That moonshine was potent."

She tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear, trouble still behind her steady gaze. "I suppose we're all a little nervous."

"Yeah, I feel ya," he said. "But it'll be alright. Don't stress none, leave that to me. You focus on figuring out what we need to know."

Laine huffed a soft laugh, crossing her arms under her breasts, looking away for a moment, “Right, we’re the professionals.”

He was always anxious before an outing. The jitters met with hanged man’s chuckles and fiery bravado. Modern day gunslingers, Big Tex and THUNDER riding again, he told himself. He stuffed another cigarette in his lips and stepped out onto the porch to see Dave and Laine, hoping they didn’t see his hands shaking just the slightest, or smell the bourbon on his breath. He usually liked to be alone before a raid, but the familiar faces were welcome, “Howdy.” He said, stepping up and running a hand through his hair before he lit his cigarette.

Laine looked up at Donnelley when he exited the house, her gaze on his scarred face. “I was just going to look for you, do you have a moment?”

His brow quirked and he nodded, “Sure. What’s up?”

Laine glanced at Dave, then Donnelley, “I just need a word in private. Excuse us, Dave.”

She walked around to the side of the house, not waiting to see if Donnelley came along. Donnelley gave a glance to Dave as he followed after Laine, standing opposite her on the side of the house.

Laine watched him approach, finding any sort of privacy in the crowded home was difficult but they were alone on the side of the little yellow house. “I wanted to ask you to a couple favors. When you’re questioning Jay, see what he knows about Renko. I know you probably know all this but just indulge me since I won’t be there. Renko, Maria, and the Blackriver sheriff...”

She recounted then looked at him, sighing deeply, “I doubt you’ll record anything.”

Donnelley nodded just once, “You know how these go.” He cleared his throat, looking to the side before meeting Laine’s eyes again, “And I’ll get everything Jay knows. Trust me on that.”

Laine licked her lips slightly and nodded, “I know how it goes. And I do trust you, it’s just hard for me to relinquish control sometimes. Including interrogation but...yeah, well it’s not the FBI.”

She raised her brows slightly, her hands now behind her back as she leaned against the house. “I want you to be careful and come back, we...I need you here. This team...”

Blowing a breath between her lips, she shook her head and glanced around before taking a step towards him and pressing her mouth against his in a swift, firm kiss.

Donnelley’s breath hitched in a soft grunt as Laine had surprised him. By the time he’d settled into it, he’d placed his hand delicately along her jaw and returned the kiss before he broke away, holding her there, one hand on her shoulder and the other on her hip.

He nodded, “One piece.”

Laine searched his eyes, “I’ll be waiting.”

Reluctantly she pulled back, making the move so he could go gather his team, Laine never liked long goodbyes.

---

There was an inbalance between the static kitchen with its sterile halogen glow and Jason’s buzzing thoughts. It was washed out, calm, but every inch of him felt tense and shaky, most of all in his chest. Inside there was tumult, but outside only the indistinct chatter of Queen and Ava nearby. The big man had his trauma kit slung over his left shoulder and his Kel-Tec KSG in the same grip, over his right shoulder his HK417; another back up he’d like to keep around. Overall he looked as nondescript as he could, his tac-vest blending into a slim black t-shirt with just as tight blue jeans.

He lumbered into the kitchen then leaned against the countertop, letting the calm spread from the groan of the lights above him. Jason had to take note of the distinct quiet, the lack of energy erupting everywhere at once. It was going to be different tonight, they were going to crash in on that chaos. It’s opposite felt unsettling, near unbearable. Fuck, I’m in my head too much about this[/|], he thought. [|] Fucking coke. He stared at the pattern repeating on the floor, the grooves and knicks catching shadows. Just jitters, he reassured to himself. Just rust, he lied.

Queen came back around the corner, spotting Jason. Donnelley was gone and Ghost was on his way. “There you are, amigo, you look ready to rock and roll.”

His eyes danced behind his dark reflective lenses as he gave Jason an appreciative once over. “You brought bandaids, good idea.”

Jason snickered. “Let me pretend to be a PJ for a bit, at least,” he said. “I’m feeling coiled. How about you?”

Queen grinned, glancing towards the door and back at Jason, “Like I gotta fight or fuck someone real soon. Did you PJ before DIA?”

“Yeah, I was a greenfoot for a bit,” he replied. “I like to fuck after. Get all that aggression out.” He wondered why the hell he said it.

Queen only smiled more, a sly grin that matched the thoughts racing in his head, “Post fight fuck is the best. Nothing like a war boner.”

Reluctantly, he added, “Tex is outside, waiting on us to show our pretty faces."

"So he's waiting for me, then." Ghost's habitual growl carried a hint of humor as he strode into the room, kitted out with his custom .300 and his plate carrier hung with magazines and grenades. His Glock rode at his thigh, a formidable knife sat on his hip. Centered on his vest was a patch that showed a brick wall, the words JUST HERE FOR THE VIOLENCE scrawled across it.

He'd shed his Oakleys in preparation for nightfall, and the smile he'd pasted on didn't quite reach his coffee-dark eyes. It had been a while since he'd been around outsiders; he was having trouble dissembling, masking himself from the world, especially without the comfort of the dark sunglasses that let him look where he wanted to unobserved.

He fixed each man in turn with an iron-hard stare, giving them a shark's grin.

"We all set?"

“Let’s roll,” Jason said, getting energized in Ghost’s devil grin. He rocked himself to standing and made his way out of the kitchen, jutting out a meaty fist at Ghost as he passed.

Ghost knocked his polymer-shelled knuckles against Jason's fist. His gloves were tactical gauntlets; they went a quarter of the way up his massive forearms, strapped on tight to keep out debris. He could put his fist through drywall and not feel a thing; he'd picked them up after an ugly infection from ripping open his knuckles against a Syrian's teeth.

Queen had pushed his own sunglasses up, no longer hiding his dilated eyes from Ava and Dave. He met Ghost’s dark gaze and felt the familiar crawling up his spine, violence was near. The morale patch was closest to the truth when it came to Ghost, nothing else seemed to bring him greater joy. And he was good at his job.

“I’m ready, gotta ride this buzz,” Queen announced, pushing away from the counter to head out the door as the two big men followed. His own morale patch was sewn next to the white standard block letters of DEA on his kevlar. A small but bright yellow happy face grinning blankly out at the world with the words “Don’t Trust Me” embroidered below it.

He left the kitchen and was passing through the living room, spotting Ava on the couch with her laptop. “See ya, Angel,” he said, giving her a playful wave before heading out the door.

The movement of the wave caught her attention, making Ava look up from her laptop. She reached up to remove the red and gold, flower decorated headphones from her ears. “Oh, bye, good luck!” She called out as she watched the heavily armed men filter out of the house with a frown.

Donnelley was stood in the driveway next to the SUV, watching his team step out of the house one by one. They each looked ready, especially Ghost, but when was Ghost not? Already, he felt the excitement in his bones, the aggression in his blood, a jittery will to violence. Something Tex reveled in, an unrelenting whisper in his ear that made his fingers flex and knuckles pop beneath his black Mechanix gloves. “Mount up. We’ve got a drive ahead of us.”

"Am I driving, Tex?" Queen asked as he walked around the front of the SUV.

“Yup.” Tex tossed the keys jingling in Queen’s direction before turning for the SUV, opening the back and stashing his pack, slipping his plate carrier over his head before getting into the back. Today’s outing called for the shortest barrel on his Badger. The suppressor was screwed on, but he’d sacrifice the noise reduction for the stopping power of not using the subsonic .300 Blackout. “Remember, priority is capture of HVT Jay, he’s our link to Nikolai and the Russians. Anyone who knows his whereabouts come second, but if they ain’t gonna come quietly, you dust them if worse comes to worse.”

“I want cellphones and hard drives in our bags, that’s second priority. Third, we need to know what they do about the Blackriver Sheriff and the MacOnie family.” He said, going over his gear once more just in case, “And I wanna know who Renko is. We’re gonna ask around for him.”

"Should've brought my SAWZ-ALL," Ghost muttered as he climbed into the front passenger seat. "Didn't get to use it last time. There a Home Depot on the way?"

Queen started the truck, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, "I'll keep the drives and phones together, any sort of files. These knuckleheads might write shit down."

He checked his phone, "Home Depot 3.4 miles west. How bad you want that saw, big man?"

Ghost frowned pensively.

"Only if there's time," he said. "I have my knife. It'll do fine. The saw is more of an academic curiosity than anything."

Queen glanced at Ghost, "Right, well we should probably get Jay first. Then you can experiment."

The big man grunted, a sound of both annoyance and agreement. "Like I said, I can just use my knife. I'll bring it next time."

“Closer we get to the target, the less talk I want.” Tex piped up from the back, punctuated by the metallic clack of his pistol’s slide being thumbed into place as he absently checked his equipment. “If I can make Brujos talk with sewin’ needles, your knife’ll do the job.”

