Leidenschaft

Delta Green: The PLUTO Connection, Occult Action and Intrigue

@tundrafrog1124Fire away

Delta Green: The PLUTO Connection, Occult Action and Intrigue

@Benzaiten
Just a few questions so I can wrap my head around the concept in action a bit better, if you don't mind.

1) Will you be playing a PC as well or will you just GM aka play NPCs (is Donnelley an NPC or PC)?
Both.

2) How will an investigations be played out?
- Will you be placing clues/evidence somehow withing the RP? As a kind of [Player: I investigate the closet | GM: You find EVIDENCE] player action -> GM answer -> player reaction formula that many tabletop games use?
Yes, as a simplification. A lot of successful investigation depends on what your character is skilled in, and how skilled. Someone with a Computer Science of 80 will have better luck, and a higher chance of retrieving data from a hard drive without corrupting the information, than someone with a Computer Science skill of 60.

- Will dice be involved? If so, how dice-heavy is this supposed to be? (E.g. only combat is a quick die roll vs "roll a die to determine whether you can see anything through the muddy window")
Again, yes for simplicity. The way dice come into the equation is if some variable in the situation is adding pressure to the character. Say, trying to shoot someone in combat, or defuse a bomb while the timer is counting down.

Otherwise, like above, it just depends on what skills your character has, and how skilled they are.

- Also, if dice should be involved, are we following a certain system? Perhaps the tabletop game Delta Green has a dice system?
Delta Green does have a dice system, and we will be using it. It works off of a percentile system, so we’ll primarily be using d100s to determine success or failure.

- Is the investigation fully GM-driven (as in the GM decides the clues, evidence, bad guys, hurdles, etc.)? I'm assuming this might be easiest
I provide the framework by supplying the plot and the basic problems to be solved by the PCs. It depends on PC problem solving what happens. It is player-driven to an extent. The world happens to the PCs as much as the PCs happen to the world, if that makes sense.

3) Should PCs be team members of years already or rather new recruits or anything goes?
- If new recruits are allowed/wanted: Should the PCs know anything about the 'occult' yet or are they supposed to be clueless in the beginning?
PCs are assumed to have had a previous brush with the Unnatural. It is their deftness in handling the situation, and/or the ferocity with which they researched what exactly happened to them and what they saw that puts them on Delta Green’s radar.

The only reason you aren’t tied up like a loose end is because someone thinks you’re useful enough. This is to say that your PCs have not yet been “read on” to Delta Green and the conspiracy that keeps the knowledge of the Unnatural out of the public eye. Your character is a newb. An FNG. Still a competent professional, but they’ve never been in something like this before.

4) Can/Should the players also add to the occult lore of this world by creating their own (within the PCs backstory for example)?
One of the main themes, Unnatural phenomena, and motifs of the RP that preceded this one was completely player-made. I decided to add it to the “lore” of my campaign. So, yes, players may show their creativity.

Sorry to spring all of those questions on you in a simple Interest Check ^^ Feel free to take your time answering them or to gesture me gently out the door xD
Not at all, I’d love to see who you create in the coming days. Just be aware, I am a picky man. Bring your A-game. ;)

Delta Green: The PLUTO Connection, Occult Action and Intrigue

@BenzaitenI’ll get to these once I have some time. I appreciate the curiosity and questions!

Delta Green: The PLUTO Connection, Occult Action and Intrigue

Delta Green: The PLUTO Connection, Occult Action and Intrigue

"We're the only ones who understand that you can't understand...

...And that's all you need to fucking know..."

-Donald Poe, USMC (Ret.) aka Agent ALPHONSE

Choose federal law enforcement. Choose the military. Choose NASA or the CDC. Choose lying to your superiors. Choose to ruin your career. Choose no friends. Choose divorce. Choose life through the bottom of a bottle. Choose destroying evidence and executing innocent people because they know too fucking much. Choose black fatigues and matching gas masks. Choose an MP5 stolen from the CIA loaded with glasers, with a wide range of fucking attachments. Choose blazing away at mind numbing, sanity crushing things from beyond the stars, wondering whether you'd be better off stuffing the barrel in your own mouth. Choose The King In Yellow and waking up wondering who you are. Choose a 9mm retirement plan. Choose going out with a bang at the end of it all, PGP encrypting your last message down a securely laid cable as an NRO Delta wetworks squad busts through your door. Choose one last Night at the Opera. Choose Delta Green.
— An Agent Long Gone

* * *

All Forum-wide Rules Apply

The GM's word is law

This RP was inspired by the Delta Green tabletop game, The Cthulu Wars by Kenneth Hite and Kennon Bauman, True Detective S1 and Denis Villeneuve's Sicario

* * *

Hello!

As the title says, this RP is one about action and intrigue with an occult bent. Heavily influenced by media such as the Delta Green tabletop game and the Cthulu Wars book, from which came the premise of this RP, and mainly season one of True Detective and Denis Villeneuve's Sicario film, the atmosphere of which I hope to weave into this game. Your characters can come from any number of organizations and institutions both government and civilian. Although this is an action game, I don't want players to think they have to necessarily be Hank Stonebulge, war veteran and supercop with ten machineguns and gets his calories from red meat and cigarettes.

That is to say, you can be a scientist, a scholar, a private eye, a federal agent, former or active duty military, or a career criminal with a history of working for the law to cut a deal. Joseph Donnelley is not beholden to tradition for recruiting teams and neither am I. This is mainly to not alienate people who are interested but don't have an encyclopedic knowledge of federal agencies or the like. I do encourage players to get creative with their characters, as long as they make sense, of course. An analyst probably won't be the greatest at making 400 meter shots with a rifle.

Like said above, I do hope to capture the atmosphere of Sicario and True Detective. The RP will mainly be about the investigations of the cases the team has been brought on for, as well as how they bond with their teammates, cope with the events of the RP that might challenge their ideals, and grow along the time spent working this case and just what it uncovers about the true workings of the world around them. As such, don't expect shooting first and asking questions later to get you far. You may be working for a shadowy 'Man in Black' but that doesn't give you legal immunity, nor does it give you leads and clues. Player characters will have to navigate this new world of intrigue and horror smartly, and may be called upon to do morally repugnant things in the name of not only national security, but the preservation of humanity as they know it. Join me on this romp from Washington State, and all the way down to Juarez, Mexico, and beyond.

Over the course of the RP, questions may arise. Who is Steve Foster? Who am I really working for? How far does this whole thing go? Who can I really trust?

And remember...

“Deception is a right. Truth is a privilege. Innocence is a luxury. The war is never over.”

* * *

What Is Delta Green?

Delta Green: An organisation which encourages middle-aged accountants and bureaucrats to drive vans filled with dynamite into the homes of white supremacists who worship the risen spirit of Hitler.

tl;dr - Delta Green was a government program born of the US government's raid on the degenerate coastal town of Innsmouth, Massachusetts. Dissolved during the Vietnam War in 1969 following a disastrous and unsanctioned raid in Cambodia, Delta Green post-1970 is an illegal, unsanctioned conspiracy of military personnel, federal agents, and capable and exceptional civilians that investigate and dispose of preternatural threats to the US and the world as a whole. Officially reinstated in late 2001 as 'The Program' and tasked to investigate, recover, and/or destroy preternatural threats to the US, Delta Green often achieves these high ideals with low methods.

"...as criminal an enterprise as all the conspiracies and blacker-than-black military projects that came before it."

* * *

::TEAM ROSTER —- WORKING GROUP - PALADIN::
::CASE OFFICER::
DONNELLEY, JOSEPH | M | CIA DIRECTORATE OF OPERATIONS, SPECIAL ACTIVITIES CENTER/SPECIAL OPERATIONS GROUP (GROUND BRANCH), PARAMILITARY OPERATIONS OFFICER

::TEAM LEADER::

::WORKING GROUP - PALADIN::

::KIA PERSONNEL::

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE OF DC
>1000
>23NOV2019, 4 DAYS AFTER RIVER VALLEYS RETREAT RAID…

Donnelley woke up strangling a cheap motel pillow when the fight in his dreams was taken to the motel floor, the hard impact his body made with the rough carpet of the motel room was enough to wake him. He looked around with bloodshot eyes to find that morning was upon him, and the room was empty. No huge firefight, no enemy in sight, just him. And an audience of empty bottles of whiskey and beer staring down at him from the tables and counters of the small room. The clutter disgusted him, another reminder of just how far backwards this case had dragged him, kicking and screaming, leaving nail marks in the floorboards. It had been two days since he’d contacted anyone from his team. He’d gotten to this motel after being debriefed at Langley, and his phone had been off by the time he’d crossed the room’s threshold. He sat on the floor for an eternity, just clutching onto the pillow less like an enemy now, and more like a dear friend in the face of some impending doom he felt inside his chest. As it subsided with the minutes ticking by, he got to his feet and discovered he was naked, and his skin sticky with sweat despite the coolness of the room.

He went for his phone and looked at that black little mirror for what felt like an hour. He didn’t know if he was ready to turn it back on and let the world slip back through that little porthole he’d open when it came back on. There was no telling what he’d find, and he didn’t know what would be worse- having a million missed calls, or none. Always easier to say you wanted to disappear until people obliged you. He swallowed dry, but dared not reach for any one of the bottles around him so easily within arm’s length. He pressed the button to power on the phone and watched it come to life. Sure enough, there were no calls, no messages for the first few minutes. And then one popped up on the screen. Voicemails.

Laine’s. Asking him where he was. Angry at first. Then worried. Then angry again. The last voicemail had been left last night, and he carefully went to his contacts, and returned her call. He put it on speaker, placed it on the nightstand, and scooted away from it as if she’d reach through the phone and slap him across the face.

Laine stood outside Georgetown University hospital, her arm in a fresh cast from the elbow to her wrist. It itched and she wanted to smoke but it was not allowed on the hospital grounds.

The air was cool and threatened to start drizzling again, maybe sleet, the weather man had said on that endless loop news channel that had been blaring in the waiting room. As if the people needed the anxiety inducing garbage from CNN and Fox.

Laine put her good hand in her pocket and looked at her phone. No missed calls, no voicemail. Not even a goddamn text. She felt the sweep of annoyance rush over her, a resentment tempered only by her concern for him.

"Dr. Laine."

A voice called her name, a tired sound that matched the dour features of Dr. Agrawal. He had a folder tucked under one arm that he promptly removed and handed to her.

"This is highly unorthodox," he complained, keeping a grip on the folder even as he gave it to her.

"I promise, it won't come back to you. I have federal authority," Laine said, pulling the folder from the psychiatrist. "How is he?"

"The patient, Mr. Patrick had to be sedated again. He's displaying violent tendencies, extreme paranoia, and hallucinations. I believe him not to be aggressive but defensive, he reacts to even minor stimuli. Even so, he is a danger to himself and others."

"What do you have him on?"

"The typical cocktail of lorazepam and haloperidol, an unusually high dosage for a man his size but he seems to have some resistance. I'll see how he does and adjust the medication. I prefer my patient conscious but his delusions are... disturbing," Dr. Agrawal said, stuffing his hands into his lab coat pockets.

"I'm sure," Laine said, then added, "We believe he was exposed to some hallucinogens without being aware on a DEA raid."

"So the admission papers said," he replied, "I wonder though, clearly he's had severe trauma as well."

"Combat," Laine said, "He was in combat on a few occasions."

"Yes, that would do it. Though his reaction is quite extreme. Perhaps his recreational drug use exasperated it. He was positive for cocaine and amphetamines in his lab work. No signs of hallucinogens, either," he said, his dark eyes narrowing.

"LSD can be tricky," Laine said as she glanced through the top sheet of the folder.

"That it can," he replied dryly. "Is there anything else I can do for you, I really must get back."

She looked at the older doctor, hating to have to lie about a patient but it was becoming second nature the longer she was in the Program.

"I'll need any recordings of interviews, sessions, or anything he writes or draws if he should do so."

"Funny, I thought his doctor would keep those," Dr. Agrawal said, "Or am I just the one with the prescription pad."

Laine closed the folder, slipping it into her coat. "I appreciate your cooperation and understanding, Dr. Agrawal. You have my number."

Once he had gone back through the sliding doors, Laine began her walk back to the parking lot. She looked at her phone again, then shook her head in disgust before picking up the pace as the first icy drops of rain started to fall.

She waited as the heater kicked in, her California blood still unused to the cold. As she idled the car, she tapped her phone and looked at the recent calls. Then tapped it once again. The phone was ringing now and Laine waited, each ring making her temper tick upwards.

"Donnelly you better answer, I swear," she muttered as her black painted fingernails drummed on the steering wheel.

The other side picked up with a hollowed out, “Hey,” Donnelley even sounded beat down on the phone, “It’s been some time… I, um, I… Are you okay?”

Laine almost hung up when she heard his voice. It sounded broken and it hurt to hear it but the anger and worry she has been carrying spilled out.

"I'm just peachy," she snapped, "Thanks for asking."

She sighed through her nose and clenched her jaw. "Having trouble with your service? Maybe you should switch carriers. Or maybe you've just been too busy to return my calls or maybe at least shoot me a text to let me know you’re still fucking alive."

Laine slapped her phone down against the console but it did not end the call. She grimaced, whatever convenience smart phones brought it was not very satisfying to hang up on someone. She tapped the screen but rather than hang up she put Donnelly on speaker.

Laine leaned her forehead against the steering wheel, the minute vibration of the idling engine was felt through her skull. She had been fighting a headache but it seemed ready to blossom as her temper spiked.

“You’re right.” Donnelley said, “I know. I’m sorry.”

There was a silence, and Donnelley wanted to fill it with anything but endless sorry and lame conceding. He felt low, a shadow of the bold, daring, swaggering man that Laine and the others had put their trust in. What would Holly think of him now? She’d probably tell him he never changed from when she left him and took Tilly away. Maybe he was even worse than that.

At least back then he had a fire in him, some kind of anger. Donnelley shook his head, that was no better to have, “Foster got away. All of this, and Foster got away.” He said, “Now my best fuckin’ friend is in a goddamn loony bin and…”

“And I’m here.” He swallowed, “I want to see you.”

Laine closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to gain control again. The mention of Queen brought her back and she glanced at the folder. Not every casualty of the Program was six feet under.

“Alright,” she murmured, then spoke up, “Alright. I’m here in DC, where are you?”

“I’m close.” He said, his voice seeming to perk up just a tad at that, “We can meet somewhere. Name the place, I’ll be there.”