Queen glanced again at the mirror this time at Donnelley. He was in charge, this was his show now, not part of it. "Yessir," Queen drawled, speeding up to change lanes.

Jason’s gaze had been roaming back and forth between Queen and Ghost as they mentioned the sawzall. He could only imagine the application, and knew immediately none of it was hyperbole. It was going to be one of those missions. Messier than what he was used to, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to protest. He double checked his rifle’s safety and made sure his optics battery wasn’t drained. They were little tasks to keep his mind from wandering.

“Do we have an ID photo of our HVT on us to confirm him on site?” Jason asked, now watching the pillars of streetlights strobe past out the window. “And do we go in masked?”

Queen reached into the console and brought out a slim file that had been stuffed into it. He passed it back to Jason. "Recent mugshot and description, addresses and some of his known associates. And I always go masked, old habit. Can't let them see this gorgeous face."

He flashed a playful smirk in the mirror then grew serious again, the closer they got. His balaclava was around his neck would be pulled up over his mouth and nose and his goggles and helmet doing the rest of the masking. He learned early on from the Mexican federales the benefits of complete masking and wore gloves to also cover his tattoos.

Jason didn’t worry about the additional information, instead flicking on the car light and studying the mugshot. He looked at the most prominent features, the nose, the eyebrow ridge, the jawline; whatever he could identity quickly or in low light. After feeling confident he committed the visage to memory he folded the photo and slipped it into a front false pocket in his tac-vest, then replaced the files in the console.

“Since we’ve all got callsigns,” Jason said, rifling through his goruck bag and pulling out a shemagh, “I’ve gone by JJ or Boyscout.” He looked at Donnelley, tying the shemagh around his neck. “Your pick.”

“Boyscout,” Ghost interjected. He’d pulled a plain, lightweight neck gaiter from his cargo pocket and was slipping it over his head where it could be pulled up quickly, bandito-style, when it was time to go. “Your name’s Jason. Don’t want anything with J’s. Too easy to hone in on for the right people.”

"Boyscout...that one of those ironic nicknames?" Queen asked, the eagerness of Jason to take the coke and his own Adderall stash was fresh in mind.

“Tex, Ghost, Queen,” Tex let the callsigns roll off his tongue as he slipped the skull mask up over his mouth and nose and pulled it back down, nodding at Jason, “Boyscout.”

---

>BENWOOD, WEST VIRGINIA
>JUL.19.2019
>2200HRS...///

The black SUV’s brakes whined to a stop on the street, parking on the opposite side of the house the GPS had led them to. Bone Thugs softly played from the speakers inside and Tex patted Queen on the shoulder before he rolled down the window, the music turned down to nothing. Tex slipped the headphones over his ears, the wire connected to the listening device in his hand as he pointed the laser at one of the windows of the small one-story house not dissimilar to their own safehouse.

The sounds of canned laughter and dialogue from a TV making their way to his ears. Living room, maybe. He switched off the laser and pointed it at another window, the soft sounds of snoring. The loud rumble of motorcycles grew in Tex’s ears until they came into view. Two riders pulling up into the driveway next to the old gray sedan that was there before. They exchanged a few words as Tex pointed the laser towards them, “-the lady. Leave in the morning. Don’t bother her, just let her live. We ain’t there.”

“Still fucked up what happened to Carlisle. You heard about that shit?”

“Who hasn’t. Let’s go, gotta meet Jay later.”

The two big men, bald, bearded, and tattooed made their way to the front door. One of them knocked as Tex’s grip on his rifle tightened. “You see a gun, don’t hold your fire.” Tex whispered, “They’re talkin’ about a lady. Talkin’ about meetin’ Jay later. Mentioned Carlisle.”

Ghost rolled his head on his powerful shoulders, loosening up. He pulled his neck gaiter up over his nose and mouth.

“If we know Jay ain’t here, why don’t we just follow ‘em?” He asked, prepping his rifle nevertheless. “You know I’m always down for a hit, but it might save us some time.”

“No tellin’ when they’ll leave.” Tex clucked his tongue, taking his moment before he spoke again, “If they don’t get up and go after a few minutes, we’ll get in there and cut out the middle man.”

“I’m down for waiting a bit,” Queen muttered, slouching in the driver’s seat as he watched the bikers ambling up to the door. He automatically searched for any gang or MC patches or tattoos from what he could see but it was not important enough to risk lifting his binoculars.

"Wonder who the lady is,” he said, running through names and associates he had read in the files from Ava but no female popped into mind. Maybe one of Carlisle’s victims or someone the Russians wanted intimidated without their fingerprints on it.

Jason made sure to take big breaths, focusing only on what he was hearing from his team members mixed with the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He peered out the window into the low lit street, where his ‘sector’ should be. Breathe in, breathe out. No movement, not much of anything. Overhearing the team, Jason agreed with Ghost. It was the confirmed path to Jay, but he wasn’t about to play majority rules, nor had he the rapport Ghost had with Donnelley. No, Tex.

“How are we stacking up for entry?” Jason asked in a low tone.

“If it comes to it…” Tex narrowed his eyes as they were let in, one of the bikers hanging around for a second before hopping on his bike and zooming off.

“Wait for a second and get on his ass, keep your distance, Queen.” Tex said, patting Queen on the shoulder, “It’s about to get hot, boys.”

"I got it," Queen replied, waiting and counting to ten before pulling out and tailing the biker.

He had studied the map of the area earlier that day and when the biker turned onto one suburban street and glanced over his shoulder Queen passed him. The next street would take him to the same main road so he turned up that way and sure enough, the biker was sitting at a red light. Queen settled in a few cars behind him, traffic now heavier on this street.

Jason angled his KSG towards the floor and grabbed for his rifle, positioning it to ease the barrel upward towards the door window if needed. He scanned his sector again, giving himself the illusion of being useful. It was something. His gaze whipped between the windshield and his door window, the cocktail of drugs making his focus hyperaware and manic. He focused on the bike and its rider, then his vehicle sector, then back at the bike again. The urge to burst out, to exact the violence expected, was roiling in his chest and gut.

Ghost eyed the biker, then glanced back at Donnelley.

“He stops somewhere private, we can always just jump out and mob his ass,” he said. “Drag him off the hog, kick him in the head a few times, then throw him in the trunk. Or hell, just bump his back tire, he’ll go right down. If he busts his head open, we go back to that house.”

Tex looked at Ghost, back to the biker, and clucked his tongue, “Queen, once we get to a quiet stretch of road put him on our right side. Bump his tire.”

“I got this, gonna put his ass on the ground, ” Queen acknowledged and focused on tailing the biker, tapping his fingers in a staccato on the wheel. His heart thumped and he glanced over at Ghost and then at the road, at the biker and the other cars now thinning out. “I-fucking-got-this,” he chanted to the beat of his fingers.

Their target turned off onto a road that lead away from town and Queen pushed the gas to catch up, the trees now outnumbering buildings. The road was empty and a quick look in the rearview mirror showed no one behind him. “Get ready, gonna give him a love tap,” he said, accelerating the SUV and the bumper hit the back tire of the Harley harder than he planned. “Oh fuck!”

He slammed on the brakes, turning the truck to a halt to keep from running over the man as the motorcycle shot out sideways in one direction and the rider in another. The man hit the ground with a sickening thump, rolling violently across the asphalt onto the gravel of the shoulder of the road. Queen gawked as he watched the ragdolling biker then glanced at Ghost and the men in the back, “Well...he’s down.”

Ghost snorted, watching the biker cartwheel across the pavement with undisguised amusement. He unclipped his rifle as the SUV came to a stop and then threw open his door, drawing his pistol and advancing on the downed biker. As he neared the man he knelt beside him, reaching out to check a pulse. The man gave a gurgling groan and Ghost frowned, turning his head.

The biker’s face was shredded, a generous portion of it ground away on the asphalt. His eyes rolled in his head, focusing for a moment on Ghost’s face, and the operator sighed and shook his head. He holstered his pistol, grabbed the man’s helmet in both hands, and twisted hard. The vertebrae went with a sound like waterlogged sticks breaking over somebody’s knee. He stood and walked back to the SUV, hopping inside.

“Back to the house,” he said. “Your love-tap fucked him up too much to be useful.”

“Goddamnit.” Tex rolled his eyes and sighed hard, “At least I get to shoot someone.”

Queen grimaced as he watched Ghost snap the man’s neck and he leaned back against the headrest. He had been too hyped up, he reasoned to himself. The cocaine he was used to but adding in the Adderall which should have focused his energy left him jittery. He rubbed his nose and pinched it, thinking about the coke in his pocket. He had fucked up but there was still another chance. He shifted the truck back into drive, “There’s a bright side to everything. How you doing back there, Boyscout?”

“Right as rain,” Jason replied, swallowing down any feelings he had on the execution. They were here to kill men, and they just killed one. That’s all that mattered for the moment. It only reaffirmed what Jason assumed—tonight was going to be messy. “I guess we best move quick, especially if he was being expected.” It didn’t have to be said, but Jason needed to think aloud. It wasn’t a suggestion, only narrowing of his focus. He checked outside his window again, the Applachian night droning but otherwise mute in its inky darkness.

Queen pulled around, making a U turn and sped back to the house. His hand thumped the steering wheel in rhythm to the music as they wound through the neighborhood until he reached the corner of the block their target house was at. He cut the lights and engine, coasting to a stop a few houses down. A single street light was dark, no doubt shot out by one of the boys that occupied the house. A faint yellow sodium light at the corner did little to illuminate but it did not matter, THUNDER always came dressed for the occasion.

A motorcycle still sat in the driveway along with a lifted Chevy Silverado with a rebel flag hanging in the back window. Queen squinted at house set back behind a chain link fence and a yard that needed to be cut last week, there was probably a dog. Assholes like these always had some big dangerous dog, a Rottweiler or something like that. Queen unbuckled his seat belt and slung his mini uzi over his chest. He glanced at Ghost and back at Boyscout and Tex.

“Well, back to square one, who wants to take a peek inside?”

"Boyscout, you're up," Ghost said. He looked over his shoulder at Jason. His tone brooked no argument; this was his first op with the man, and Ghost wanted to pop his cherry quickly and establish whether or not he could hang. Tex might trust him; Ghost didn't. "Come on, I'm going too."

“Rog,” Jason mouthed. He dropped his rifle muzzle to the floor, and pulled his shotgun up to high ready. His fingers brushed the car door latch, but he wasn’t going to move until they all broke away from the vehicle. The throbbing pulse of his heartbeat throttled in the veins of his neck.

“You need the laser?” Tex looked between Ghost and Jason, or Boyscout, he reminded himself, “Might help, I can’t get those back windows from the truck.”

He turned to Queen, patting him on the shoulder, “Queen, you and me take the front rooms. Ghost and Boyscout take the back, breach on my signal. Listen for two taps on the mic.”

Queen ran a hand over his vest and fingered the micro Uzi, the comfortable small weapon that could unleash chaos in one squeeze of the trigger. He could use another bump of coke, the high already fading from the crackling peak but after the misjudged love tap on the biker, he hesitated. There would be time later, after the work was done and Queen pushed the nagging to the back of his mind. He nodded at Tex, then slid out of the driver’s seat, careful to close the door with a near silent click.

Crouching low, he scuttled over to the chain link fence and examined the lock that was in place. It would not be hard to just climb over the fence but there would certainly be some sound. He shrugged to himself, the gate could squeak too, bringing unwanted attention. Queen glanced over at Tex, gesturing to the fence.

They made the hop easily enough, walking in a slow methodical crouch as they approached. The house was quiet but the lights were on inside and a shadow flickered across the blinds as someone passed. Queen froze and they waited, but nothing happened. His muscles twitched and his eyes scanning for movement as they crept forward, now more than halfway across the weed filled yard when it happened.

Squeeee!

The wheezing high pitched sound was from his left where Tex stood a few steps over and Queen jerked his head to look. Under Tex’s boot was a large bone shaped dog toy, the faded blue color well hidden among the clump of crabgrass. Just as Queen mentally swore the porch light flicked on and the door flew open. Backlit in the frame a large man in faded Rahowa t-shirt stood with a Rottweiler dog at his side.

“What the fuck?” He saw the two men in the flood of light from the porch and inside, two well armed masked men in dark tactical gear and he reacted quickly.

Fass! Fass! Get em, goddamnit!” the big man shouted, releasing the blur of movement and muscle.

The massive black and tan dog was now racing towards them. Like a well trained attack dog, he did not bark but bared fangs as he covered the short distance. The man was now reaching back as if to draw a weapon but the dog had Queen’s full attention as it barrelled towards him.

Queen fired, an explosion of noise that sent a burst of 9mm rounds into the Rottweiler’s chest and square head, dropping the animal with a whining yelp that made his stomach churn.

Tex growled, leveling his sights on the dog before Queen’s uzi spat into the hulking mass of fur and muscle. He quickly switched targets and squeezed off three rounds that were meant for the asshole in the doorway, but the dog had served as a good distraction. The man ducked down quick enough for Tex’s rounds to slap holes into the front door, stitching a trail that followed him inside. “Fuck,” Tex spat, the screaming he wanted to do replaced by a stern growl, “Breach, breach, breach!”

Ghost had made his way to the back yard true to his namesake, silent death on two tree-trunk legs. The shoddy fence proved no obstacle for the hyper-fit operator, and he’d cleared it and moved on the house with laser focus, his heart pounding out a steady rhythm in his ears. Cool, calm, collected; that was Ghost. Delta to his core, the Reaper made flesh, 220 pounds of life taking -

Sudden gunfire shattered his concentration and he swore. The hasty breach, breach, breach came over the coms before he and Boyscout had set their positions. Ghost moved into a run, clearing the back yard in a few big steps, leaving Boyscout to keep up or fall out. He reached the back door at a run, planted, and then slammed his big right boot into the door just beside the knob. It gave way with a hard crack and then Ghost was through, stepping immediately into an oversized metal water dish. He cursed bitterly and loosed a hasty triplet at the first male he saw, stumbling over and hurling himself behind the nearest piece of furniture.

Jason had been right behind Ghost keeping a few bounding steps away and trying to his best to move fluidly with him. He moved with an ease that reminded Jason how stiff and uptight he was, but was too hyper-focused to consciously register anything other than situational awareness. When Ghost cleared the fence Jason provided overwatch, then quickly scaled after him. As they rounded the building a spat of rapid fire rang out, followed by the quick burst of Tex’s rifle. Breach, breach, breach! crackled from the comms, and the large men sprinted for the back door.

It slammed open and Ghost breached, immediately letting loose his rounds and finding cover. Jason was right behind him, seeing the first man over Ghost’s shoulder, and was in the doorway as soon as Ghost dove for the furniture. He lined up center mass and fired a slug, his compact KSG roaring as it recoiled into the pit of his muscled shoulder. The man’s body was recoiling from Ghost’s rounds, but the slug ripped through his chest with a sickening ease. Behind him the livingroom was suddenly speckled with gore and bone fragments, the man’s body convulsing in haggard breath as the large wound disrupted the lungs and filled his chest with pouring blood. While racking his slide for another round Jason trained the shotgun on the woman, screaming, “Get the fuck down now!”

Tex came through the door straight after, turning to cover a short hallway while Queen moved past his back and into the living room. He turned his attention on the scene, stepping up alongside Queen. He nudged the AB asshole with the toe of his shoe, watching him desperately cling to a life he was quickly losing. Tex looked from Jason to the lady, watching her quivering on the ground, he held his hand up towards Jason, “Boyscout, Ghost, clear that hallway,” he said in his News Accent, none of the Texan twang in it, “I’ll get the lady.”

Jason didn’t respond, only reacted. Tex gave the order and he was moving to the hallway, knowing Ghost would be behind him. There was a stink to the house, the smothering heaviness of summer heat soaking years of sweat and neglect into the walls. There was also gunpowder and the acrid chemical odor of substances under heat, caustic and sharp.

Queen knew the smell and he was not surprised, these were exactly the type of people to cook in their own house. He curled his lips at the stink of meth and looked over at the woman cowering. He recovered his expression, from a snarl to sympathy in a flick of emotion.

She was a middle aged woman but looked older, sallow cheeks and pock marked skin where she had scratched herself. Queen knelt down, his Uzi now slung aside, “Easy, we need you to stop crying. Take a deep breath, that’s it. I’m sorry what happened.”

His voice altered from the normal Florida drawl to a more local flavor, hoping it might help her. “Look at me, don’t look at him. He’s done.”

“He needs a doctor!” she bawled, clutching at her arms.

“Don’t think about him,” Queen said, putting a slow and gentle hand on her bony shoulder. “You need to think about yourself and what’s gonna happen in the next five minutes. Tell me how many others are in the house?”

“Fuck off, pig,” she spat but there was no energy to it, it just dribbled down her chin as she shook but she had stopped wailing. “Y’all shot my man, he dyin’.”

“No more have to get hurt, but you need to help us,” Queen said, glancing as the two big men hustled down the hallway.

“Nobody else,” she took in a ragged breath, and then a few more as she held her hand to her chest, “Jesus Christ, nobody else. Oh my god, you killed him… you killed him!”

“Where’s my dog? Where’s Jay?” She sniffled.

“Funny you should ask.” Tex said, “We’re looking for Jay too.”

He stepped up and offered his hand out to the woman. She took it with a twiggy hand and he helped her up, placing her in the chair and stepping back, “We were told that Jay was here, what’s your relation to Jay?”

“Fuck you.” She spat.