>SOMEWHERE IN DC
>12000…///

Donnelley pulled up alongside the small parking area in the alleyway. Laine had chosen a small, secluded coffee shop that was far from prying eyes, and crowded enough for them to be lost in the details of the crowd. DC was the Moscow of the West when it came to espionage, but there were still small bastions where one could hide away. He was dressed less loud than he usually was, a black tee and hoodie over jeans, black Vans.

A hat worn forward and a pair of non-descript sunglasses covered his face. The Bratva and the rest of their enemies may have been crippled, but they weren’t far gone. He got out of his rental car, another piece of nondescript equipment, a black Toyota Corolla. Scanning the parking lot, he saw no one else, not that it was a huge space. He made his way into the coffee shop, looking at the faces until he spotted Laine’s. He strained to keep himself from smiling in that reflexive way people do when they see those they like. He stayed in line long enough to order a black coffee and then made his way over to her.

“Hey.” He couldn’t find much else to say.

Laine looked up from her pain au chocolat when Donnelley approached. She still wore her black peacoat but it hung loose, the maroon sweater underneath. She looked up at him, her green eyes searching his face as he sat down.

“Hey,” she replied, then sipped her coffee. “Nice weather we’re having.”

She glanced around, then pulled a piece of flaky bread apart. “It’s nice to see you. Finally.”

Her casted arm rested at the table top as she ate with one hand. The pleasantries fell away into silence as she looked over at him. Laine stayed quiet, waiting for Donnelley to say what he would say rather than jump on him with questions. No matter how much she wanted to berate him.

“Yeah.” He let that hang on the air, knowing that look Laine had in her eye, that annoyed edge in her voice.

He took the seat across from her and drummed his fingers on the table. For a few moments, he didn’t dare look her in the eye, but he knew he had to at some point. He looked up to see her still staring into him, maybe wondering what piss poor excuse he had now, “I started drinkin’ again. Dave, Ava, and me didn’t have too good of a partin’. Ain’t exactly been the best time. Still doesn’t make me disappearin’ right. I know other people were … worse off than me.”

He was there when Queen lost it. Had to be taken to the ground and disarmed before he did something stupid. He should’ve been there for his best friend, said something. At least something more than the lame out he gave them all in Alaska before they officially rejoined the living. “I need to go see my daughter, but I couldn’t do that before seein’ you. Makin’ sure you’re okay before I up and fuck off for a while.”

Laine nodded slightly, “We buried our dead and said goodbye to Dave and Ava but with Qu - with Billy, it’s something else. Neither here nor there. I saw him and spoke with his doctor. I’ll have access as much as I can, as a fellow doctor. I can’t say Dr. Agrawal is happy about it but if he acts up, we’ll just send someone to scare him.”

She turned her head, brushing her dark hair back, “That’s what we do isn’t it?”

Laine sighed, “I’ll watch out for Billy, you know that. Right now they have him sedated but that won’t last forever, hopefully.”

Laine had kept herself busy on the return from Alaska, rolling along with catching up at Quantico and making sure Queen had been admitted and anything he said written off as delusional blather. The cover story should hold, until she could get him to a more private facility away from DC and the dangers that lurked.

But the memories still were there, the whispering in the dark that kept her awake at night. Laine would have to deal with them, she understood that, but not while her team still needed her. She resisted the urge to rub the cast against the table, an itch starting up under the plaster.

After a pause she tried to meet his gaze, “Are you done drinking? Or do I have to keep tabs on you, too.”

Her voice was cool but she let her hands slide past her coffee cup and reached for him, the pale fingers of her good hand extended.

“I sure fuckin’ hope so, Laine.” He said, and noticed the waiting hand on the table. The first sign of good graces he’d had in what felt like weeks. Especially from her. He still remembered how they left things in Texas.

But he took the hand, sliding his fingers between hers, “How the fuck am I gonna explain any of this to my daughter?”

Laine brushed her thumb against his calloused finger then shook her head slightly, “You won’t.”

She looked down at their hands and back at him, “Her innocence is a gift. She doesn’t need to know why those men wrecked the car. Plenty of random violent people in this world, god knows. As for how do you explain where you go and what you do...you make it something she can believe in.”

Laine added, “I don’t exactly give details to my niece and nephew about what I do. They just know I try to stop bad people from doing bad things.”

Donnelley huffed out a small chuckle as he gently squeezed Laine’s hand, “If I know my daughter, she’d slap me if I gave her somethin’ like that.” The smile faded just a bit, “She’ll need somethin’ more. I’ve already put so much drama into her life, and she’s grown. She needs somethin’ more.”

“I’m tellin’ you, you’d like her.” He smiled.

Laine conceded the point and thought for a moment. “You don’t want to crush her under this weight, and how much can you even tell her? You can’t even tell her about your day job let alone this.”

She could see the pride in his eyes, the love that was there for his only child. Laine smiled a little, “I am sure I would, she sounds like an amazing girl. Maybe one day...hell.”

Looking aside, Laine bit her lip slightly and sighed, “You know I’d love her as your daughter. And I want to protect her. I am not sure what you should tell her, but you know her best. What she can handle.”

Donnelley nodded, looking down at their fingers intertwined, “Yeah, you’re right. Just a… fine line to tread.” He looked back up to Laine, “That’s for later, though. For now, it’s us. What do you want, before I have to go? See a movie, walk in the park… find someplace to act like teenagers like when we first had some time?”

“We could shoplift at Target, or go get some spray paint and tag some buildings.” He chuckled.

Laine flexed her fingers in her casted hand, the itch was starting to bother her. At his suggestions, she smiled, rolling her eyes up, “Oh to be normal for five minutes. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

She looked at him, the fatigue and worry fading into the background when she saw Donnelley smile. “Do you think it would be alright to go back to my apartment?”

Laine glanced around, almost certain some Russian might be lurking. “Do we dare it?”

“My parents aren’t home,” she added, trying to lighten the mood back up.

“Really? Do you wanna take our party over there then?” He asked, his smile growing a little wider.

Laine glanced around the cafe once more. “I think I’d like nothing more than to just be in my own place with you and we can Netflix and chill. Something just boring and normal.”

She paused then a little grin flicked across her lips, “Not that it’ll stay boring or normal.”

Donnelley’s smile widened as he took her hand and stood.

>GREER RESIDENCE
>BLACK DIAMOND, WA
>1730
>26NOV2019

Donnelley’s bike came to a stop on the driveway of Holly’s house. When he’d called Tilly at SeaTac Airport, he learned he was discharged days ago, and had been basically living at one of her friends’ houses. Holly and her husband were still at Virginia Mason, and he would make time to visit them after he made sure his daughter was alright. Holly was the first to wake from her coma, and she would have to undergo physical therapy. Mark was in much the same condition, but he’d been managing to walk. They had lost the pregnancy, something Tilly spoke to Donnelley in hushed tones about. He could tell it hurt her.

He sat up from his bike after cutting the engine and scanned the surroundings of the house’s yard and the trees beyond. He’d told Tilly to go home and meet him when he came to the door, as he’d agreed to watch her for the time being while Holly and Mark were hospitalized. He hung his helmet off one of the ape hangers on his bike and made his way to the front door, rapping his knuckles on the wood, “It’s me, Tilly. It’s D-“ he stopped himself from saying dad, not knowing if he’d earned the right, “It’s… Joey.”

From inside the house the sound of unlocking could be heard and the door swung open. Tilly was there, dressed in jeans and her long blonde hair tied up in a haphazard bun. Her bottom lip quivered when she looked up at him but she held firm.

“Hey, Joe Dad.”

She opened the door further to let him in, the house smelled like lemon polish and pine cleaner. Tilly gestured down the hallway towards the kitchen and dining room. “Mom’s always complaining I don’t help around the house enough. I thought I’d...you know.”

Tilly swallowed hard and blinked, wiping the loose sleeve of the flannel she wore over her t-shirt across her eyes. It was one of Mark’s shirts, her step dad had a collection that would make any Seattleite proud. “I thought I’d clean up, for when they come home.”

The girl turned quickly and walked inside, leaving Donnelley to close the door himself and follow. He could already tell how his daughter was keeping her mind barely occupied. When there were things that weighed heavily on him, he threw himself into his work. And if there was no work, there was always drinking. He thanked whoever that Tilly hadn’t followed him in that habit, at least. To her credit, the house did seem spotless.

“It looks nice in here, good job.” He said, trying to tiptoe around the elephant in the room of why he was here at all.

“You wanna take a break and get some food? My treat, you deserve it for this.” He mustered up a smile, “I’ll take you anywhere you want. Or we could order in, just chill here.”

Tilly shrugged, “I dunno, I got tired of fast food and especially hospital food. You’d gag over what passes for a barbeque burger there.”

She sat against the arm of the recliner, the one her Mom had claimed from Mark to put her swollen feet up. Tilly ran her hand over the leather and the crocheted throw blanket. “Mrs. Martin makes some pretty good lasagna though. But it’s kinda weird living at another house, even if it is my best friend.”

She looked over at Donnelley, examining his scarred face and his blue eyes the same color as her own. “I dunno. Things are so weird right now. The Martins want me to stay with them for Thanksgiving. But other people’s holidays are weird, like they have roast instead of turkey. Who does that?”

She was chattering, she knew it. Tilly swung her feet, her sneakers scuffing the carpet. “There’s a food truck that sets up by the skate park, they have junk you know. Hot dogs, ice cream, chili pie. Can your old digestion handle that?”

Tilly giggled, muffling it with her sleeve covered hand. “Dad has a big bottle of Tums in the bathroom if you can’t.”

Her thoughts naturally went to her stepdad, how he was struggling to keep it together for her and her mom but even she could see it was an uphill battle. Tilly sighed and raised her shoulders in the most nonchalant teenage gesture she could manage.

“Anyway, wanna go?”

“Uh, yeah, the skate park? You got an extra board?” He thrust his thumb over his shoulder, ignoring his daughter’s anxiety and trying to do the fatherly thing of putting her at ease and letting her work through it. Act like life was normal for a time, “I brought the bike. I promised you a ride, remember?”

“Just the one, sorry,” she said, “But I’ll let you take a turn if you promise not to break...a leg.”

She cleared her throat and slid off the arm of the chair, “I’ll be back.”

Tilly ran up the stairs and pushed her bedroom door open. It was just as she had left it, her art on the walls, her computer gathering dust. Then she saw it, the little blue fuzzy duck she had bought for her brother. Her late brother, she corrected herself as she picked it up. Her hands trembled and she gripped it as she sunk down on her bed.

She started to cry, pressing her face to it. Her mom had wanted to do the nursery in little ducks with rain boots, Tilly was going to paint the design on the crib. Tears wet the synthetic fur and she sat up, balling the stuffed toy against her stomach as she shook with sobs.

Donnelley watched her with a raised brow as she abruptly darted up the stairs. It became readily apparent when he heard the door shut, but could still hear the sound of crying faintly from downstairs. It was the same kind of crying he was doing when he learned about what happened those days ago.

The talk with Laine came to mind, there was no way he could avoid talking about what had happened. In a world where trauma, violence, death, and hardship was almost an everyday thing, he’d forgotten that it wasn’t just the natural way of things for most people. His daughter and her family included. He swallowed hard and wrung his hands, looking down at them. He gingerly took the stairs up to her bedroom and his hand hovered over the door, unsure of whether he should bother knocking.

It was odd, he’d almost had no problem dealing with the emotions of his teammates. He’d take every argument, every sob in stride and bounce back after like nothing happened before moving on to the next objective. But this wasn’t a mission, there were no clear cut parameters, or rules of engagement. This was his daughter, crying for help, crying for someone or something to make things simple for her again and knowing that it never would be. Not after this.

And he found himself lost. He’d froze, like some FNG at the sound of a gunfight. But he knocked anyway, “Tilly…” He said, quietly, “Can- can I come in?”

Tilly sniffed hard and wiped at her eyes but held onto the blue duck plushie.

“Yeah,” she cleared her throat, “Yeah, come in.”

She kept her gaze on the floor, her slim fingers twining around the stuffed animal. “Sorry, I...”

Tilly held up the duck, “I just saw this and...”

Her throat tightened and fresh tears threatened, “It’s so fucked up. Everything is so fucked up.”

Donnelley stood in the doorway while she fumbled with her words before coming straight out with it. He regarded her with a pained frown, looking her up and down, hunched about the small stuffed animal like she was trying to offer a smaller target to the world. He sighed, eyes going to the floor before he stepped carefully to sit next to her on the bed. He didn’t know what to say, if there was anything he could say to make things seem right.

She said it herself. There was no other way to look at it. He just shook his head, “I know it is.” He whispered, “I know.”

“I’m so sorry for all of this shit happenin’, Tilly.” He shook his head again, “I’m sorry I couldn’t even be here sooner. I just… I had…”

After everything he said to Laine, he found himself at an impasse. He lied about what he did last time he was here, and there was no way he could be truly honest with what he was doing before he came to her house. “Tilly, I don’t know how I can say this, but the reason I couldn’t be here sooner is I was makin’ sure that this shit could never fuckin’ happen again to you.” He looked at her, “I made sure. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry about everythin’. I’m sorry there’s nothin’ else I can do except be here.”

“But I’m here.” He looked away from her and down at his hands, nervously fidgeting with his fingers, “I’m right here. So if… if there’s anythin’ you want to say to me, that you’re angry, that this is my fault. Let it out.”

Tilly listened in silence, then turned her head slightly to look at Donnelley from the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath, “Yeah, I’m mad. I’m so angry I don’t even know what to do sometimes. They knew you, they came after us because of you...what did you do?”

She turned enough to look at him fully now, “Why did they want you to stop? Something so bad they nearly killed us. What the fuck did you do?”

Tilly was swearing like she did around her friends, never around Holly and Mark. And she found she did not care if Donnelley approved or not. Donnelley frowned, closed his eyes in contemplation. Taking his moment to think on how to frame things for her, not because she wouldn’t understand, but because she shouldn’t. Not everything, anyways. “You know I was in the Army for a long time. I said I worked for the State Department, that I was involved in diplomatic security.” He took a breath, and then opened his eyes, looking at the floor. Or past it, “I do similar things. I travel a lot, to places that are dangerous. I work a dangerous job, in dangerous places, and I… deal with dangerous people.”

He glanced at her, before looking at his hands, “I make sure they can’t do anythin’ dangerous to America. To you. To anyone. They don’t like that.” He said, “It’s how I got this scar. I’m not gonna spell it out for you, but I have to be honest somehow.”