Jason had stopped where the livingroom narrowed into the hallway, shotgun aimed down the corridor and his body leaning against the corner. He couldn’t think if the uncleared rooms had windows, if anyone left was making a run for it while they shook down the poor woman. He began to cautiously advance, his breathing pressured and sharp as he tried to swallow it down in controlled breaths.

“We know you’re cooking here, ma’am. We can report this place to the State PD and have you locked up.” Tex said, “Or you can answer my question.”

“Not tellin’ you shit, you fuckin’ pigs!” She howled, almost shaking now. Tex couldn’t tell if it was the age or being angry as he snorted and shook his head, somewhat impressed with her ability to withhold information.

Queen furrowed his brow and glanced at Tex. He looked at the woman as she glared back at the masked men who had just brought death and chaos through her front door. He took a chance and pushed up his goggles and pulled his mask down enough to show part of his face. An unspoken attempt to establish some sort of trust before Ghost came back or Tex lost his patience. "Jay's in danger, he's in over his head, ma'am. I'm sorry it ended up like this but if we don't get to him first, he'll end up dead, too. And by much worse means."

The woman remained silent, only glaring through fear in her eyes. Queen shook his head, flipping his mask back over his mouth as he muttered, "I fucking tried."

Ghost returned a moment later, fire in his eyes. He'd fucked up, looked like a fool in front of the cherry. He felt the wet squish of dog water in his sock and snarled beneath his balaclava.

"This bitch talking?" He growled, stalking towards the group, his hands fisted tightly around his cut-down rifle.

Queen grimaced under the mask then shook his head slightly, turning away from the older woman. He took a step back, giving the big man room.

Tex looked around, from Ghost to Queen and then to the lady. He held her gaze, watched her in the silence as she slowly started to piece together what was suddenly in the air. Tex looked at Ghost, if nobody could make her talk then they’d have to try something else. He didn’t like it, but the mission demanded it. He wanted those Russians, and right now this old Nazi sympathizer was the biggest obstacle.

He pulled his mask down and fetched his pack of cigarettes from a pouch, lighting it up, “Nah, she ain’t talkin’.”

Ghost growled, a low, animal sound coming straight from his chest. He grabbed the woman by the face, his large palm covering her mouth, and bulled her up against the wall. Then he cut a thunderous hook into her skinny side.

"Where is Jay?" He snarled. He leaned close. "Tell me, or I start breaking bones. I'll start with your fucking hands. Where is he?"

She drew in a breath and worked her mouth around, teeth bared, “Fuck… you…”

Queen drew a sharp breath through his teeth and stepped forward, "Look, we just need to talk to Jay. We know what you got operating here and add in the hate group associated, he could do federal too but I ain't tryna bust him. We need him for information, got it? He'll be compensated and not face charges."

He spoke, pulling back memories of being DEA Agent Patrick and raiding meth labs and crack houses to find bigger fish. Queen stepped over, standing just to the side of Ghost so she could see him.

“He’s…” She coughed up blood over Ghost’s forearm, “He’s at the clubhouse. McMecken’s Run.”

"McMecken's Run," Ghost grunted. He drew his pistol, shoved the suppressor against the woman's eye, and blew her brains out the back of her skull.

He let the body drop, shoving his pistol into its holster. Ghost fixed a defiant eye on Tex.

"She saw your face," he grunted. "Let's go to McMecken's."

Queen silently watched and when it was over, he touched the morale patch, the smiling face and its motto. Whether it was any sort of trust in his lie or Ghost's sincere promise of pain she had given up information. Hopefully it was true.

"Yeah," Queen said, then jerked his head. "Where's Boyscout?"

Tex shrugged, a glance towards the crumpled body of the old woman before responding to Queen, “Checkin’ out the goods in the other room.” Tex cocked a brow as he looked at his two teammates, “Think they keep their money here?”

The mention of goods and money brought Queen back to familiar territory and he shrugged, looking away from the pair of dead people. "Let's go find out, I need their phones and hard drives, too."

By then Jason was exiting the first room on the right and pacing towards the next, leaving behind an empty, disheveled bedroom with a desktop. Approaching the next door, he made a quick note of the computer left behind. They’d be taking it with them for Ava. He entered the next room as he did the first, balancing his KSG low and quickly working the handle as he stepped in and readied the shotgun towards the first corner. His nostrils burned with acetone and burning plastic, the air stifling and heavy in his lungs. In the first corner was a messy pile of baggied amphetamines, the stacks large enough to supply the town and then some. Jason swept over what was their makeshift lab as he cleared the rest of the room.

“Computer in the first right room,” he muttered over the comms. “Cook lab in the second. Lots of meth. Clearing the last room.”

Jason stepped back into the hallway and something peculiar dissipated his focus. It was laughter, light hearted cackling like a laugh track. Behind it was a buzzing, a sound both raspy and telephonic. It was so out of place Jason paused to make sense of it. There was another burst of laughter and a few pattering claps. After a moment he realized it was coming from the last door, a thin improvised sheet of particle board locked from the outside. He approached with less vigilance than before, fixated on the random strangeness of sounds. Jason worked the lock, tried his best to realigned his focus, and burst into the room.

Pale, shuttering television glare filled the room, cast shadows against the walls and contoured a mess of childrens toys and noisemakers scattered about. In the corner was a dirty mattress, a small girl swallowed in oversized clothes sitting on top of it and curled up against the wall. She had headphones that squeezed into her frail skull, matted with weak, thin hair. It looked like she hadn’t eaten in several days, and little before that. The T.V. flashed as the camera shot changed, casting them both in less light.

“Fuck,” Jason mouthed, then over the comms said, “we have an issue.”

Tex looked at Ghost and Queen before responding to Jason, “Hold, I’m coming.”

When Tex made it down the hallway, he was mentally preparing himself for almost everything besides what he saw as he sided up with Jason. There was a long few moments of silence between them. He glanced back to where Ghost was and swallowed hard before looking to Jason. The kid looked lost, but eerily unaware of whatever danger they were in.

He’d seen kids that were scared, some of them were drugged up so bad that they didn’t know where they were. The insinuation of the mattress, the lock, the living situation. Even if the worst case wasn’t true, letting a kid live like this made Ghost’s punishment not enough for Tex. You take a man’s life, that’s one thing, but there wasn’t a child alive he’d ever met that deserved this.

In that girl’s eyes were a hundred or more memories of Dalhart. That youngblood superhero Deputy Donnelley felt that surge of hot rage crawling up his spine for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Back when the world was him and everyone else. Back when he trusted in God and Law. Back when evil was just tweakers and murderers and angry husbands. He cleared his throat, a low and raspy whisper, “What do you wanna do, Boyscout?”

"Do about what?" Ghost had followed, the blood staining his forearm a dark smear where he'd wiped the bulk of it on the couch.

He leaned past them and took in the sight of the little girl, the conditions she'd been kept in. The big man looked from Tex to Boyscout and shrugged.

"Your call Tex," he grunted. He sniffed and looked back into the room, his disinterest clear. "She hasn't seen our faces. I say leave her. Throw her ass on a neighbor's doorstep, let CPS clean up that mess."

Jason's eyes never wavered from the girl. Showing comfort would be too alien here, and one so distant in his thoughts it hadn't even surfaced. She was going to need to care. A lot of it. And they didn't have the time.

"Hospital," Jason said, almost a murmur. He finally looked at Tex, trying to ignore Ghost's apathy. "Is there a hospital on our route?"

“Maybe…” Tex said, eyes on the girl the whole time, until he shifted his weight to a foot and looked between Ghost and Boyscout. He didn’t trust the neighbors, “She’ll talk. We’ll take her, drop here off at a hospital far from Benwood after we’re done with Jay.”

Queen stepped into the first bedroom, now cleared by Boyscout and began collecting phones and using his tools to pop out the hard drive and open any locked drawers that might be there. He picked a few sizable rocks already bagged up and kept an eye out for cash.

"I think I got everything of use in that room," he announced, approaching the men. He could see them clustered at the door and a vague uneasiness hit him when he heard last few words.

"What's going on?" Queen asked, slipping between the wall and the bulk of Boyscout and peered into the room. His reaction was much that of Tex, the shock and outrage and the unfortunate memories of other times finding children in drug dens in similar or worse condition. "Shit..."

He glanced at Tex then the other two, "Well, fuck we can't leave her here and we're not..."

Queen cut a sharp look at Ghost then back at Tex, "What you said, dropping her off some other place. Let's do that."

“Get her,” Tex nodded, “Wrap her up and get her in the truck.”

Without hesitation he stepped into the room, walking slowly and smiling, though as he got closer he could see how bad she was. Very thin and dark circles under her eyes as if she had not slept. She watched him too, apprehension and resignation in her dull gaze.

He squat down beside the mattress, placing his hand against it. "Hey, let's get you outta here," he said, putting on a smile to hopefully put the girl at ease. He noticed the headphones but left them alone, reaching to scoop up the frail girl. She looked about age nine or ten, he wasn't sure, but weighed nothing as he pulled her towards his chest.

The girl reacted instantly, a high pitched screech of protest and she began to wail, kicking out feebly. Her cries were panicky and wordless, animal terror at what more strange men were going to do with her.

"Shhh, its okay," Queen said, "We're not going to hurt you. We're here to help."

The words stuck in his throat as he lifted her up, her tears streaking her pallid face. It had been a long time since he had felt like he was legitimately protecting anyone, despite the good he knew the Program did. He also had a lot of innocent blood on his hands.

The girl struggled but succumbed to her weakened state, sagging against his shoulder as he held her in his arms and Queen whispered to her, "What's your name, sweetie? I'm Billy. We're going to get you outta here."

Tex almost flinched at the sudden screams as Queen scooped her up. She didn’t answer Queen, only heaving in stuttering breaths and shaking, staring off into nothing. “Just get her to the truck, Queen.” He said, placing a hand on his shoulder as he passed. He turned to Ghost and Boyscout, back to business, “We gotta keep up the momentum, blow that fuckin’ lab and let’s get outta here.”

"Right," Queen responded, snapping out of his focus on the girl. He bundled her off, be cradling her head against his shoulder to shield her view of the dead people before exiting the house. A quick glance told him the neighbors had minded their own business and no sirens or spectators to be seen.

He put the girl in the back seat, buckling her in and she continued to stare blankly, her gaunt face seemed suddenly older than her years. "Sorry they did this, kid. But you're okay now," Queen assured her, to no response but he didn't expect any. Out the back he found an emergency blanket and covered her with it. "Stay put," he gestured and got into the driver's seat.

Ghost watched, an irritated frown creasing his weathered face beneath his mask. This was a waste of time. He was twitchy, he was bored. There were Nazis to kill and instead they were playing nanny with some kid.

"Let's go," he grunted. "Probably got paint thinner or something in that lab, we gotta get this fire going and then move before somebody shows up and tells Jay that his mom's house is burning down and her brains are on the floor."

“Boss,” Jason said, low and concerned. He watched Queen wrap her up and take her down the hallway, something in him simmering from not showing her any compassion, but it still felt wrong in the moment. He kept his eyes down the hallway as Queen kept walking, and continued, “We can’t let her come with us. Shit might get hot, we might have to alibi for a dirty kid with a bunch of gunned up men.”

He sighed and looked around, studying the room again. The locked door he understood, but the excessive amount of noise seemed strange. Why have her in headphones on top of all the noise? It had to be tweaker nonsense, but it still rubbed Jason the wrong way.

Tex nodded, his rifle hanging by the single-point it was on as he placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head after Queen and the girl. He looked back at the room. The blaring noise from the television almost drowning out his thoughts before he shut it off and flooded the room with darkness.

“Boyscout, it’s goin’ to take us a bit to extract all the shit from the phones and the hard drives and get a bead on the clubhouse.” Tex rolled his jaw, “Drop the kid off at a hospital or something and meet back up with us when it’s done. We’ll send you a rendezvous point. Good?”

Tex turned and left for Queen and the girl, trusting that Jason and Ghost would be able to handle the lab.

“Rog,’ Jason said. He took one last look of the room, trying to block the escaping images it conjured in his mind. She suffered here, a suffering not meant for anyone, especially so young. There was pain, there was neglect, and then this; the de-evolution of being. She was a thing in this room, an object discarded. Fuck these people for what they did to her, he thought.

If he was going to drop her off at a hospital they’d need another ride, so he walked to the living room to check the poor bastard he had gunned down. At first he saw the gaping wound in the man’s sternum, his wide eyes glossed over and staring where the ceiling met the wall. He began to check the corpse’s pockets for keys, then he noticed the woman, her slumped body and the growing pool of dark blood dripping from the exit point at the back of her head.

Jason stood tall, looking at the dead woman that was vehemently alive just minutes before. He hadn’t heard what happened. “What the fuck is this?” he said, loud enough for Tex and Ghost to hear.

Tex looked at Ghost and back to Jason. There was no point in lying, nor would he ever to a
teammate. “She saw our faces.” He said simply, dragging hard off his cigarette.

"Welcome to THUNDER," Ghost said, looking Jason in the eye. He held his stare for a moment. "Cry later. We've got a fire to start."

He turned and walked back down the hall towards the lab, searching for an accelerant.

Jason held the gaze, read the implication flaring in Ghost’s eyes. It practically said ‘I did it, what are you going to do about it?’ and all Jason could do was look down at the woman again, feeling his back and traps tense from Ghost’s stare. Now wasn’t the time. He studied the burnt blood caked around her eye socket, her slack jaw and stringy, yellow white hair. There wouldn’t ever be a time, not with Ghost. Don’t fuck with him, Jason told himself. We gotta move. Gotta take care of the girl. He went outside to check the bodies on the porch for keys, one grim glance cast towards Tex on his way out.

---

Flames, blackened tire marks, and the dead were left as THUNDER’s calling card. They sped off into the night and into the next town over, eyeing police cruisers warily until they finally found their destination, a lonely truck stop on the edge of town. Tex had changed into his civvies in the bathroom, looking more the old punk than the Fed that had left death in Benwood. They hung back in the stolen Ford sedan, clinging at the edges of the WiFi signal the truck stop was putting out.

Tex opened the back door of the Sedan and the suspension rolled as he sat, “They didn’t have no Grande caramel macchiato espresso shit, but I got some red bulls.” Tex sighed as he rummaged around in the plastic goodie bag, glancing at the programs working on Queen’s laptop screen, “How long’s this gonna take, Queen?”

Queen sat with half turned with the laptop balanced on his thigh. The harddrive was hooked up and he was transmitting the data, looking up briefly when Tex spoke. “Not too long, now that I know the email trick Ava figured out that cuts down on the time searching for communication. I say ‘bout an hour, maybe less with her help. Sending her the files now. Phones are downloaded already, interesting pictures if you wanna take a look.”

Gesturing with his chin as he took a Redbull, he traded it for one of the phones. “Got some pictures of people not on our list of associates and some interior shots of this house and another location. I’m piecing those together now. No pictures of the girl, though.”

“Didn’t really expect there to be,” Tex said as he scrolled through the pictures, many of men with shaved heads or the typical outlaw biker attire. He got to one with Jay front and center, all of them toting guns, and Michael beside him. “These fuckin’ pricks. I tell you these guys tried to kill us before?”

“You told us,” Ghost grunted. He’d wrapped his mitt around a Red Bull and was busy chugging it down. He hated energy drinks; they tasted like battery acid and citrus. But energy was energy. “When are we headed for this McMecken joint? I want to tell Jay what a handful his folks were.”

“We’ll have time to talk all about it, don’t you worry on that score.” Tex said, eyeing the pictures and committing the faces to memory.

Queen finished uploading the data from the hard drive to the encrypted cloud drive and sent a quick message to Ava. "Gotta present for you," he muttered then hit send. "Alright, she should be getting it now."

He leaned back, stretching and popping his back after sitting hunched over. Queen took a drink of the red bull and he itched to pull his goody bag out and take another bump.

---

((Scene music:youtube.com/watch?v=pgdJp5DRQ90))

Pillars of post light strobed in from the night as Jason eased the SUV down the road. Darkness dominated the periphery, snaking tree branches reached out from what seemed an inky void. Beside Jason wrapped in her dingy blanket was the girl, leaning against the passenger side door and turned inward to face him. She stared, her grimy face blank, any hint of awareness absent. Jason glanced at her, then turned his focus back on the road. He had to drive slow, within the speed limit, and in Clarksburg that seemed to be typically twenty five and under.

“Hey,” Jason said, as calm and docile as he could, “what’s your name?”

She didn’t answer, still staring.

“I uh-” Jason said, then paused trying to find the right words. “I know this is scary right now, but we’re here to help you. I’m here to help you.” He checked his phone for the directions to United Hospital downtown and took a right turn. “I’m taking you to the hospital,” he added. “They’ll make sure you’re safe, that you’re not hurt.”

She said nothing. The silence between them drudged images of the executed woman back at the drug house. He thought of her slack jawed blank face, her hollowed socket oozing what was left of her eye. She saw our faces, Donnelley had said. What was the supposed good they were doing when just the wrong amount of information killed the woman they were trying to save. But were they trying to save her? Weren’t they trying to save everyone? And from what exactly, Jason thought. He knew what OPSEC meant to a group like this, but he wasn’t expecting it to be as wild west as it was; and the night wasn’t over. He had to get back to the team as soon as possible.

Besides, he told himself, it didn’t matter in the end. He’d have to think about it later, when their rabbit hole of violence led to the other end. He hoped it had answers, but most likely would only lead to more questions. That’s how these things worked. The justification became lost in the means, and you kept working it and working it hoping you could recapture the reasons why you did it all in the first place. Nothing ever gets solved, only worked. He hoped this would all be different, would be worth it. She was just a girl, it had to be. Jason cursed the silence for giving him the space to think. He always hated silence. To avoid it he turned back to the girl to break the train of thought. She was still eying him blankly.