“You deserve it.” He said quietly, and looked at her, “Nothin’ else could keep me away like it does. It was always hard on your mom, and I’m sorry that it’s hard on you now.”

“What, were they terrorists or something?” she asked, “How do you know they won’t come back? Once you’re off on whatever...mission. Or maybe a year or two from now. When I go to college? You can’t protect us.”

Tilly flung her arm out to gesture around the room, wincing slightly at the pain in her ribs. “Mom and Dad can’t even walk by themselves right now.”

“You think you can protect us, but you’re the reason we got hurt,” Tilly said, then shook her head.

Donnelley frowned and his hands gripped his knees as he sighed. Tilly was right, and he knew it. It was his fault, they did no offense to anyone except be his family. Be the ones he cared about. That was the only reason they got hurt, knowing him made them targets. He shouldn’t have come here, he shouldn’t have walked back into Tilly’s life.

But he did, and there was no going back now. He had to face it all, “I know. I know I’m the fuckin’ reason. But,” he searched for something to say and came up short, it was like his entire life was nothing more than something to apologize for, “But, I’m sorry. There wasn’t a way I could’ve known this would happen to you. Or maybe I should have.”

“I’m the one who came back after all these years, I’m the one who thought everything would be fine after just a visit, and a conversation.” Donnelley shook his head, “But, but, Tilly please. Believe me when I say those people aren’t goin’ to come for you. I will make sure that they can’t.”

“I’m your blood, Tilly. You’re my blood. I’m still your family, and you’re still my daughter. Sure as your eyes are blue, and you got a mouth on you.” He said, “Long as that’s all true, I promise to you, Tilly. They ain’t gonna come back.”

He looked at her finally, “I swear that to you, whether or not you ever want me here once Holly and Mark can come back to the house.”

Tilly sniffled and sat up, looking at Donnelley. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

She stood and moved away from him, her hands on her hips in an unconscious imitation of her mother’s irritated stance. It was easy to focus her anger and fear on Donnelley, rather than the unknown out in the world that meant her harm. Tilly turned, her red rimmed eyes no longer shining with tears.

“Tell me who those people are, Joe-Dad,” she said, “Because you ain’t gonna be around. At least I can watch out because Mom and Dad are fucking crippled up right now.”

“Russians.” Donnelley told her, “I was workin’ a case against Russians and Neo-Nazis. Guns, drugs. A few days ago, we went and shot the hell out of them.”

Donnelley admitted it, found it just came pouring out his mouth. Like he saw Tilly’s posture and like Pavlov’s dogs, he had a reason to rattle off everything. He composed himself and looked away from her, “That’s what I been doin’ this year.” He said, “What else you wanna know, ‘cause your dad ain’t no liar and he don’t make promises he can’t keep.”

“Russians? Like Russian mob? And Neo-Nazis? Jesus Christ, do you want to add Muslim extremists and killer clowns in there, too?” Tilly said, then she gave him a narrow look. “I thought you worked outside the US, but you’re not anymore? Joe-Dad...why can’t you just say who you are, what you do? Like FBI or CIA? One of those or like...what is it, ATF?”

He mumbled something quiet, and when he looked at Tilly with no reaction from her, he knew he didn’t say it loud enough. Or wanted to. He was toeing a dangerous line here, but Tilly was old enough. And last time he checked, direct family would be able to be told the truth about employment at the Company.

“CIA.” He blurted out, and intertwined his fingers, “I work for the CIA.”

Tilly’s mouth hung open when she heard it, no matter how much she suspected he might work for the CIA hearing him admit it was something else. “No. Shit,” she said slowly, looking him over. “My dad is James Bond.”

“I mean, he’s British, but sure.” Donnelley shrugged. “Just… don’t tell your mom. I don’t know how she’ll view me after. She already worries about me rubbin’ off on you too much as it is. I don’t need her havin’ more reasons for me to keep my distance.”

Tilly still looked at him with a mixture of awe and suspicion, “Seriously. CIA? That’s crazy.”

She rolled her eyes, “You think I’d tell Mom? I didn’t even show her the note.”

A renewal of anguish rose in her. Tilly said, “Mom has enough on her mind.”

After a moment, she looked up, “Hey, you’re CIA so like can you get us government protection? At least until Dad is better. Or is that just a movie thing.”

The tenuous hope in her voice was tinged in doubt, Tilly was grasping at straws, desperate for any sort of safety.

Donnelley knew the look on her face as he regarded her with a sense of fatherly duty. It pained him to see her like this, knowing that she knew that even if he was here for now, she’d be alone again when the Program called. He knew whatever sense of safety was just a veneer over that fact. He nodded, “Yeah, I can do that. People owe me favors.”

He gave her a smile, now that the conversation had lightened somewhat, “As long as I’m here, you can ask about whatever you want. I’ll tell you, if I can.” He said, “I still owe you that ride on my bike.”

“For real?” Tilly raised her pale brows, “Ok, how many countries have you been to? We’ll start simple.”

She set the little duck plushie down, giving it a place against her pillow. Tilly picked up her helmet her mom had bought her for skating but the pain that stitched threw her side reminded her she was supposed to limit her activity. “I’m down for a ride but I probably shouldn’t skate right now, my ribs.”

With a shrug, she tucked the helmet under her arm away from the injured side.

“Eight.” Donnelley answered while he watched Tilly get ready for the ride, “Eight countries. Only a few of them were anywhere you’d vacation.”

“Turkey’s probably my favorite. Street food is delicious, you’d never go hungry. I’d kill for baklava.” He chuckled, getting up from the bed, “I brought an extra helmet for you. Don’t worry about that one.”

Tilly tossed the helmet on her bed, she never liked it. It was pink and no matter how many stickers she plastered on it, the bubble gum color poked through.

“Maybe one day I’ll go to Turkey,” she said, following him out of the room. “Maybe backpacking across Europe, my friend Lacey wants to do that before going to college. There’s these international study programs in Italy, studying the marine biology of the Mediterranean.”

At the bottom of the stairs, she looked up at him, “I guess you weren’t on vacation though. Did you...you know, have to do things there?”

“In Turkey?” Donnelley asked, following Tilly down the stairs, “No. Just in some… nearby places.”

He looked around the empty house as he got back to the living room. The life that Holly and Mark had built for Tilly was more than anything he could’ve done. He was jealous and thankful all at once, knowing that if Holly had stuck with him, he probably wouldn’t have given Tilly anything like this. He sighed, maybe he would never get to come back here after doing the next dangerous thing in the next dangerous place, never get to see Tilly.

That’s why he needed to make the most out of this right here, right now. Live in this moment, not think about the days to come when the phone call would be had and he’d have to leave again. Having something to lose again… he thought it would feel worse. He smiled to Tilly as he made ready to open the door, “Ready, kiddo?”

“Sure,” Tilly replied and paused before they left the house. “Mom said you always carry a gun. Do you have one now?”

“Yeah, you wanna shoot it?” He asked.

The ease of the answer surprised her, the subject of guns was not one often brought up and Mark kept the one handgun locked in a box in his nightstand.

“Yeah?” Tilly said, unsure. “I mean, maybe. I probably should learn since you know. Just in case.”

As they left the house, Tilly asked, “So, how long do you think you’ll stay around?”

Donnelley threw his leg over his bike and sat on the question. He dug his keys out of his leather jacket pocket and held them while he thought, before looking to Tilly, “I figured I’d keep you company until the folks get back.” He said, and shrugged, “How long you want me to?”

Tilly awkwardly climbed on behind him, searching for the pegs to put her feet and reached to put her hands on his shoulders for balance, “I dunno, as long as you can I guess. Or unless you piss me off.”

She smirked slightly, her expression familiar for a moment as she looked over his shoulder, “I should probably get that helmet.”

“Saddlebag.” He was still smiling at the previous comment, “Grab mine too, it’s in the other one.”

Once they’d donned their helmets, he’d given her the lowdown on being a good motorcycle passenger, how to lean with him and make sure she didn’t fly off at any moment. He never did get a real answer about where she wanted to eat, so Donnelley just took Tilly out on a ride and waited for her to point out something that looked good. There were more than a few hidden gems in the Seattle-Tacoma area that she wouldn’t have trouble finding something.

After a meal from Dick’s Burgers they’d almost rode past before Tilly enthusiastically slapped Donnelley’s shoulder while pointing it out, they’d taken a ride to Ruston Way. He remembered riding with Holly down this same road, and the waterfront really hadn’t changed all that much. They’d gotten full again on ice cream they’d picked up from a convenience store, and now they sat on the beach.

Donnelley laughed as he watched the rock he’d picked out make a record of four skips across the water before disappearing into the briny Puget Sound. He looked at Tilly, still busy resupplying herself with rocks that looked just right for skipping. The sun was starting to set, turning the sky orange, and the buildings on the pier into silhouettes.

“Should probably get home soon.” He said, looking at his watch, “Wouldn’t want to keep you out too late. If your mom ever finds out, she’d probably be a little disappointed in me.”

Tilly was crouched picking up the smooth stones beside a tide pool, she studied whatever might be in there. A few stray mussels and a small purple sea star crawling along the rocks. She enjoyed the smell of the sound, it smelled both of life and decay, salt and mud. When she heard Donnelley call her back, she stood up and put the stones in her pocket.

“Mom, disappointed in you? Never,” Tilly said, “I found a sea star by the way, I’m pretty sure it’s an ochre even if it’s little. That’s pretty neat because most of them have died off.”

She faced the water, tucking her hands in her jean pockets, “I did a project on it last year, it’s a disease that nearly wiped out all the sea stars in our area. Scientists think it’s because of the heat waves. It’s changing the temperature of the water, letting bacteria survive and flourish that might have been killed off with the cold.”

Tilly blushed slightly and dropped her hands, “Anyway, yeah I guess we should go. Nothing even a big bad CIA guy can do against climate change.”

He had a small smile as he looked out at the Sound while Tilly talked about her interests. A feeling of pride whenever she said something he couldn’t wrap his mind around without a careful study of a textbook, or perusing some peer reviewed paper.

“Well, some people say we control the weather. Maybe I know a guy, we can get this whole thing figured out.” Donnelley chuckled, looking sidelong at Tilly.

“If only it was that easy,” Tilly sighed but gave her father a smile. She picked up the helmet and put it on. “So when do I get to learn to drive this thing?”

“Maybe we’ll get you your own. Somethin’ with a little less power so you don’t accidentally send yourself into a wall.” Donnelley said, trudging back through the sand towards the parking spot he’d found alongside the road, “I’m not sayin’ you can’t handle it, but it’s different from ridin’ a bike or drivin’ a car.”

He sat back in his seat, taking his helmet off the ape hanger and placing it on his head, “I mean, if it’s alright with mom. You could keep it at my house if mom’s bein’ lame, long as you’re not a knucklehead with it.”

Tilly hopped on behind Donnelley, securing her grip on his jacket. “Yeah? I don’t think I’ll be getting a car anytime soon so that’ll be cool. I got my learner’s permit this summer but not my license. Dad was supposed to be helping with that but I don’t know when he’s gonna be okay to drive,”

She sighed, leaning against her father, “He says it’ll be fine, but don’t all dads say that?”

Donnelley could feel Tilly’s weight shift onto his back a tad. He couldn’t blame her for being so anxious about the trajectory her life was taking. He would be too. He was, at one point, before all of these things began to be commonplace. If he had to choose, he didn’t know who had a better outlook on it between him and Tilly. No matter how much she had grown while he was gone, she was still just a young girl.

He lay a hand over one of hers, “Mark’s goin’ to be fine. Holly’s goin’ to be fine.” He said, “I know everythin’ seems so different now, but we’ll get through this. We’ll get back to normal.”

“Everythin’s gonna be okay.” Tilly couldn’t see it from where she sat, but he smirked, “See, now you got two dads sayin’ so. That help?”

“I guess,” she said, “It’s just a lot.”

She leaned into him, ready to take off. It felt better having Donnelley there, an adult who would know what to do. At least she hoped so. She was nearly grown but had always had her parents there to guide her along and now they were not. They were not the pillars of stubbornness and wisdom, they were broken people lost in grief and pain. It felt strange to see them that way, to see Mark struggling not to cry while relearning to walk or her mom without that fiery spark. Tilly felt the shift in responsibility, she had to take care of them now until they mend.

“I know.” Donnelley said, knowing it wouldn’t help to say anything more. He kicked down on the kickstart and the machine under him roared to life before they sped away and back home…///

…///

They slowed to a stop in the driveway and Donnelley cut the engine, walking the bike to a spot that was out of the way in the driveway out of habit. As if anyone else would be leaving or driving back. He said nothing of it, just stuffed his and Tilly’s helmets into the saddlebags and followed Tilly to the front door of her home. When they stepped inside, it was almost too quiet. He expected Holly and Mark to be in the living room, or in the kitchen making something to eat for the family. He didn’t let it show on his face that he was expecting anything he didn’t get, Tilly was probably thinking the same.

She didn’t need the both of them lamenting her parents’ absence. He hung his jacket by the door and made his way to the couch, still almost too uncomfortable to reach for the remote and turn on the TV. He still felt like a guest. He was, of course, but no one being there to tell him to make himself at home made him unable to. No matter his daughter being there. He looked to Tilly, “What’re you goin’ to do now? I can leave you alone for a bit if you don’t want to spend the whole day hangin’ with your old, lame dad.”

Tilly took a bottle of water from the fridge and shrugged, “I guess I should study, having a near fatal car accident is no excuse to get a C, right?”

She scrunched her nose and twisted the cap with a pop. “I gotta go back to school after the Thanksgiving holidays. At least to take my semester finals and turn in my essays. Like, all of this can be done remotely but the district said I was missing enough classes.”

Tilly patted his shoulder as she passed behind the couch, “So that’s what I’ll be doing the next couple hours. Fun, fun.Thanks for the ride though, I needed that. I can see why you like it so much.”

She hesitated a moment then turned to go up the stairs, “There’s some extra blankets in the linen closet in the bathroom.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, watching her go to the stairs, “Study hard, you’re better than a C student. I gotta at least say some dad stuff, right?”

He chuckled and watched her go. Once she disappeared up the stairs and he heard her door shut, he sighed. His smile disappeared and he was in the silent house with no company but his own. He thought of his last words to Dave, and how Ava’s face looked to watch him turn so foul at them. They’d gotten out alive, and it was his help that let them do that. It was a shame he couldn’t see through all the shit, and he let it get the better of him. He’d never get to apologize to Ava. Never get to make things right with Dave.