“Are you hurting anywhere?” He asked. No answer. It had to be those damn headphones.

By now he was reaching what Clarksburg called downtown as the spattered neighborhoods of sagging houses flowed into a collection of brick and mortar business buildings, none higher than ten stories, hugged by tree choked hills. The streets were bathed in sodium light, but there was little commotion on the streets to fill it. Jason eased to a stop at an intersection and shifted his body to face the girl.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, but she still had no reaction. He reached for the bulky headphones hugging her head and slipped them off, the girl suddenly erupting in protest. Her voice peaked to a shrill screech, her hands cupping her ears before her limbs shot frantically about the cab. Jason pulled the headphones away from her reach, the SUV slowly rolling into the intersection as his attention was fixed on the distraught girl and not the gas pedal. She kept reaching for the headphones, eyes wild and desperate, and the fight between them sounded the car horn twice.

“Calm down!” Jason yelled, but his voice was overtaken by her high pitched scream. She reached for the car stereo and smacked it to life, turning the volume knob until whatever was on the radio became an incomprehensible blaring of sound.

The car jolted to a stop in the middle of the intersection as Jason became aware of idling forward, finally giving up fighting the girl. He handed her the headphones, driving the SUV to the next street as he turned off the radio.

“Alright, alright,” Jason said, huffing disdain as she calmed down. Her eyes were wide with fear and her little chest bobbed beneath the blanket, but she returned to her otherwise placid state. Behind them the revolving blue-red of police lights flashed.

“Fuck,” Jason said, immediately throwing his shotgun on the floor of the rear seats as he studied the rearview mirror. The cop’s siren wailed for a few seconds and switched off, his high beams masking his squad car trailing the SUV. Jason slowly eased to the side of the street, each side flanked with glass front shops, while he struggled to come up with a plan.

There were a few minutes of waiting before the sheriff's deputy swaggered up to the SUV, Jason’s right hand in his lap ready to spring for his .45 concealed under his left armpit. You can’t shoot this guy, Jason thought; play it cool. The deputy lit up the cab with his flash light, shining the bright beam in Jason’s face and moving it over to study the girl. Jason rolled down the window.

“License and registration,” the deputy said. He was of an average build, but his rounded jaw and puffy chin gave him a doughy appearance. The deputy was younger than Jason, but not by much, and his stature of confidence puffed his chest out from his black and grey uniform like he was Jason’s senior.

“Hey officer-”

“Sheriff’s deputy,” he corrected in his Appalachian drawl. “Is that girl alright?”

Jason looked over his shoulder, seeing the girl still struggling with her breathing. “Yeah,” he answered, “I’m-”

“Sir, I don’t see you reaching for your identification,” the deputy said. Jason noticed the deputy’s interview stance, a hand poised near a holstered but unfastened pistol. He realized the deputy must of ran the SUV’s plates, and whatever he didn’t find put him on edge. Jason had to think fast.

“Jesus Christ,” Jason feigned. “I’m reaching for my agent badge, don’t fuckin’ shoot me.”

The deputy looked perplexed, and his eyes darted back and forth between Jason and the girl. She was staring at him, her pulsing lungs beginning to slow. Jason reached into one of his pockets, producing the FBI badge Donnelley had given him weeks ago when he first joined. He thrust it out the windowing, saying, “Before you were up my ass about I.D. was trying to say I found this girl working my investigation. She needs medical attention.”

The deputy studied the badge number and fake name, mouthing it silently to himself before mouthing, “Stand by.” He walked back to his squad car.

“Fuck,” Jason spat again, grabbing his burner phone and texting Donnelley: Pulled over by sheriff’s deputy. Will update. After another round of waiting the deputy returned, his posture just as rigid and cautionary.

“Sir-”

“Agent,” Jason corrected, trying his best to transfer his anxiety to annoyance. He had to look the part.

“We’ve got no return on your vehicle or your badge number,” the deputy said, his round face tensed by Jason’s impatience. “Even local PD doesn’t know you’re here.”

“Why do you think that is?” Jason asked. The deputy’s jaw tensed and he glanced at the girl again, but he didn’t answer.

“It’s because we don’t need local law enforcement fuckin’ up our shit,” Jason continued. “Now this girl needs medical attention and I still have to work. If you want to dick me around because your beat is slow and anything happens to her I will personally make sure you’ll be running night security at a fucking grocery store. In fact, what’s your badge number?”

The deputy was struggling with what looked like a mix of angry and confusion, cueing Jason the facade was working. The deputy pursed his lips, looked at the girl, and then back to Jason. “Would you like an escort?”

“What’s your badge number, deputy?” Jason asked.

The deputy turned towards his vehicle, his boots clicking as he muttered, “Have a good night.” It was followed by some sort of curse under is breath, but Jason couldn’t make out what was said. Not that he cared, all that mattered was that the deputy didn’t pry any further. Jason didn’t waste time sticking around, and drove away faster than he had entered downtown.

For the rest of the trip the girl remained silent, though through the corner of his sight Jason could make out that she was looking behind them. It wasn’t through the windows, but at the seats. There was an acute sharpness to her gaze, as if she was seeing something in the empty rear seats he couldn’t. He tried to ask her if she saw anything, and she looked at him acknowledging she could hear him, but again didn’t answer.

After a few more minutes Jason saw the bright glare of the hospital’s parking lot. He circled the large complex before spotting the E.R. entrance, trying his best to spot any security cameras and parking in the most veiled spot he could find, wedged between a Ford truck and a foreign sedan. The girl seemed to not want to leave the car as Jason tried to usher her from outside the passenger door, but when he extended his hand she clasped his thumb with her clammy grip. They began walking towards the sliding front doors, her irregular steps pattering against the cool concrete.

“I need you to walk in there,” Jason said. His words slowed her pace, and she looked concernedly at the doors sealing the bright glare within. Jason turned to her and crouched as she wrapped her blanket tighter around her frame.

“It’ll be okay,” He said, giving her a weak but sincere smile. “They won’t hurt you. No one will hurt you. Just walk in those doors and find someone.”

Jason watched her ponder the command, mouthing something he couldn’t make out. She began to take her first steps to the entrance, then turned around.

“Come and see.”

Jason stood from crouching, something icy and leaden sinking in his gut. “What?” he asked.

“Come and see,’” She said, and then disappeared past the hospital doors.

---

While Tex was sitting in silence punctuated by sniffles and cleared throats, he rolled down his window and lit up a cigarette. Under the whistling of his drag on the cigarette came the buzzing of his phone. He retrieved it from his pocket and peered at the screen, his eyes running the lengths of boredom, to confusion, to worry, “Oh fuck.”

‘Pulled over by sheriff’s deputy. Will update.’ Rang through his mind again and again. He turned his gaze to Queen and Ghost, “Boyscout got pulled over.”

Queen glanced up with alarm tingling up his spine then breathed out. "He's DIA right? He could maybe talk his way outta this."

Then he remembered, rubbing his hand over his face, "Fuck, the girl. That'll look suspicious, what do you wanna do?"

“You keep workin’. We’ll get the coordinates and move in on ‘em, Boyscout can handle himself.” Tex answered, blowing smoke through the cracked window with a little more annoyance. “I don’t wanna have to shoot anymore cops.”

"Shouldn't have split the team," Ghost said. He was looking down at his Red Bull can, studying it intently. His voice was calm, but tension showed in his massive shoulders. "Should've left that fuckin' kid standing in the street where the firemen would find her. Bet they're already at the house."

Queen glanced up at Ghost, then back at his computer screen. Even though he had felt acute wrenching sympathy for the poor girl Queen could not argue with the cold logic. Technically, he was correct but the thought of leaving the traumatized child in the street left an uneasy knot in his stomach.

"Yeah, well," Queen muttered, typing clicking another folder. "He'll be fine, dude was a spook in the Middle East."

"Yeah, so were me and Tex," Ghost shrugged. "It makes cops easy prey."

With a sniff, Queen replied to the subtle taunt. "And killing cops brings heat. Thought you didn't want to draw attention," he looked over at Ghost, meeting his dark eyes briefly. Snake eyes, Queen thought. Cold, reptilian, and calculating, waiting for a time to strike. Maybe they were teammates now but Ghost was who they sent to eliminate the deadly men of the Program who fucked up and Queen had a distinct feeling Ghost had probably already planned how he would kill him.

His neck prickled with anxiety and his face felt hot as the thought flickered across his mind. Queen pushed it away, it was no time for paranoia. Reaching into the plastic bag he found a Snickers bar and claimed it.

“We’ll continue.” Tex said, looking at Queen from the rearview, a silence between all of them. That would please Ghost, he’d bet. “We can’t let Jay get away, Boyscout is on his own until we’re finished.”