He still had Laine, but how much longer until the stress of the job made him turn foul on her too, and make her leave him like Holly. How much longer until Tilly truly understood why her mother felt how she did about him. He shook his head, that could really only be answered by himself. He turned on the TV, and pulled out his phone. The latest search cataloged by his phone browser’s history would be therapists in the area. He owed it to the people still in his life to be better. After a few hours, he found himself on the couch again, drifting off to sleep to the sound of the last scene of Rambo, before he shut his eyes again and it cut to commercials…///

Light filtered in through the blinds, early morning curiously probing its way into the dimness of the room. It smelled of lavender on behalf of a smoldering wick rooted inside a purple candle, a long tail of smoke reaching up only to dissipate on the ambient breeze of the inside air of the private practice. Donnelley looked through the blinds, watching as the silhouette of a tree danced in the wind. There was birdsong outside, though it didn’t seem to fill him with much joy. He’d decided to come here at the behest of Laine, and Holly, and Tilly. He’d never want to jeopardize his tenuous relationship with his daughter, and here he was. The therapists of the past hadn’t gotten any headway with him, but he didn’t want to bog Laine down with his emotional baggage. There was only so much of that a relationship could handle, but he knew how weighty buried trauma could be to the same relationship.

He knew he couldn’t exactly tell her everything. He couldn’t tell her how he’d murdered one of the people he thought was his friend in an underground temple dedicated to a forgotten deity. Couldn’t tell her that he watched the only woman he tricked into loving him die right in front of him, before he died just the same. And then woke up. He couldn’t tell her a lot of things.

“You’re very tight-lipped, Mister Blaine.” The therapist sitting across from him said, a woman in her early forties, just like him. Her name was Cherie, “I don’t blame you. You were in the service?”

Donnelley nodded, still not looking at her. She continued, “How was your experience there?”

“How do you think?” Donnelley snorted, bitter. The Texan in his voice was left waiting for him outside, Joseph Blaine didn’t talk like that, “I’m in therapy.”

“So,” Cherie scribbled something in her notes, “Do you ever have trouble sleeping?”

“I have post-traumatic stress disorder, yes.” Donnelley glanced at her, “So, sleeping isn’t exactly easy.”

“I see. You served in Afghanistan, first with the…” She eyed her notes, “Army Rangers, and then with Special Forces. Can you tell me about that?”

“No.” Donnelley smirked, then shook his head of it. “Not all of it.”

“What can you tell me then?” Cherie asked, voice soft and non-confrontational, coaxing versus digging. “I’d also like to remind you that I possess a clearance for clients like you.”

“I can tell you that I wish I could narrow it all down to one single point in time where I could say, ‘Oh, it all changed after this,’” Donnelley frowned, looking away from the window to his hands clasped together in his lap. Hands that had done so much, “But, I can’t really. It’s all just one thing after another, tiny chips falling off.”

“Sometimes things happen fast. Other times, it happens so slow over so long that you don’t even notice it.” Donnelley swallowed, “And all any of us were trying to do was the right thing…”

“Of course. I believe you.” Cherie nodded. “Then tell me about the first time it got… chipped away, as you put it.”

“I, um,” Donnelley cleared his throat. The silence went on so long it felt like a boulder was pressing down on him, and the tiny fan in the small office was screaming in his ears. He stayed like that, watching his own personal parade of nightmares past march across his vision until he swallowed and spoke, “I’ve been a liar to a lot of people. In a lot of ways, my job is to lie. To make people believe what I tell them, make people like me enough to tell me things they shouldn’t before I leave them in the cold.”

“I’m very sorry you view it like that-“

“It is that.” Donnelley almost snapped, realizing his hands were clasped so tight they were shaking until he let them go, “It is that. I’m a liar.”

“Can you tell me more?” Cherie asked, unfazed.

Donnelley nodded, “When the drinking started… when the drinking really started,” Donnelley corrected, eyes focused on a corner of the room, but further past it moreso than Cherie could even imagine, “The first time I discharged my weapon in the line of duty. Lawton, Oklahoma,” Here he was lying again, “I was a Deputy and we got a call about a guy who’d kidnapped his daughter. I had to shoot him when he pulled a gun. I remember watching him drop.”

“It wasn’t fatal, or at least didn’t kill him right there.” Donnelley explained, “Here I am pressing gauze on a sucking chest wound all the while this guy’s whimpering at me not to let him die in front of his daughter. I tell him…”

The room grew quiet again, as Donnelley remembered the same words he’d spoken to so many people over the years. That same lie. Cherie softly cleared her throat and urged him on gently in that voice of hers, “What did you say?”

Donnelley looked down at his hands, and drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes, “I tell him,” Donnelley paused, swallowing, “I say, ‘everything’s going to be fine, you’re alright, you’re okay’ while he’s fucking dying with the ambulances dragging their feet, and all anyone back at the station wants to do is give me a fucking pat on the Goddamn back for taking him off the streets.”

“That was when the drinking really started? Your biggest lie?” Cherie asked.

“I get home after my shift, I sit in the driveway with my hands shaking and I’m crying. I wipe my face and go inside, I hug Holly and she asks me if I’m o-okay.” Donnelley’s voice cracked, remembering that first little chip of himself falling away.

“I smile at her and I say…” Donnelley frowned deep, looking away from Cherie, the sound of him swallowing dry was like thunder in his ears.

“And you say?” Cherie asked so soft, Donnelley could barely hear her.

He dragged in a breath, a reedy whisper, “Yeah.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>GEORGE BUSH CENTER FOR INTELLIGENCE, CIA HQ
>THE BLACK FLOORS
>2200
>20NOV2019

It was a feeling like doing something wrong and waiting for your parents to get home. Like sitting outside the principal’s office. It was a secure meeting room, no windows out into the hallway, not to mention the Black Floors were subterranean anyway. He didn’t know if that made him feel better, or just more anxious. Does the deer feel better about it if it can see the wolves coming? Donnelley simply sat at the small wood table, the navy blue carpet and soundproofed walls, whole room done up like a corporate office space. He took in a breath and it sounded like hundred mile winds in the silence.

The door opened, and he almost flinched, guilty for nothing. At least nothing he’d done in this room. Director Oakes closed the door behind her and took a seat opposite Donnelley, placing a folder on the table. They didn’t speak to each other, just sat on opposite sides of the table. Her head was freshly buzzed, and he spied a small scar next to her hairline that disappeared under the hair. And then he noticed more, one on her lip, another running up her forearm. She was dressed more like she was one of the Wetwork Teams, and not a busy Director wading knee deep in the bureaucracy of the Program. She took her turn drawing in a breath and sighing it out, “This is it.” She said, nodding at the folder, “Everything Ava and Dave will need to leave this all behind.”

“Thanks.” Donnelley said, holding Oakes’ gaze. Like two street dogs, two opponents sussing out the next moves of the other.

“You didn’t ask for one for Laine.” Oakes said, a slight hint of curiosity in her voice, just at the edges.

“She doesn’t want one.” Donnelley said, already wondering when Oakes was going to pull another favor out of her ass. Just one more, that’s all it’ll take. Just one more. How many times had he told himself that, he wondered.

“You didn’t ask for one for you.” Her voice was much more matter-of-fact. Her turn to wonder about things, as she quirked a brow. “I thought you’d want to leave this all in the past and try to make something out of the rest of your life?”

“That’s not how this works.”

“It is for David and Avaline.” Oakes inclined her head towards Donnelley.

“It wasn’t for Poker, or for Maui, Clyde Baughman. Or anyone else I ever knew that’s dead now, that’s not how it worked for them.” Donnelley inclined his head in turn, corner of a lip downturned in a growing frown.

“Or for Bob?”

Donnelley let go a tell, he knew, his brows twitching and then furrowing. Knitting together as he looked away, “He wouldn’t have lasted anyway.”

“Maybe,” Oakes leaned forward, “But that wasn’t for you to decide, Donnelley. He was a good kid-“

“And that’s my fuckin’ point. You said no witnesses, I told him no witnesses, and he wasn’t goin’ to pull that fuckin’ trigger-“

“Like you did? Or was it how it really went down is you faked him out and then killed him?” Oakes didn’t seem any more or any less upset with the idea that Donnelley had killed her new guy. “I wonder why?”

“I didn’t shoot him. We got to the place, his granddaughter was there, and I didn’t do it.” Donnelley was staring burning holes in the table, “I lowered my pistol. Maybe I could catch him at another time, maybe when he didn’t have his granddaughter.”

“And then this stupid fuck blows Bill’s head open.” Donnelley shook his head, fist balled underneath the table. The room was silent, but Donnelley could feel his blood pumping in his ears. Who was this bitch that could look him in the eyes, and after everything he’d done for her, and the Program, and THUNDER, and that lying piece of shit Foster, and grill him over some petty shit? How could she look him in the eyes and write him off as a fuck-up? He was good at what he did, and he’d proved it plenty-

“Would you like to know how I ended up here?” Oakes broke the silence, and Donnelley looked at her. Her and her scars, and bruises, “Ended up being the person in charge of the Program’s Office of Murder?”

Donnelley opened his mouth, and then shut it. Oakes looked his face over, eyes hanging on the large burn scar that ran down his face, tracing the line that the burning coolant and oil had taken. He almost turned his face away from her, but instead he held his chin up. He was done hiding it, hiding from it. Oakes continued, “I grew up just like you. Poor family, my father beat my mother and I. Staying together for the kid is by far the stupidest shit they ever did besides have me.”

Oakes didn’t seem torn up about it, “When I was old enough, I joined the Air Force. Security Forces. Broke up a lot of fights, ended a lot of fights. I was good at it. When I heard about my father murdering my mother, I only got better at it.” Oakes nodded, a fierceness in her eyes as she recounted her past, “I planned on getting out of the Air Force and doing to him what he’d been doing to me and my mother for all our lives. Some General’s nephew or some shit lost a fight to me, and that put me on the first ride out of the Air Force. Some men in black suits and sunglasses you and everyone else here might recognize came up to me and asked if I’d like to make this all go away.”

“Next thing I know, I’m on a plane to Andersen Air Force Base. They take me to a building, hand me a key to a cell, and they tell me my father’s down the stairs.” Oakes frowned at the wall as if she could see the door there still, “I stood in front of that door for a long time. Then I went back up the stairs and handed them the key. I was done with him, my father.”

“I did my time in prison, took the Dishonorable Discharge. They came back to me and told me it was a test. They knew I could fight and kill, they wanted to know if I could stop.” Oakes looked back at Donnelley, present in the room again, but giving Donnelley the same look she gave that door all those years ago.

Donnelley snorted, couldn’t help himself, “So, what? Bill was my fuckin’ test?”

“Bill needed to die, doesn’t matter now. Bob… Bob, though. I think you’re tired, Donnelley. I think one day, you're going to be sent after another Bill in another house, with another granddaughter inside of it,” Oakes stabbed her finger into the table to punctuate each word, “And there won’t be a Bob to blow that Other-Bill’s head off when he shows you he’s not planning on going today.”

“Next time, don’t hesitate. Just fucking shoot him in the face, and be done with it. There’s a right time to stop, and a wrong time to stop killing.” Oakes stood, leaving the folders on the table.

“And when’s that, since you know so fuckin’ much about everythin’?” Donnelley stared up at Oakes.

“When I tell you to.” Oakes narrowed her eyes, “But, if I wanted someone like Ghost, or one of my people to head your team? I’d have put one there. For what it’s worth, I know very well why you did Bob.”

Oakes turned for the door, “And I know why you didn’t ask for a folder for yourself.”

“You would’ve done the same thing. No Bob,and no folder.” Donnelley said, not quite asking as he was watching her go. She stopped halfway out the door, and turned to look at Donnelley. The look in her eyes gave him his answer, and then she turned to shut the door before Donnelley called out, “West Virginia!”

Oakes stopped. She stepped back inside and looked at Donnelley. The two stared at each other just like that for a few moments, before Donnelley spoke again, “Blackriver. Maria Vasquez. I had a job to do, I had a killer to stop—UMBRA had a killer to stop.” Donnelley frowned, “Someone wouldn’t let us do it. Someone put up roadblocks at every stop, and gave Foster official authorization to do that.”

“Everythin’ in that folder I gave you came from someone outside the Program who knew way more than anyone else.” Donnelley stood, sending the office chair rolling backward into the wall, “I died, UMBRA and other good people died to bring you that fucking folder!”

“And every time I meet one of these guys like I met my source for that folder, they tell me I’m not—we’re not,” He waved his arm to gesture to himself and Oakes, to the entirety of the Program’s Black Floors, “We’re not Delta Green!”

Oakes just watched Donnelley unleash his tirade, watched him breathing hard, staring fiery daggers into her. All the while, she stared back impassively, “So?”

“So, I want to know, Oakes.” Donnelley shook his head, “What am I? What are we doing? What the hell is Majestic-12, who the fuck is Overman, what the fuck is March Tech?”

“I thought this was Delta Green. I thought we were all on the same side.” Donnelley frowned darker still as Oakes just kept staring at him, unmoved.

“Don’t be naive.” Oakes said with some finality, and then turned and left, shutting the door behind herself.

Donnelley looked after her for a few long moments, then at the manilla folder. How lucky those two were to have someone like him. Someone willing to let them go while he was eaten by the fire, drowning in the strong flow of a river it took him too long to realize he was in. Some part of him wanted to feed those folders into a shredder. If he had to be here, so did they. But that wasn’t what he did. That wasn’t who he was. That wasn’t why he stayed so long.

He deserved this.

>SHORTLY AFTER…///

Donnelley closed the door to the meeting room behind him. The halls were empty at this hour, the last vestiges of things to do were held in folders and closed laptops under the arms of fast-walking analysts and others. It was a 24-hour clock they ran on, no closing time, even if the activity had somewhat slowed. He passed by members of the skeleton crew, not meeting any eyes, and no eyes meeting his. Once he found Dave and Ava in a break room, he stood down the hall and just watched them, wondering what they were thinking.

Maybe plans for the rest of their lives outside and away from all of this. Figuring out how best to forget everything they’d learned about how the world really worked. The things they’d seen, and done. How to get back to normal. Here Donnelley was, standing here with their ticket. It was supposed to be a surprise, a parting gift. But gifts were supposed to be handed over with a smile, something Donnelley just couldn’t muster as he watched them. Knowing he would probably never see them again after he handed the folder over. The thick manilla folder had everything the Program had on them, psych evals, physical evals, DNA, everything anyone would need to know them as well as they knew themselves. Maybe better.

He’d flipped through some of the pages, but the DNA samples and the information about them were sealed. Not that he’d even know what he was looking at. One of the envelopes was personally addressed to Ava with a note that said she’d want to read and cross reference it with the other sample inside. He knew she’d had dreams and visions, maybe she had something inside her that wasn’t all too human, but he knew if it was something like that, well. That was one favor he would never do for Oakes. And nobody would tell her outright like this.

He shook himself from his reverie when he saw them notice him down the long hall just standing there. Dave was the first to notice, then Ava. He took a breath and finished walking over to the small break room and stood in front of them. He didn’t say anything at first, just placed the folder on the table and glanced at each of them before he looked away.

Ava lightly tightened her hands around the warm styrofoam cup she had filled with whatever generic brand tea that was kept stocked in this breakroom. It barely tasted like anything, but it was warm and had enough flavor for her brain to associate with some semblance of comfort.

Comfort that was chased away when Donnelley silently walked up to them, set down a thick manilla folder and then looked away from them. Her heart immediately started to race as she looked at the folder and imagined all the horrible things that could be inside. Was it another assignment? Already? Why wasn’t Donnelley looking at them?

She felt her hands start to tighten too much around her cup, threatening to break the styrofoam. She cleared her throat and brought up the cup to take a sip of her warm tea. “Hey, Donnelley.” She greeted him, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen. “What’s…what’s that?”

Dave watched him approach in silence, his gaze inscrutable behind the layers of exhaustion written over his face. His eyes were red-rimmed from the gunsmoke and explosive residue, his ears still ringing despite the hours between now and the actual mission. When the envelope hit the table he looked at it for a moment in silence, reaching over and gently taking Ava’s hand beneath the table and waiting for an explanation.

“It’s everythin’ the Program has on you. Original copies.” Donnelley said, looking back up at them, eyes going between them, “Your termination papers.”

He still didn’t seem too happy about it, “You’re free to go. Thank you for your service, leave all of this behind and don’t look back.” He said, scooting the folder closer, “I wouldn’t.”

Ava’s eyes widened and she gripped onto Dave’s hand tightly beneath the table. “R-really?” She aksed, her voice lilting upwards with hesitant hope. “Just…just like that? We’re done?”

“Just like that,” Dave said softly. He squeezed her hand, and with his other reached out to take the papers, pulling them over. Then he stood and offered his hand. “I won’t lie an’ say I’ve loved every minute of this…But hell, I guess I can’t lie and say some of it wasn’t kinda fun.”

Donnelley’s hands turned into fists at the sentiment of it all being ‘just like that.’ It wasn’t just like that for him, or any of them. His best friend was being restrained by Security in a holding cell somewhere down here, a lot of other people had it easier being dead. Let alone knowing what he’d had to do for Oakes to get them this. Someone was dead, and his granddaughter woke up to it.

He stared at Dave’s hand and it was as if the brotherhood between them had evaporated with his fucking smile. His eyes went from the hand to Dave’s eyes, “You might’a thought it was just that easy, Dave, but you weren’t the one that had to do what I had to do to get this.” Donnelley planted his hand on the folder and roughly slid it towards them just a bit more while holding his gaze, “Don’t make me regret givin’ you this fuckin’ thing.”

“Like y’all said,” Donnelley’s lip curled into a frown and his eyes were on Dave in a way they hadn’t ever been, and bad, “Just like that. Y’all’re done.”

Dave held his gaze for a moment before lowering his hand. He wanted to say a lot of things; chief among them about how Donnelley didn’t have a monopoly on hard living, wasn’t the only one to have killed people and seen horrible shit. He thought, just for a moment, about that barn, and his knife, and a Russian thug tied to a chair, and how he’d done all that for the Program and for his friends, including the one who was mean-mugging him for a reason he couldn’t figure out. Instead he picked up the envelope.

“Alright then,” he said. “Thanks.”

Now he looked away, very pointedly. “C’mon Ava. We’re done.”

Ava started when Dave turned to her, snapped out the rising sense of dread that had seized her in immobility with the escalating tension between the two men. “Um, yeah, we are.” She said, standing up with her cup of tea.

She shuffled her way over to Dave and put her hand on his lower back, looking down at the gently rising steam in her cup instead of at Donnelley. Her mind was still processing everything that had just happened, but she still tried to summon some sincerity to say. “Thank…Thank you Donnelley for…everything.”

Donnelley didn’t answer, just stood in silence and watched them go. He barely contained his anger and resentment watching them go down the empty hall. He stared at Ava’s hand on Dave’s back and remembered how he broke Laine’s heart in Texas. Watched them walking away, remembering getting the news of Poker dying in front of his daughter. Remembered his ex-wife was in a coma, and his daughter traumatized by retaliation for nothing that she did.

He took a few steps towards the couple walking away from him and punched the break room door hard enough to put a dent in the thin aluminum door, “You can’t be fuckin’ serious!” He roared, “You’re gonna look me in my fuckin’ face and think this is all done with a fuckin’ handshake and a smile, you son of a bitch! People died to get you that fuckin’ piece of paper!”

Dave stopped, turned to face him, his hands fisted at his sides. “What the fuck do you want from me, man?” He said. His voice was tight and low. “What do you want me to fuckin’ say? People died for me to get out, and that fuckin’ sucks. People died to bring me into it. People died while I was in it. You died. Laine died. Ava died. That’s all that fuckin’ happens here, is people dyin’, and now I’m a bad guy because I asked for us to get out? I asked, and you made it happen, and we’re wrong because of that?”

Ava looked between the two of them, her hand going from resting on Dave’s back to gripping onto his shirt, trying to give a gentle tug to stop the escalating energy swirling in this confined hallway. She could feel her throat start to tighten and a sting growing behind her eyes; she was so tired. They were all so tired.

“Guys,” she said quietly, desperately. “Please, stop.”

“I don’t think you’re bad, Dave.” Donnelley started forward, slowly walking to them while he talked, “I just think it makes you look like a fuckin’ tourist. Like someone who hits nails halfway in and then fuckin’ stops. Just sits there while everyone else does the real fuckin’ work, and then pats hisself on the back like you was fuckin’ there to see it through.”

He closed the distance and was an arm’s length away from Dave, his shoulders heaving with his breath and his words shaking out of him, his red eyes wide with fury, “Makes me feel like you don’t give a fuck about shit long as you get yours.” He said, and reached out to shove Dave.

Dave heard Ava, felt the tug on his shirt, and with more willpower than he thought he had in him he kept his fist from swinging. Instead he leaned in closer to Donnelley.

“What I give a fuck about is my son back home in Arkansas, and the lady standin’ here beside me. And if they’re safe, then you can think whatever the fuck you want.” He shook his head, giving Donnelley a look that was as pitying as it was disdainful. “You remember that talk we had, way back? When you said sometimes it didn’t feel like nobody had your back? This is why. Because you’re a fuckin’ asshole to the people who try to care about you, man. Go be alone.”

He turned away and took Ava’s hand, leading her towards the door.

Donnelley stood there in silence when Dave and Ava turned away from him. He watched them leave, but he stood rooted there. He wanted to get hit, wanted something, but the ache in his chest only grew until he couldn’t stand it. Before they rounded the corner into another hallway and out of view, he grit his teeth and growled out a lame, “Fuck you.”

And then he was alone again…///

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>FAIRFIELD, ID
>SOBEL’S RESIDENCE
>0500
>17.NOV.2019

Donnelley went to check his watch again, but only made it half-way to moving his arm before he heard Sobel mutter the time. He already heard the muffled sounds of several different alarms going off in the different rooms of Sobel’s house. Time to wake up, smell the coffee, and prepare to embark on some very illegal activities on US soil in the name of saving the world. Par for the course, he guessed.

There was the sound of someone fumbling with the sliding glass door at the back of the house, and then the sound of someone swearing behind the glass and apparently giving up. Sobel glanced to Donnelley and then went to open the sliding door. Before long, Sobel came back with several hardened killers from the Wetwork Teams assigned to this mission filing in behind him. DD, SLUGGER’s team lead nodded to Donnelley and got a nod in return. The ones who really caught Donnelley’s eye were the ones dripping with Slav.

He’d hardly talked to them, and they’d hardly talked to him. Given recent events, Russians weren’t a very welcome sight, but Director Oakes had her reasons for assigning STRIGOI.

“You can trust us.” One of STRIGOI said, a very clean-cut and professional man spoke to Donnelley in a voice he had to strain to hear the accent in.

“If you have to tell someone they can trust you, there’s usually a reason they shouldn’t.” Donnelley shot back.

“What choice in friends do you have at this point?” The other man said, plopping down in one of the couches while the rest of his team secluded themselves in a corner.

Donnelley opened his mouth, but caught Sobel staring at him across the room. This was Sobel’s house. Wouldn’t be too polite to go starting fights in it, so instead he just shut up and waited for UMBRA to come shuffling in.

Bajbala entered the kitchen with knotted locks of hair held back in a short bunch. A half-smile was all she would muster for the new faces.

Lukewarm orange-juice sat on the counter. A strong vodka scent with a stickiness beneath it. Somehow she could trace that scent to Croc's facial hair, whom entered moments before her. He dressed neat; a handsome blazer atop jeans. She passed it over, prepping a cup of tea before quietly finding her place behind the crew.

Laine was not far behind Donnelley, observing the new teams. More killers, hard eyed and quiet, mostly men. Not any different from TRIDENT or THUNDER, except who could be bought and for what price. She watched Donnelley struggle to control his temper, the man he spoke to made her pay closer attention. The set of his cheekbones and jaw, without even asking his name she knew where he was from and likely the rest of them. Laine always considered herself a fair minded person, certainly not prejudiced and wanted to judge people on their own merit but the strong Slavic appearance made her stomach clench.

She turned away, tucking her dark hair behind her ears as she forced herself to walk into the kitchen. Laine used the ice maker and poured water from the pitcher in Sobel’s fridge. She drank it down, cooling her own temper and reminded herself that not every Russian was an enemy. Some even the most unlikely of allies. Her thoughts flicked back to the girl and Renko and wondered briefly how they were. If they were still alive and she hoped they were.

Laine glanced over at Baj with her cup of tea and took a few steps to stand closer to her, “That smells nice, what is it? Maybe I’ll make a cup for myself and Ava.”

"I'm not sure, maybe earl grey?" Contemplative, trying to catch on to the fleeting morning conversation. "I just grabbed one of the bunch." It was fragrant and bitter, to her taste, or Sobel's. She smiled at Laine. Some astonishment derived from how well put together the raven-haired profiler seemed. The dark rings of distress around her eyes had since faded from when they met in Alaska. A small knob of envy grew right next to the one she had for the red-head. When they were through with this ordeal Baj would have a long engagement with Lauren and a mirror. She could feel her dry neglected ends, the strays poking into her eyelashes, and the pillow wrinkles on her cheek. One of STRIGOI leered at her, the one whom she fixed her vacant stare on while she pieced together a beauty routine.

In one of the guest bedrooms, Queen was sprawled face down on a twin bed neatly made, a thin line of drool from his parted lips staining the pillowcase. He slept hard, unconscious to the growing activity just outside the door as the teams assembled and filled up Sobel’s living room. He slept the deep sleep of the exhausted, his body shutting down in order for his mind to finally rest. He snored, his breath catching for a moment before exhaling again as his booted feet twitched.

There was a faint knock on the door to the room. After a few more moments passed, there was another knock followed by Ava’s muffled voice calling through the door, “Queen?” When again there was no answer, there was an experimental jiggle of the door knob before the door opened a crack and a shaft of faint light fell into the room.

Ava peaked inside, her glasses resting on her face as she hadn’t yet had the time to put in her contacts. “Queen?” She called out again, raising her voice as she searched around the room before her eyes landed on the sprawled, unconscious form of Queen on the bed.

She relaxed, a small part of her having started to worry when Queen didn’t answer her calls. She opened the door a little more and stepped into the room, cradling a small bundled kitchen towel in her hand as she walked over to the bed. She reached out and gave Queen a careful shake on the shoulder. “Queen? It’s time to wake up.”

Queen felt consciousness pull at him and he resisted, willing the darkness to stay quiet. Her voice tugged at him and he tried to open one eye, the light silhouetting a woman in the doorway. For a moment he saw the blue apron, his mother returning from her overnight shift at IHOP to check in on him at five AM. Often it would wake him up but he would pretend to be asleep as she watched him. The times he did wake up she worried over him being tired at school so Queen let her mind at ease. But not this time.

“Urgh,” he grunted, pushing himself up on his elbow, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. His vision cleared and the image of his mother vanished, leaving the small form of Ava looking in at him. Queen flopped back down and closed his eyes, “Five more minutes.”

Ava smiled apologetically. “Sorry, but I think we’re having a big meeting or something soon.” She glanced towards the doorway then whispered, “There are some new people here.”

Queen wiped at his chin and forced himself to sit up, his muscles protesting the entire time. The word caught his attention and woke him up, “New people?”

“What do you mean new people? Not Croc and Baj, someone else?”

His suspicions rose instantly and he stood up, running his fingers through his shaggy hair, smoothing it back.

“I haven’t gone out where everyone is, but I heard a lot of new voices talking.” She answered, glancing back at the doorway with a frown. “I didn’t catch much but, there are new people here.” She shook her head and held up the kitchen towel in her hands. “Here, in case you’re hungry.” She unfolded the towel to reveal the small rabbit shaped buns snugged in the fabric. “I made them last night with Donnelley, I saved a few for Dave but thought you might like a couple too.” She said with a small smile.

The concern that crossed his face lifted when he saw what Ava offered. He smiled, the first time since arriving at Sobel’s cabin. “Look at that, little bunnies. That’s adorable. Donnelley actually helped or just helped himself to the ones out of the oven.”

He picked one up, examining the details and glanced at her, “I almost feel bad eating it.”

Shoving it in his mouth, the guilt obviously had not lasted. Without waiting to finish the first, he grabbed a second, “These are really, good. Thank you, Angel.”

Queen glanced around for something to wash the bread down with but had to settle with water in a glass on the bed stand. He had no idea who it belonged to but he downed it anyway. “Guess we better go face the world.”

Queen reached for the last bun, then paused, “It is good to see you, even under these circumstances.”

Ava smiled again. “Yeah, I missed you too Billy.” She stepped forward and gave him a one armed hug.