“If we can't get him out of whatever jam he’s in…” Tex eyed his Badger with some weight in his eyes, “We all know what needs to be done.”

---

>MCMECKEN’S RUN, WV
>JUL.20.19
>0045

“Music.” Tex frowned.

They’d moved in and set up a fast hide in the trees outside of the Clubhouse. Close enough for the laser, but good enough that some drunk AB could walk across their heads while going for a piss. They’d donned their tactical gear again, Tex now looking like an armored punk. They’d lay in wait and scope the place, wait for their moment. Wait for Jason to text them back that he’d found the truck they ditched on the dirt road up here.

The lights of the Clubhouse were bright and shone cones of light into the blackened forests. Faces flashed by the windows or hung around, all smiles. Not for long, as far as THUNDER was concerned.

“Weird,” Tex said as the rhythmic thump-thump of a rap song faded out only to transition to another, no sound of conversation, “White man’s the greatest creation, worst creation makes rap, greatest creation listens to rap.”

“We could do a DNA test, Queen, maybe one of them’s your dad.” Tex grinned over at the Florida boy.

Queen slowly raised his middle finger at Tex but the smile behind it was full of wry humor.

"Ain't none of them pretty enough," he replied, shifting to adjust his vest before settling back in. He scanned the faces, recognizing some from the photos on the phone.

Ghost watched the passing faces through the sight of his rifle, ignoring the banter of the other two men. He'd taken another hit from his pipe before they'd left the car, and he could feel the pulse of the music in his veins. The beat wasn't bad; rap wasn't his preferred genre, but Ghost respected talent wherever he found it.

His finger rested on his trigger in flagrant violation of the Four Weapons Safety Rules. Every now and then mimed giving it a squeeze, whispering bang as a face paused in the center of his sight, imagining the target's head coming apart under the impact of the heavy subsonic bullet.

"Where is Boyscout," he grunted, beginning to tire of the game. "We're on the clock." He was also bored; being bored was bad, but being bored with targets in visual range bordered on sinful.

“Couldn’t tell ya,” Tex sighed, starting to lose faith and shoulder a little bit of embarrassment. UMBRA was not making a good impression on his old friends in THUNDER, so far. As Team Lead, he almost took it personal. “How many targets y’all count? Pos ID on Jay yet, I haven’t seen ‘em?”

Queen scanned through his binoculars, the count so far was three men and a woman, one of those trailer trash bleach jobs with big tits but no ass. He shifted his focus to a back room but the blinds were drawn. A shadow and then movement behind the screen of cheap slats, one maybe two figures in that room. His gut tightened, instinct told him this might be their target.

He hardly heard the rumble of voices beside him as he leaned forward, focused on the door of that back bedroom. It opened to reveal a tall well built man with short cropped light colored hair, he turned just enough for Queen to recognize the crooked set of his nose.

"Jay," he muttered, elbowing Donnelley, "Just outside the bedroom door, he don't look happy."

“Maybe he heard about karma visiting his momma.” Tex quipped, looking at the two of them on either side of him. Jason was still a no-show as of now, and Tex shook his head and growled at that, “Fuck it. We’ll make our move now, straight through the front. I’m point.”

Tex got to a crouched stance and made for the Clubhouse, moving tree to tree. His slow advance accompanied by the soft whisper of underbrush beneath his boots. There was a few meters of open ground between the treeline and the front door, an old pickup at rest the only cover, as well as a Dodge Charger and a couple motorcycles. “Check your fire. We want Jay alive.” He whispered into his mic, “Stack at the front door. You got the sledge, Ghost?”

“I am the sledge,” Ghost grunted. He approached the door and hefted the breaching hammer, a 12-pound number with a shock-resistant handle and a battlescarred matte-black head. Winding back, he pivoted at the waist, putting all of his considerable power behind the swing. It struck just above the lock and the frame splintered, the door bounding open. He dropped the hammer and raised his rifle, pressing back against the wall to clear a space so the other two could enter.

Queen would follow Tex, letting him pass before falling in behind him. The Uzi sat snug in his hands, his gaze cutting back and forth as they burst into the house.

"On the ground," he ordered, spotting two surprised faces gawking at them. The woman with bleached hair and a young man with a large tattoo on his neck of an iron cross.

Tex heard Queen shout behind him and the two in the living room almost immediately threw themselves to the floor with their hands behind their heads. Lucky, as Tex’s trigger finger was primed on his Badger as he watched them through his sight picture. Past the two couches, a door was set closed in the wall, Jay behind it. “Queen, put some cuffs on ‘em.” He said, covering them while Queen went to work, “Ghost, let’s pull Jay out of his fuckin’ hidey-hole.”

"Got it," he said, hustling over to the pair. Queen knelt, putting his knee in the back of the man.

"Don't fucking move, shit bird," he snapped when he felt Iron Cross start to squirm.

"I got rights!"

"Not tonight, you don't," Queen said, then slapped his ass, "Don't make me hogtie you."

The zip tie cuffs snapped and hissed as Queen jerked it tight. He cuffed the woman who had sense enough to keep her mouth shut as the pinch of plastic squeezed her wrists.

"Two secure, front room clear," he said into the comms.

Ghost followed Tex, rifle up and scanning. They reached the door and he stacked.

“You breach,” he grunted. “I’m point.”

“Rog’.” Tex nodded, just before slamming his boot into the door just next to the knob and sending it clattering open, slamming against the wall and jittering on the other side. Just as Tex dodged out of the doorway he flinched away from a splintering hole burst into the wall at the sound of a loud BOOM just next to his shoulder.

“Fuck y’all!” Jay screamed, looking up and seeing a huge slab of man bearing down on him as he fumbled with the shells for his emptied sawed-off.

Ghost rushed Jay, his heart pounding in his ears. Alive, the parameters specified. But not necessarily unharmed. He dropped his rifle, letting it hang as he reached Jay, then blurred into motion.

A hard elbow strike caught the man on the edge of the jaw, and then Ghost snatched his gun-hand, forcing it up. He followed into a tight kimura and twisted his upper body, drawing into himself to apply pressure to the lock. Jay's shoulder came loose with a pop and Ghost followed through with his hip, turning the technique into a neat takedown. Then he released with his right hand and drew his pistol, shoving the barrel into Jay's mouth.

“Ah, huck…” Jay swallowed hard around the cold steel.

Queen left the people bound and hustled over to the room where Ghost hulked over Jay, face fucking him with his pistol. He raised his brow, a devilish grin flickering over his face.

"Hot."

Tex entered and brushed past Queen, a wolf’s grin plastered on his face as he saw Jay in the most compromising of positions. It couldn’t have been more humiliating for the asshole who tried to have him killed if Ghost was fucking him. “Hey, you remember what you said to me back at the Motel?” He asked, watching Jay’s face go from confusion to remembrance, and finally to simmering anger that only made Tex grin wider, “You look scared, partner.”

Queen stood at the doorway, fishing out the coke and took a quick bump, snorting hard. He laughed as Tex stalked the helpless Jay, the rush jolting through his body as his nerves tingled. His fingers twitched on the Uzi as he glanced back towards the living room the people still laying prone. His thoughts flit back to the girl, her haunting strangeness and the prickle of sensation tickled the back of his neck.

“Queen, cuff this fuckhead. We’re gettin’ him out of here.” Tex chuckled, “You gonna get it now, boy.”

---

Cleared, no heat. Girl at the hospital. No id. Inbound, Jason texted to Donnelley.

He was now driving faster, at first a modest five over, but now his foot was bearing down on the pedal as his mind spun. Come and see. She said it clear as day, just like the man had in the execution video months before. The world seemed to tilt. Beyond the barrier of night Jason felt an unraveling, as if reality itself was fraying beyond the reach of light. His chest was tightening. Come and see. Where had he heard that before? It tugged at his subconscious, a vague familiarity beyond the video of Anis al-Shamard’s death.

“Get your shit together,” Jason muttered to himself. The road seemed to lurch as he drove onward, the concrete blurring and fusing with the buildings and woods that framed the narrow alley of his vision. He felt lighter, as if he and the car were drifting, like he couldn’t feel the tire’s contact on the road from the rumble in his boot. What did she mean? What did it mean?

Jason shook his head and narrowed his eyes as he focused on the road. He read the passing street sign and looked to his phone to check his route. There was no signal. When he looked back up there was a figure illuminated by his headlights. Anis al-Shamard’s headless body was standing on the curb, his head cradled in one hand, and the other lazily pointing down the road. The stump of his neck was blackened with coagulated blood, the expression of anguish the same one was immortalized in his decapitation. The earth seemed to tilt again, a faint ringing calling out from the darkness beyond. Jason watched in dumbfounded shock as the SUV strolled past Anis’s headless image, pointing in the exact location he was supposed to be heading. He just drove, not checking the directions, not thinking much of anything at all. Only the girl and those haunting words.