Queen put his arm around her, giving her slim shoulders a squeeze and he held his breath, gathering himself to mask his grief and weariness. “Let’s go see if they got some coffee, I could use a gallon.”

“Same, honestly, but I have an unhealthy relationship with caffeine.” Ava chuckled. “I’ll be out eventually, I’m going to go back to my room with Dave. See if any of those bunnies survived for me to snack on.” She tossed the now empty kitchen towel over her shoulder and smiled reassuringly up at Queen. “Just save some coffee for me.”

Dave was already awake and mostly dressed, clad in his hard-worn cargo pants and old hiking boots with a simple wife-beater. He’d dragged a corner chair over to the bed, spread out a towel, and was busily reassembling his rifle when Ava entered the room.

This particular gun was a favorite of his. It was another SLR-106, the familiar AK platform chambered in 5.56x45mm. With its shortened barrel, suppressor, scout-mounted optic and folding stock, he figured it was ideal for the close-in work he anticipated on this particular op. As Ava opened the door he was sliding the bolt home in the receiver.

“Hey, sugar,” he said, giving her a quick grin before returning to the rifle. “Gettin’ busy out there?”

“It sounds like it,” She said, entering into the room and shutting the door behind her. “I woke up Queen, hopefully he’ll save some coffee for the two of us.” She walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Dave work on his rifle. “I hate this.” She said, honestly as she frowned. “You going off into danger against these rogue agents and Russian agents.”

“Yeah, I’m not excited about it either,” Dave said. He replaced the dust cover and shouldered the rifle, checking the optic and the light, then gave the suppressor a shake and twist to ensure it was attached firmly. “But we’ve got some hard-ass killers with a shit load of firepower on our side. And I do still have a bone to pick with Foster.”

His gaze darkened, hate smoldering there as he held the gun. Then he set it down and the stormclouds vanished as he fixed another smile on Ava. “Saved ya some bunnies, if you’re hungry. We can go grab coffee now if you want, just lemme put on a shirt.”

She tried to match his smile, though her worry did not lessen. “Yeah, we can go get coffee.” She took in a breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. “As much as I’m looking forward to facing new people.” She said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she took the towel off her shoulder and stood up to gather the remaining pastries to take out to the kitchen with them.

He stood and stretched, then picked up a red flannel shirt and threw it on, rolling the sleeves to the elbows.

“Shit’s bein’ run by the higher-ups now,” he said as he buckled on his pistol belt, then turned and put his hand on her shoulder. “We gotta trust that they know what they’re doin’. I know it’s hard, but…We’re so close to done, sugar. We’re gonna finish this up, and then we’re finished.”

Dave pulled her over for a gentle hug, leaning down slightly to rest his chin on top of her head. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Ava shut her eyes and relaxed into Dave’s arms, breathing in the familiar and comforting scent of the mountains that lingered on his clothing. “Almost there.” She said with a soft sigh as she rested her head against his chest. “I love you Dave.”

“I love you too,” he said. He raised her chin for a gentle kiss. “Now c’mon. Gotta get some coffee in us, right? Get ready for the day.”

She smiled at the kiss. “Lead the way, I’m right behind you.” She said, giving him a final squeeze before releasing him from their embrace.

With the arrival of Dave and Ava, the last remnants of THUNDER trailed in after them. Donnelley swept his eyes over the room as it fell silent, the others looking back at him. They all knew why they were here. UMBRA had their lives upended, THUNDER had lost too many members to even be a team, and the rest of them in the room were just waiting for the green light to spill blood. Of course, they all were, for their own reasons.

The screen behind Donnelley lit with a picture of some green mountainside, or what was left of it. An aerial view. Donnelley spoke, “I don’t have to tell you why we’re all here. We all know the mission at this point.” He cleared his throat, glancing at Sobel and then back to the others, “Somebody has been selling information to the Russians. A network, with a mission to undermine the Program and cut us off from finishing what we started in Blackriver.”

“The only identified members of this network thus far is Steven Foster, and Doctor William Overman. Steven Foster has dropped off the radar, and while the usual standard is to put out a Red Notice to INTERPOL on Espionage Act charges…”

Donnelley had a darkness settle on his brow, “The Program wants this handled in-house. Off the books. Airtight.” He frowned, “Doctor William Overman has been tracked down to West Virginia by Office of Intelligence, last known location is White Tree, in Blackriver.”

Donnelley thrust his thumb over his shoulder at the satellite image on the screen, “Located about thirteen miles away from the White Tree limits is the Vera Corp mining complex. Because of the National Radio Quiet Zone being not so quiet, ten miles away from that, and pinging the shit out of our SIGINT the past couple days,” Sobel clicked a button on a small remote and the picture changed to yet another green expanse, “is what’s suspected to be the River Valleys Retreat.”

“Kill Teams KAIJU and SLUGGER will infil and ruck towards the Vera Corp complex. At the same time they hit the complex, UMBRA, THUNDER, and STRIGOI will put boots on the ground in the River Valleys Retreat.” Donnelley explained, “HVTs are Overman, Foster, Doctor Levy- real name Frances Germaine, Nikolai Gorochev, his daughter and son-in-law Natalya and Viktor Ivanov. Everyone else is expendable.”

“Objectives are to secure the two sites, capture HVTs. No witnesses, Director Oakes’ orders. Make it clean.” Donnelley bared his teeth in a growl at the last word, a flash of Tex, “Questions?”

Laine stared at the pictures, the green hills and familiar pitted features of the old mine. She sipped the lukewarm tea, back to the scene of the crime. The memories of what they found in the cabin,how wrong she had been, tried to crawl back but she tamped them down. There was no more guessing or not wanting to believe what was right in front of her. Monsters were real, evil was real and it had to be destroyed in the small corner of West Virginia. Along with anyone trying to use it for their own means. And then there was Foster and Laine had a score to settle with that lying bastard.

As Donnelley spoke, Queen emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp and stringy and wearing the same dirty jeans but a clean t-shirt. He stood back, hovering as the plan was laid out. The Russians were still there, the same that likely gave orders to harass the team by attacking their families. His jaw clenched for a moment, then he breathed out, giving a half smile to Ava and Dave before turning away to get coffee as Tex wrapped it up. No questions from Queen, not even something lighthearted or sassy to break the tension.

He filled his borrowed mug with black coffee before dumping sugar into it, as he did he caught sight of Donnelley with the remains of UMBRA. Laine stood close to him and there it was again, he knew it. He had suspected it for a while, who else would have made Donnelley want to give up what he and Queen had. The striking psychologist would have been a target for anyone and Tex was no exception.

The reminder of the new gulf between him and his best friend weighed down on his shoulders and he forced himself to look away and down the hot coffee. Queen took comfort in the fact he had still some of his personal pharmacy left, though it had been run down over the last three days of wired traveling. He sniffed then set the mug down, heading back towards the bedrooms.

>BLACKRIVER COUNTY, WV
>18.NOV.2019
>1830

Night had set in, sinking its teeth into the sky as the sun retreated beyond the horizon. The two teams had diverged somewhere ten minutes back, SLUGGER and KAIJU’s Blackhawks taking them to their infil point far outside the Vera Corp mining complex to get eyes on any sign of the HVTs and scout the area. UMBRA, THUNDER, and STRIGOI were heading towards the River Valleys Retreat. It was expected to be a target rich environment, and per ROE, there were no such thing as non-combatants. The opinions on that were varied among the teams headed to the target area. Even Donnelley didn’t know how to feel. It was a different answer that could be given depending on if he was with THUNDER or UMBRA.

“Five minutes to target.” His radio chirped in his ears.

“Good copy, five minutes to target.” He confirmed.

He looked his team over, the Blackhawk he was in was piloted by Croc, and UMBRA was in the troop seating. Ghost and Queen were with the Wetwork Team in the other Blackhawk, and Sobel. Even Muru had come along, orders from above Directors Oakes and Mannen. There was a theory that Muru was like a divining rod for the unnatural. Donnelley’s theory was that she could just be a little girl with as normal of a life as they could make for her, but no one was going to listen to that. Muru herself seemed to give no complaints, following Sobel without question. Donnelley glanced at Ava, wondering if he hadn’t bought her and Dave’s freedom, would they view her the same. Probably.

The beating of the helicopter’s rotors drowned out almost every thought as they closed in on the Retreat. It was an oddity, an anomaly among Appalachian wilderness that seemed to be lost among the trees. It sat on a low peak with the view of the rest of the valley below, and Blackriver sprawled out in all directions out from it. Even from here, the black smoke from the Vera Corp mines that seemed so thick and suffocating from White Tree looked only like tendrils from a smoldering fire, but still there all the same.

“Strigoi-1 to Umbra-1, diverting to infil.” The Blackhawk to the right of theirs banked and left UMBRA’s Blackhawk to circle the Retreat.

There was no incoming fire to ward them off at least. No real activity at all. It made Donnelley’s hair stand on end for a moment. Were they expected? Was there a counterattack from the treeline waiting for them when they had all touched down? Even with these thoughts and his eyes scanning intensely, STRIGOI and THUNDER went to work securing the outside after descending the fast ropes. There was a helipad complete with a dormant civilian model perched, but no road in or out.

“Strigoi and Thunder are on-target. Outside secure, moving to door.” Donnelley’s headset chirped as he watched them stack on the front door.

Ghost had, of course, opted to take point. This left another hulking monster from STRIGOI to man the sledge. With a powerful twist of the hips, the door was smashed open.

“Strigoi and Thunder making entry-“ The stack had only made it halfway through before Donnelley noticed the engine of their helicopter powering down. He had no time to ask just what the fuck was happening before he felt the G-forces pulling his stomach out through his throat as the helicopter made a fast descent downward.

All was chaos for but a few seconds, yelling, screams of helplessness. He could hear himself swear through gritted teeth as he uselessly gripped into something to steady himself as if that would help anything. He looked at Laine, and then heard the hellish sound of twisting metal against branches and dirt.

They were close, Laine put her hand on the buckle of the harness and waited for the signal. What came instead was the awful sound of silence as the rotors slowed and the engine failed. Then the snapping and crashing and she screamed, her instinct to grip making her press down against the buckle and she suddenly felt weightless.

She saw Donnelley briefly, his face flashing by as she tried to grab at him but failed, falling now through the open door. Branches clawed at her and she reached out to brace herself, the ground rising to slam against her. Pain shot through her left arm to the shoulder as she hit then, rolled with the force of the impact until her body met the trunk of a tree.

Laine gasped for breath, the pain like electricity shooting from her wrist to the shoulder.

“Goddamn,” she hissed, breathing in gasps. Using her right hand, she gripped her left wrist holding her arm against her body to protect the injured limb.

Croc did his best to keep them level, putting the wheels down and cutting valves before riding the tumble through the trees. He may have grunted something like "hang tight" over coms if it functioned. The helicopter finally settled nearly on its side, hinged at the tail against a small rock outcrop. A large branch had breached the cockpit, penetrating the copilot seat. Flashing in his mind was how surfing Nazare some years back turned into a bad idea. Tex dared him into that too.

He loosed himself from the chair and climbed out to help the others. He coughed up the fumes of sawdust and fuel as he looked over the cabin and engine for fire. Thankfully dark. Whatever hit them killed their bird.

Bajbala looked at cold hard earth, her mouth still agape from probably crying out. She was inches from the ground against the cabin doorway. She clung her weapon to her chest with one hand, the other bracing Ava with a deathly grip, of whose weight pinned her down.

"Are we okay?" She groaned, tasting her own bloody spittle while struggling to release her restraints.

Ava’s eyes rolled and fluttered for a moment before they finally opened and she looked around in an incoherent daze. “Where are we?” She asked in a confused mumble as her mind processed the reality in front of her after unexpectedly blacking out.

“I think we landed.” Dave coughed a few times, clearing smoke, dust, and pain out of his lungs. His chest felt tight, his weight pulling against the harness, but his rifle was still securely slung across his body and while there was blood on his lip and stars floating through his vision he felt otherwise functional.

“Man, fuck helicopters,” he groaned as he flexed his limbs, testing to see what was broken. When everything responded normally he groped about with his foot until he found something solid, then carefully unsnapped his restraints. Once his weight was settled back on firm ground he moved to Ava. “Everybody okay? Ava, sugar, you good? Y’all sound off.”

“I‘m okay.” Ava responded slowly to Dave, her brain starting to chug back to its normal rate of thought. She looked around with wide eyes as she fumbled with her restraints to snap them off. “Holy shit, we crashed.”

“Yeah, we crashed,” Dave said, quickly helping her with her restraints. With that done he went to Donnelley, seeing the others already moving on their own. His chest was tight, not just from pain but from worry for the others, particularly Laine. But if she wasn’t in the bird, then she was either fine, or beyond what limited medical skill he had. He focused instead on what he could see, and made his way to Donnelley.

“What,” Donnelley groaned through his teeth, “the fuck was that?”

He groped around himself to see if everything was in its right place. He found out the hard way that his left arm was out of commission, refusing to move and only offering him pain. He felt slow, his pulse banging against the inside of his skull as he finally managed to undo his restraint. He made to stand and found the ground shifted beneath his feet as he stumbled, planting himself on his ass in the wet dirt. He decided against another attempt to stand.

“I’m okay, shoulder hurts.” He called to Dave, one eye still closed from his splitting headache. His head swam, but a memory came back to him of looking at Laine just before the crash. His heart caught in his throat as his body seemed to fill with icy panic.

“Laine?” He called out, only raising his voice slightly at first. When no answer came from the small amount of time his panicked brain gave her, he yelled it then, “Laine!”

“We’ll handle Laine,” Dave said, looking over Donnelley’s shoulder. It stuck up higher than it should, an ugly lump visible through his fatigues. He gripped Donnelley’s wrist and put his other hand on the distended joint. “Hey, count to five for me.”

“One-“

Then he pulled hard, not waiting on the count, and slipped the joint back into place with a wet crunch. Donnelley’s back tightened as he choked on a yelp, looking at Dave with a smirk that was more a baring of teeth. At least the sudden jolt sobered him up some, “Thanks, partner.”

Laine curled into a protective ball when the heavy crash of the helicopter meeting the earth echoed in her ears, her back against the trunk of a tree. Her mind fought to piece together what happened, how the hell she managed to end up here. Then she heard her name, Donnelley was calling her and she picked her head up.

“Here,” she said, her voice weak in her own ears as she tried to sit up. Bumping her left arm she cried out hoarsely and bit her lip, nausea rising with the surge of pain. Taking a deep breath, she called out, “I’m here, over here!”

Laine crawled forward on her knees and right elbow, the belly crawl to keep her head down in case whoever shot their chopper was looking for new targets.

Croc had been peeling the cabin door off with extraction tools when he heard her cry out. "Ah shit, lady" he grumbled, a body strewn from an aircraft is never a good sight. He grabbed an aid bag from the door, retreating to the wood line where she lay. His hands hovered over her feeling for misalignment, blood, limbs. He was shocked it was all there. "Talk to me, how'd you end up out here, Laine?" He cracked as he felt the swollen tissue around her arm, still loose from the fracture. He briefly flashed a dim white light over her skin, then started digging through his bag.

Laine winced and tried to suppress a whimper when Croc’s hand passed over the break. In his light she could see the odd crook of the former straight limb and the bruising already darkening her pale skin. Her wrist hurt and when she tried to make a fist she failed and stifled a cry of pain. “My arm,” she moaned under her breath, “Fuck my arm hurts so bad.”

She took a few deep breaths and looked up at Croc then around, “I...I fell.”

Laine recalled suddenly the feeling of being tossed out of the helicopter and sighed. She had been anxious about the landing, eager to be off the big metal targets and she had begun to unbuckle her harness, enough to make it easy to undo when it was time. Or when she panicked and squeezed the buckle. Stupid mistake, she scolded herself but the thought was banished when Croc began his first aid and had to touch her tender arm.

"Well," he began while dressing and splinting her arm, working through the sound of her pain, "lucky for you I'm a damn good pilot, look at that just a busted arm." Her eyes were alert. "You look good though, how's your head, can you move your neck, feel your legs and all that?"

Laine did as he asked, moving her legs and neck, turning her head from side to side, her helmet still in place. “I think it’s just the arm, other than some bumps and bruises.”

She grimaced and looked at the splint, now resting in the sling. “My damn luck,” she muttered, “I don’t suppose there’s a chopper going out anytime soon. Ow, well, at least I can walk.”

Laine reached for Croc with her right hand to get help to her feet. Her arm throbbed and pain shot from her wrist to the elbow and back again. She turned to him, “You don’t happen to have any painkillers?”

He produced several pills, and a sandwich bag with another cocktail or two. "Some amphetamine in the mix if you really need it. Just don't overdo it." He collected her weapon from nearby and performed a functions check, slinging it on her. Croc cinched it in for support —he had a feeling they would need every gun.

"We've got to move. Anything critical in the bird?" He signaled Dave to hurry things up. Bajbala followed Ava climbing out of the wreck, passing along some of the gear that survived. Her first steps out onto the ground were like a weak lamb, where she coughed until she caught her breath.

Laine raised an eyebrow, “I don’t take those things, amphetamines. I’m not part of THUNDER.”

Using her good hand, she took the pills and looked at them, nothing telling which was which. She put them in her pocket, the pain still driving her to distraction but being wired with some unknown substance was not something she wanted. Laine turned to look at the wrecked helicopter, the survivors climbing out and felt relief. They were all standing and none looked as bad off as she did.

She spotted Donnelley and moved toward him, her arm pressed against her chest. “Sorry I exited early,” she said, a small pained smile trying to emerge on her lips. “I’m afraid I’m down an arm.”

Her MAGPUL rifle hung around her neck, tucked under her left arm to keep it from swinging around. Laine glanced at Dave and Ava, who looked fine if shaken from the crash. “What happened? I thought we were being shot at?”

“At least no one is shooting at us now.” Ava said, looking around the dark woods nervously, her hands still shaking from the residual adrenaline after climbing out of the wrecked helicopter. She finally noticed how badly injured Laine was and she grimaced, rushing over to her friend’s side to help her. “Here, Laine, if you need me to help you walk I can.”

“I didn’t hear or see any incoming.” Donnelley glanced at Croc, still ripping supplies from their bird. There was still a part of him that wanted to find a logical reason their Blackhawk died, and yet another that could reach for the unnatural. He pushed both down and focused on Laine and Ava, and the situation as it was, “Croc’s right, we need to get away, try to regroup with THUNDER and STRIGOI.”

He pressed the button on his radio, but was met with nothing on the other end. Not even static. His eyes hardened, “No comms.”

Laine looked down at Ava, “I can walk, it's my arm, it’s broken. Hurts like hell but at least it’s stabilized. I have a feeling no evac is going to get to us right now.”

She sighed then felt the tug of the stubby rifle on its strap. “Take this, the MAGPUL. I can’t use it with one hand. Dave can help you, but it’s a pretty simple rifle. Small and light.”

Laine indicated to Ava, who was only carrying her sidearm to take the rifle. Laine glanced over at Donnelley, “I can manage my Glock one handed, but I need you to do something for me.”

Lowering her voice, she leaned toward him, “I need painkillers and your fly boy just gave me a bunch of random pills. Last thing I need to be is stoned and gimpy.”

“Why not, it might lift the mood.” Donnelley said sardonically, “Let me see ‘em.”

Donnelley took the bag from Laine’s hand and looked it over, shaking it a couple times to get a sense of all the different pills that were shaking around in there. “Fuck.” He said appreciatively, “Take the white tablets to kill the pain. Pink ones are adderall, they’ll keep you up.”

He looked at the bag a little longingly, and then offered it back to Laine, “Don’t let Queen see these.”

“Adderall?” she huffed, then dry swallowed the two painkillers. “What is it finals week?”

Laine winced and took a sip of her water, careful not to drink too much, “I’ll keep it in mind. God, what stupid bad timing.”

The adrenaline was wearing off and she shivered as the constant reminder of the broken bones grating against each other every time she moved her arm. The pain never left and she hoped it would at least dull to the point she could ignore it.

As the others talked Dave took the PDR and did a brass-check.

“Ava, here,” he said. “Safety, charging handle, mag release. It’s already loaded. You remember shootin’ my rifles up at my place? You’re gonna aim just like that, okay?”

He relieved Laine of her rifle magazines as well and began attaching the mag pouches to Ava’s body armor, working the MOLLE through with quick professionalism. “You just stick close, and shoot at whoever we’re shootin’ at.” He gave her a supportive smile. “Any rounds goin’ at the bad guys help. You got this.”

Ava stared at Dave with wide eyes as he loaded her up. There was a cold sweat breaking out along her hairline, but she did her best to swallow her nerves (and some rising bile) and returned Dave’s smile. If shakily. “Just count on me, I guess.”

He bent down gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Just remember to stay in cover,” he said. “I love you. We’re almost done.”

She shut her eyes at the kiss and took in a breath. “Almost done.” She whispered to herself. She opened her eyes to look at him and smiled again. “I love you.”

Donnelley hurried his Working Group, the reminder that the mission was not over not lost on him. The sentiment of Dave and Ava cooing their ‘almost done’s to each other almost made Donnelley’s teeth shatter under the tension of his jaw. Was it jealousy? Or resentment? Having to kill for them to live normal lives in a world where wolves constantly lurked at the edge of humanity’s dulling little campfire. Earning them a house in the quiet country while his own wife was in a coma in the ICU and his little girl was all alone. Either way, his personal feelings had little do with the mission.

One foot forward at a time, one more mission, one more sunset. It didn’t matter what he had to do to make sure that sun rose tomorrow. On everyone. Murderers and mothers alike. After all, wasn’t that what everything he’d sacrificed his life for all about? He chose to focus on keeping a constant pace back towards their AO, helping the others when he could. After a long thirty minutes with their rucks on their backs, they finally made it to the edge of the Retreat’s property. He ducked down behind the low brick wall that surrounded the property.

THUNDER and STRIGOI had gone on with their responsibility of securing the site, whether or not UMBRA was still alive. A few loud gunshots refused to be muffled by the large house, standing obstinate against the mountain woods in its three stories of opulence. Not long after, another loud bang of what must have been a flashbang followed by the disciplined pop-pop-pop of the Wetwork Teams methodical advance through the old architecture.

Donnelley scanned the courtyard, noting the ornate fountain depicting a concrete-gray goat. It did not rear up on its hind legs so much as stand upon them in a display unnervingly too human. Two concrete children held the goat’s forelegs like it was their mothers, the long gone streams of water having left blackened stains down their cheeks.

An ambience of gunfire and low breezes through the trees among a blackened sky settled over them. Donnelley turned his head to speak to the others, “We’re making entry behind THUNDER and STRIGOI. Me and Croc will hold here and cover while the rest of you cross the courtyard.”

“Make sure you call out that you’re Blue before you enter, I don’t need anybody getting shot now.” Donnelley said before settling his rifle on the brick wall, “Move.”

The team cleared the distance in a few seconds and made entry, their footsteps echoing off the courtyard grounds to be lost in the silent woods around. Not even crickets found it fit for music tonight. Dave’s voice echoed across the cobblestones as he called out their entry as friendlies.

“Let’s go, Croc.” Donnelley tucked the butt of his rifle in the crook of his elbow as he and Croc sprinted across the stones and careened through the door shortly after Donnelley called out, “Two comin’ in!”

The room that greeted Donnelley and Croc would’ve been an elegant, open space entryway of hardwood floors and walls holding age-old painted portraits. The interior decor reminded Donnelley of the same kind of taste Southern grandmothers had for maximalism, but a darker edge. It was like this place hadn’t been touched since the 1890s. The huge, ornate Afghan rug in the middle of the floor was stained by the drying blood of two armed guards in suits. A woman lay face down, a quarter of her face where her left eye and cheek had been were now ruined by a tumbling bullet now lost in a wall somewhere near. She wasn’t dressed for a fight, an expensive looking dress of wine red cloaked her corpse. The smell of burnt gunpowder permeated the air.

From the way her body was oriented, she had to have been running behind her husband, also dead and crumpled at the base of the rug-draped stairs. Donnelley stepped a bit closer and found the man laying on his own intestines like he’d been run through with a blade, his gut stench mixed with the smell of ozone and electric burn. Gunshots from somewhere deeper in the house, and then a few reports from another combatant and a scream to follow. THUNDER and STRIGOI were still on the second floor, close by.

Sobel and Muru were the first to respond to their entrance on the scene, Sobel’s voice heard down the hallway to UMBRA’s left, “Friendly, Blue!”

He and Muru seemed unaffected by the gore around them, Muru herself looking over the body of an armed guard with only a twitch of emotion. Curiosity. More than Sobel showed, “You survived.” No hint of any strong emotions about it, “Good. I’m going through the first floor and cataloging anything interesting I find to go over once things are calm again.”

He looked at UMBRA’s shooters, “Thunder and Strigoi may need some help clearing more efficiently upstairs. Anyone… not hurt should head up.”

“As for the rest of you, we’ve got some work.” Sobel looked at Laine, and Ava, “Follow me. Just step over them, they’re already dead.”

Laine took stock of the scene with a sweeping glance, it was kill team work and her feelings about THUNDER hardened even more. How could they interrogate corpses? She remained quiet for the moment, the scent of ozone making her skin prickle with recognition. Blood, gunpowder and that smell, that caustic electric burning smell under it all.

She smiled a little at Muru who seemed better since Laine last saw her but the same blankness was there, she had at least put on some weight. Her gaze moved to Sobel as he spoke, she remembered his particular talent. Laine shifted her arm in the sling, wishing she could take pictures of the scene but it mattered little now.

“Sobel,” she said, walking over to him then glanced down at the girl. “Hello Muru, how are you?”

Laine did not expect much of an answer and the fact the poor thing had been dragged out to this dangerous mission irritated her but the fact was Muru was no ordinary girl and she had uses that they would need.

“Work?” Ava asked Sobel, shooting a strained smile at Muru; her mind internally screaming at the idea of her even being there. She kept her eyes fixated on Sobel and the faces of her teammates, trying to ignore the unmoving bodies laying on the ground around them and the coppery scent of blood in the air. “What kind of work?”

“Securing the site, gathering intelligence. Pictures, video.” There was a subtle underlying annoyance, a twitch of his brow that almost broke the otherwise stoic, glassy demeanor of his eyes at having to explain things to a field agent. To his credit, he recovered well. “Or you could follow them upstairs and partake in the killing. If you’d like.”

Laine stepped between Ava and Sobel, giving him an even look. “So let's start our sweep, maybe Ava will take the video and we can pick apart this scene. Do you know if they’re going to bother leaving any alive to talk to? That might be helpful, using your certain set of...skills to poke around their heads before their skulls are shattered.”

She looked at the woman on the floor, rolling her eyes in distaste. These were the Russians, the ones involved in the horror that Blackriver faced and that had saturated into their own lives. Laine found little sympathy for them despite their helplessness, she had seen enough of the results of their supernatural power game. However, little would be gleaned from a corpse that could help them find more information.

“That’s not how it works.” Sobel said absently, looking around the halls with his flashlight. The cracked glow sticks the Kill Teams left after securing the first floor gave off their green glow, only helping to exaggerate the shadows of every inch of texture on the walls, the paintings, and the blood seeping out of bodies with exit wounds. “Unfortunately, the subject must be alive. And willing.”

“Sometimes it takes some good convincing of why they should let me inside.” He continued, jabbing the toe of his boot into one of the bodies found along their walk through the long halls of the Retreat. The body did not move. “Shame the Kill Teams were loosed with the ROE they were given.”

“I’m sure even Ghost isn’t having as much fun as he could be. Not too many offering up a fight.” At this point it was like Sobel was just talking to himself, not acknowledging Laine or Ava. “There’s a room over here I’ve yet to get into. The Kill Teams didn’t want to go in. Too much risk.”

“I suspect it might lead us somewhere… interesting.” After what felt like an eternity walking the labyrinthine halls of the Retreat, they came upon the door that Sobel had mentioned. It was a large set of French doors set into the walls. Inlaid in the door were strange symbols. If one were to inspect them, the recurrence of some pointed at them being writing in an alphabet not readily available to memory, though they might dig deep. Muru seemed interested for the first time they’d seen her here.

“Here we are.” Sobel said, “On someone, or in somewhere, there is a key. I could try to get us through, but… whatever downed your helicopter, the comms, and the lights is still here. Perhaps on the other side.”

>…///

Croc stepped past another slumped body. A tapestry of blood decorated the walls in his peripheral, guiding them. Not wanton violence yet, indiscriminate. It had been a number of years since he ran the ground. The red dot in his optic danced over threat areas as they shuffled amidst dimly lit halls. Dave snapped around one corner with Tex tightly behind. Bajbala was a few paces back, asynchronous from the team, prowling like a cat in their wake. He felt vulnerable with her to his back, even that she might be the one to drop him.