---

The sound of the vehicle made Queen snap his attention away from Jay who seemed both terrified and furious at the same time. Especially after Queen had gleefully gagged him before they hustled the target out the door, leaving his buddies cuffed on the floor.

The headlights were off and he stood stiffly, his finger on the trigger of the Uzi before realizing it was their own black Expedition.

"Cavalry arrives," he said, tucking the weapon back.

Tex stepped around the Expedition and nodded at Jason as the window rolled down, “We got him. Queen and Ghost are gonna ditch that truck and hold Jay for a bit. You and me from here, partner.”

Jason’s complexion was pale and his expression grim. He nodded slowly, markedly different from the verbal confirmations he was giving early. He tried to convince himself it was the drugs. That’s right. Had a taste, but you know that wasn’t enough. All this adrenaline was fucking with him, raking the bottom of his mind and drudging up the buried skeletons. Pull it the fuck together, Jason, he demanded.

The realization of Jay’s capture finally sunk in. Some racist tweaker fucks are dead, no one caught, no one hurt. That was worth a change in mood, but Jason could shake the stormy haze cracking inside his head. He looked over Donnelley’s shoulder, still wordless.

Tex looked back over his shoulder, trying to follow Jason’s eyes and catching on that he’d probably never get there. He turned back to the other man and his brows furrowed slightly as he spoke in a hushed tone, “Boyscout,” he paused, “Jason, it doesn’t take a Master’s in Psych to see somethin’ ain’t right. Is somethin’ not right?”

Jason darted his glance back to Donnelley's, surprised he'd be checking on him now. Maybe he was that shaken up. "Right as rain, Tex," he said lowly. "I'll tell you when we roll out. Something's not right." He looked over Donnelley's shoulder again, hoping it would conjure the other two out of the house.

Queen sauntered over to the two men, leaving Ghost to handle Jay. His attention was directed at Tex, he wanted to get on with what was coming next.

"What's the story, which vehicle you want us in?" he asked, looking over Jason. "Girl say anything?"

Yeah, she fuckin’ said something alright, Jason thought. “Yeah, she said you looked prettier than mommy.” He wanted the humor to break the mood, but it came out colder than he had intended. The night was stagnant, hot, and near silent. A dog bellowed in the distance.

“We leaving, or what?” Ghost’s hard voice cut the reverie, punctuated by a muffled curse from Jay as the big operator tugged at his dislocated shoulder. “We’ve got shit to do. I want to get this nerd in a chair and start breakin’ shit.” Jay made a few pleading sounds and Ghost shook him again. “Shut up. We’ll talk later.”

Tex sighed and nodded, patting Jason’s door and turning to the others, “Take Jay and trash that fuckin’ truck. Find a hole to hide in and we’ll rendezvous when everythin’s done.” He said, “Me and Boyscout’re leavin’.”

Queen's brows ticked up at Jason's comment but he said nothing for once, distracted by Jay's appearance. He already had a taste of Ghost, perhaps it would make their questions more palatable.

"Got it, if there's one thing I know is finding a hole to hide in," Queen grinned, then gave a flippant salute to Tex before heading to the truck.

---

The night had become suffocating without the haziness of drugs and adrenaline. The air roared in the open window on Donnelley’s side of the Expedition, his cherry glowing in the dark, streetlights offering clear moments in slices as they passed. It was that time of night where morning was bleeding into the blackness and the whole world seemed to be holding its breath. Not yet tomorrow, but not quite tonight. No other cars on the road, and for all the two of them knew, they were the only ones who existed.

Donnelley and Jason had been chasing their headlights for maybe half an hour now, and up until just then, Donnelley was content to sit and stew in the silence.

He glanced at Jason in the driver’s seat, eyes always forward and looking like he was having an entire conversation in his own head. Donnelley took another drag, “Tell me about what happened, Jason.”

And Jason was waiting for that question, head spinning all the while as the only thing breaking the silence was the rubber and asphalt singing their path. Had it been that obvious? Or was Donnelley accustomed to the same glowering disturbance wrinkling his face?

“The girl,” he said, and paused, not knowing if it was the right place to start. He replayed the drive in his head, tried to think of everything wrong that transpired masked in its nervous pace. “The headphones, the room. She freaked out if those headphones weren’t on her.”

Jason turned to Donnelley, eyes stony. “She said something to me should couldn’t have possibly known. I don’t even know how I know it.”

Anis al-Shamard.

“I don’t wanna read too much into it. You start seein’ the Program’s shit everywhere and that’s when you know you need to step back for a while.” He said, mentally shaking his head at his own self for his suspicions about West Virginia and those Iraqi Yezidis. He cleared his throat, took another drag and scratched at his brow, “What was it though?”

“Come and see,” Jason said. He remembered it then, the obscured man whispering to the recorder, Anis’s head dangling from his wrenched fingers. Something still lingered, another thread deeper than this recent revelation.

“The program’s shit,” Jason murmured, almost mockingly. “You try to rationalize what you can, huh? Try to be so certain none of this isn’t getting to you. But you feel it, don’t you?”

Did he, or was he losing his edge? Had it always been dull, not up to the task? No, he felt something, like he always had. Waiting for him here.

Donnelley didn’t realize how hard he was breathing until he could feel his head get lighter, his chest tighter. The air that had seemed so cold and empty was now almost thick, choking. That voice on the phone before he found Laurie and Weissman dead in those hills. Two more faces to add to the nightmares. Two more graves not dug. Two more folded flags. He ignored the monologue from Jason’s mouth and almost hyper focused on that set of fucking words. Come and See.

“Are you sure,” Donnelley said slow, eyes sliding over to Jason and fixing him, eyes narrowed to lethal slits, his voice bordering on something between anger and fear, “Are you sure that’s what you heard?”

“It was the only thing she said to me,” Jason replied.

Donnelley stared at Jason, face not softening a bit and instead looking like he’d a bad taste in his mouth as he shook his head and turned away, taking a drag. “I don’t like it.” He said, as if that was a great revelation and something of value to add. “I have a theory. Maybe it’s crackpot, tinfoil…” he waited for Jason to ask him to continue and hoped he didn’t at the same time.

Donnelley’s protest was a relief as much as it was troubling. Now Jason didn’t want to steer his eyes away from the road. He could feel the heat of Donnelley’s stare. “What?” he asked, sounding more eager to hear than he’d have liked to reveal. But if anyone would know, would be informed, it would be Donnelley.

“Before I came back from the Agency to here, we were working that case on Anzor Bekzhaev. Daesh.” Donnelley frowned, “They’re skinnin’ Yezidis by the village over in Iraq. I get the call and it’s happenin’ here too. What if this is bigger than just some backwoods killer in West Virginia?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, the skinning or the words?” It seemed impossible that just a phrase could traverse whole oceans, whole people, to follow them. “What if we’re the connection,” Jason said. What if I’m the connection?

“The skinnin’.” Donnelley said, “If it was the words too? There wouldn’t be a fuckin’ doubt. I got one of my guys keepin’ an eye out for somethin’.”

Donnelley shifted in his seat and took another drag, “When Foster called me, Laine was the first to arrive on the scene after me. The autopsy found a black stone inside of our victim, Maria Vasquez.” Donnelley could remember the sight of it, how it had effected Tom, how it effected him. “She ain’t the first. She ain’t gonna be the last. There was a mass grave full of bones from past victims and there’s a parallel with that. If my guy does an autopsy on one of the Yezidis and finds a black stone…”

“Jesus,” Jason murmured. The details sent an aching tension in his back and by instinct he checked the rear view mirror. There was nothing but the red glow of their brake lights on the asphalt.

“I need you to be available in the event that happens. You’re the only that operates in my circles, my AOs.” He said, “Foster thinks all these years in the Program is gettin’ to me, makin’ me see strings to places that ain’t there, I need you to look with your own eyes and tell me I ain’t.”

Jason wondered if this was normal, if the paranormal equivalent of shellshock came like a cancer after years of exposure. He knew it would be better than to ask, knowing the answer was the kind left behind the locked door of decorum. Operational decency, you see. Don’t ask about salary, don’t ask if the job makes you go crazy.

“What, Foster thinks he’s impervious?” Jason asked. He shook his head, lips suctioning against his teeth. “If this is connected I’ll be available. Gives my keepers the excuse to not worry about me—but fuck man, if we’re seeing the same thing? What the fuck does that mean?”

Donnelley swallowed hard, looking out the window and blowing smoke into the billowing air. He thought on that, if his suspicions were true, what then? How hard would that next sunrise be to get? How much would it be worth, especially if he had to work hard to get it again, and again, and again, and again? Maybe Foster was right, maybe there was no end, at least an end that Donnelley could bring about to this war. Maybe this operation was too big, even for the infamous, smirking cowboy asshole named Joseph Donnelley. Maybe Atlas’s knees were starting to buckle, so to speak. Sisyphus was getting tired, and the rock only getting heavier and heavier.

He shook his head, “I don’t know.”