He keyed his mic but it was silent save for the heavy draft that rolled against large pane windows at their flank. The only likely tale of their kill-team’s path were the bodies. Baj peered into one room they passed, presumably cleared. A heaviness seeped out from the dark. The prone heels of some dead thing silhouetted against white drapes steered her curiosities.

"Huh..." Croc started as they approached the stairs. He got a visual on Baj securing their rear and pat Tex's shoulder ready. "This place’s kinda fucked, dont suppose we're making it out with six HVTs..."

That's right, Baj thought back. Donnelly's fangs were bare, practically dripping with malice. She'd double down that he wanted them alive only to kill each of them his way.

“Kinda nothin’, all of this is fucked,” Dave grunted. There was tightly controlled fury in his eyes as they played over the repeated scene of unarmed people in blood-smeared piles. Killed for the crime of being in the way. He eyed a huddled body, his disgust plain.

“It’s all in ID’ing your target. Oakes said she wanted airtight.” Donnelley forced himself to keep that face of stone as he climbed the steps, still babying his throbbing shoulder and playing it off like his head wasn’t giving him trouble. Thankfully, keeping the stack entailed climbing the stairs slow and steady. The light on his rifle was the only thing that cut through the shadows the glow sticks left.

“Airtight.” He repeated as they made it to the second floor, still no sign of the Kill Teams save for the evidence of their work in bullet holes in the walls and bodies they passed. There were still open doors to rooms, but given the Kill Teams had already gone through, Donnelley and his team only gave them cursory once overs as they passed them.

He tried keying his comms again, and again was met with nothing. The electronics had to have been killed, nothing to do with interference. EMPs might make sense, but that would mean whoever ran the Retreat was expecting a raid like this. He stopped any thought towards those implications short and led his team through the halls, “Door right.”

He called out the first door they’d found closed. From what Donnelley’s gun light shone on, there weren’t any signs of entry, forced or not. Without having to give commands, his team formed up on the door.

When everyone else was set, Donnelley pivoted and put all his strength into a solid backwards kick, bashing the door open and letting them flow into the room. When no gunfire erupted, he assumed the room was empty, but something else he wasn’t expecting greeted his eyes…///

Schaft’s Parade of the Damned

Delta Green: The PLUTO Connection, Occult Action and Intrigue

"We're the only ones who understand that you can't understand...

...And that's all you need to fucking know..."

-Donald Poe, USMC (Ret.) aka Agent ALPHONSE

Choose federal law enforcement. Choose the military. Choose NASA or the CDC. Choose lying to your superiors. Choose to ruin your career. Choose no friends. Choose divorce. Choose life through the bottom of a bottle. Choose destroying evidence and executing innocent people because they know too fucking much. Choose black fatigues and matching gas masks. Choose an MP5 stolen from the CIA loaded with glasers, with a wide range of fucking attachments. Choose blazing away at mind numbing, sanity crushing things from beyond the stars, wondering whether you'd be better off stuffing the barrel in your own mouth. Choose The King In Yellow and waking up wondering who you are. Choose a 9mm retirement plan. Choose going out with a bang at the end of it all, PGP encrypting your last message down a securely laid cable as an NRO Delta wetworks squad busts through your door. Choose one last Night at the Opera. Choose Delta Green.
— An Agent Long Gone

* * *

All Forum-wide Rules Apply

The GM's word is law

This RP was inspired by the Delta Green tabletop game, The Cthulu Wars by Kenneth Hite and Kennon Bauman, True Detective S1 and Denis Villeneuve's Sicario

* * *

Hello!

As the title says, this RP is one about action and intrigue with an occult bent. Heavily influenced by media such as the Delta Green tabletop game and the Cthulu Wars book, from which came the premise of this RP, and mainly season one of True Detective and Denis Villeneuve's Sicario film, the atmosphere of which I hope to weave into this game. Your characters can come from any number of organizations and institutions both government and civilian. Although this is an action game, I don't want players to think they have to necessarily be Hank Stonebulge, war veteran and supercop with ten machineguns and gets his calories from red meat and cigarettes.

That is to say, you can be a scientist, a scholar, a private eye, a federal agent, former or active duty military, or a career criminal with a history of working for the law to cut a deal. Joseph Donnelley is not beholden to tradition for recruiting teams and neither am I. This is mainly to not alienate people who are interested but don't have an encyclopedic knowledge of federal agencies or the like. I do encourage players to get creative with their characters, as long as they make sense, of course. An analyst probably won't be the greatest at making 400 meter shots with a rifle.

Like said above, I do hope to capture the atmosphere of Sicario and True Detective. The RP will mainly be about the investigations of the cases the team has been brought on for, as well as how they bond with their teammates, cope with the events of the RP that might challenge their ideals, and grow along the time spent working this case and just what it uncovers about the true workings of the world around them. As such, don't expect shooting first and asking questions later to get you far. You may be working for a shadowy 'Man in Black' but that doesn't give you legal immunity, nor does it give you leads and clues. Player characters will have to navigate this new world of intrigue and horror smartly, and may be called upon to do morally repugnant things in the name of not only national security, but the preservation of humanity as they know it. Join me on this romp from Washington State, and all the way down to Juarez, Mexico, and beyond.

Over the course of the RP, questions may arise. Who is Steve Foster? Who am I really working for? How far does this whole thing go? Who can I really trust?

And remember...

“Deception is a right. Truth is a privilege. Innocence is a luxury. The war is never over.”

* * *

What Is Delta Green?

Delta Green: An organisation which encourages middle-aged accountants and bureaucrats to drive vans filled with dynamite into the homes of white supremacists who worship the risen spirit of Hitler.

tl;dr - Delta Green was a government program born of the US government's raid on the degenerate coastal town of Innsmouth, Massachusetts. Dissolved during the Vietnam War in 1969 following a disastrous and unsanctioned raid in Cambodia, Delta Green post-1970 is an illegal, unsanctioned conspiracy of military personnel, federal agents, and capable and exceptional civilians that investigate and dispose of preternatural threats to the US and the world as a whole. Officially reinstated in late 2001 as 'The Program' and tasked to investigate, recover, and/or destroy preternatural threats to the US, Delta Green often achieves these high ideals with low methods.

"...as criminal an enterprise as all the conspiracies and blacker-than-black military projects that came before it."

* * *

::USEFUL LINKS::
TS//SCI//DG//NOFORN
(U//FOUO)
DG PLAYER DOCS

Inside is the link to the CS, and to the DG Quick Rules. You are not obligated to recognize every single rule, but these are provided within the Google Drive folder for quick and easy reading to refresh your memory. Also within the DG PLAYER DOCS folder are various DG reading material published by the creators of DG to help you brainstorm and craft your character, and get a feel for the game.

::TEAM ROSTER —- WORKING GROUP - PALADIN::
::CASE OFFICER::
DONNELLEY, JOSEPH | M | CIA DIRECTORATE OF OPERATIONS, SPECIAL ACTIVITIES CENTER/SPECIAL OPERATIONS GROUP (GROUND BRANCH), PARAMILITARY OPERATIONS OFFICER

::TEAM LEADER::

::WORKING GROUP - PALADIN::

::KIA PERSONNEL::

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>FAIRFIELD, ID
>SOBEL’S RESIDENCE
>0725
>16.NOV.2019

There was a certain peace in the morning that Donnelley hadn’t felt in such a long time. It almost felt like something new, something yet undiscovered by the rest of humanity and sorely needing to be told to everyone else, as if he’d discovered something as important and amazing as fire. The smell of the bread when Ava had taken it from the oven reminded him of his late Aunt’s biscuits in the morning, calling him and his uncle inside for breakfast as they’d long been up and working in the small hours of the day.

He’d told Ava all about that life while they worked in the kitchen and waited for the small pieces of bread shaped like rabbits to be done. She’d sat and listened, laughed when he’d told her about the first time he’d tried to ride a horse, let alone break one. After that was done, she’d taken a few pieces back to her and Dave’s room. That left Donnelley alone with his few pieces.

He now sat in the kitchen soaking up the sun coming in from between the slats of the blinds in the windows. Both tranquil, and yet softly paralyzed by the prospect of seeing Laine. Of trying to cross the cracked boards on that bridge between him and her. As always, he reminded himself of all the things he’d have never done if he let his fear and uncertainty dictate everything. He rose from the creaking stool in Sobel’s kitchen with the confidence of a child in front of a dark hallway. His footsteps creaked along Sobel’s floors, until he was standing in front of Laine’s room. He slowly raised one hand, a bunny shaped piece of bread roughly the size of his palm in the other, still warm. He swallowed anxiety and knocked on Laine’s door, and waited.

Laine still lay on the bed, the early sunlight crossing her body in stripes through the blinds. Another sunrise, she observed through half slitted eyes. Not only the promise of a new day but more importantly proof of making it through another night. Her thoughts flit back to the last meeting with her boss back at the office in Quantico and she frowned, then rubbed her hands over her face and pulled a pillow over her head. The two parts of her life were colliding and the struggle to keep one from infecting the other was becoming a losing battle.

The knock caught her by surprise and she tossed the pillow aside. Laine sait up and grabbed the pair of jeans she wore yesterday and pulled them on, leaving the t-shirt on that she had slept in. It was a faded out band shirt that had worked its way into the last days of sleep wear. The collar had been cut out, leaving it to hang over one shoulder and the Cramps logo crackled but still recognizable. Her bare feet whispered against the rug as she crossed the room and opened the door, peering through it.

She smelled the bread as she registered who it was, not Ava coming to fetch her for breakfast but Donnelley. Laine shut the door, running a quick hand through sleep tousled hair and rubbing her eyes, smearing the remains of yesterday’s mascara even worse. Laine sighed then opened the door again, and held it wider, but not enough to be inviting yet.

“Hey,” she said, glancing down from his eyes to the bread in his hand, “Who’s your friend?”

Donnelley looked up and tried to erase the subtle hurt from his face when the door opened again. At Laine’s question, he paused, looking down at the bread. He cleared his throat, raising his eyes back to hers and trying a small smile, “I don’t know, but he wanted to talk to you.”

Laine met his blue eyes, everything he held behind them she had seen laid bare and a hint of that vulnerability flickered in their depths as he spoke.

She smiled a little then stepped back, opening the door enough to welcome him in. Laine closed it behind him then shoved her hands in her back pockets and stayed quiet, first looking him over then pointedly at the rabbit shaped bread.

"A bunny bun," she said, smiling slightly, "Trust Ava to make puns for breakfast."

Laine cleared her throat and shrugged, then gestured with her chin at the wooden chair draped by her coat. "If you want to sit."

Letting him decide, she shook herself internally and forced calm to her expression and body language. She dropped her hands from her back pockets and said, "So, Mr Bunny, what is on your mind?"

After Donnelley internally let go a sigh of relief that Laine was slowly opening back up to him, he took the offered seat. Even so, he still didn’t want to make himself too comfortable. He could feel it in the way Laine held herself, as if she was still keeping her distance from the family dog that had bitten her too many times. Just like the dog, Donnelley kept his eyes on the ground.

“I stayed up all night with Ava. Just like we used to.” Donnelley said, offering the bunny bun to Laine, “I missed her. I told her as much, after we were done huggin’ and gettin’ all wet in the eye.”

“And…” He shrugged, swallowed, “I just miss you too.”

Laine listened before reaching out to pluck the bread bunny from his hand. The buttery soft pastry with some kind of dried fruit for eyes. Maybe blueberries. She glanced up at Donnelley and asked, "Remember the chocolate rabbits at Easter? Did you bite their ears or feet first?"

Laine bit the bread, taking the head off at the neck and chewed as she watched him. "Either way, I always felt a little bad. There was no way to make it nice, but the chocolate was too good to not take a bite."

She gazed at him and shrugged a little, taking another bite. Laine rubbed her thumb across her bottom lip to wipe away the crumbs.

"I do, too," she admitted, "I can't help myself. I love you."

Donnelley lifted his eyes from the floor and looked at Laine. He took her face in as if it was the first time he’d ever seen it, beauty anew in his eyes. Some part of him felt like it was too easy, that he didn’t have to fight for her love as hard as he thought he should have to. Or maybe that’s just how it is, and normal people didn’t just yell at each other and scare their daughter under her covers.

He knew he had a lot of love to earn back from a lot of people. He knew he had to teach himself to take the victories as they came, big or small. So, he smiled at Laine and rose from his seat. He looked her over as she ate the bunny bun, those same eyes holding the same look. Hunger, passion, lust. Most of all, love.

“I love you too.” Donnelley said, quiet, as if their love was a house of cards built on sand and his voice could topple it, “More than you know, Laine.”

“I’m sorry for everythin’.” He said, “For all the things I know I’ve done, and all the things I don’t.”

He smiled a bit, “I’m just wonderin’ why the hell you stick with me.”

Laine met his gaze and nodded, finishing her bite of the bread. “Probably because you’re not the only one that can make decisions that you know are a dangerous gamble but you do it because you could not do anything else.”

She brushed her hair back behind her ear, the manicured nails a black pearl. “I knew it would be trouble, you would be...the wrong choice. But I couldn’t help it, no matter how I fought it and tried to change course. My path always leads back to you, since that night you put your jacket around my shoulders and explained why you fought against such evil.”

Her green eyes flashed up at him, “I know I’ll pay for the decisions I am making. Whether it’s you hurting me or losing my job. Or dying, again.”

Laine cleared her throat, “My boss, he’s been on me since I got back. He hates that he’s been left in the dark, he’s tried enlisting my coworkers to spy for him, undermining my work, threatening my position and my place at the Bureau. He can’t fire me so he’s forcing me out of the BSU, transferring me to some field office in the sticks. Last I heard it was Salt Lake City.”

“I’m sorry.” He said, looking down and away from her, his hands coming together and fingers interlacing, “You don’t deserve this. It comes with the job, but you don’t deserve the job neither.”

He shook his head slow, “No one does.” He looked at her again, “I did what I had to do to make sure that Dave and Ava could get out. I ain’t afraid to do it again to make sure you can.”

Laine watched him, her gaze sliding over the burn scar which cut down his cheek, something that defined him. Marked as a broken man but also a survivor. She looked down at his hands, hands that had killed and had soothed down her back as they made love.

"I keep going around in circles," she said slowly, "Thinking that I can get away, forget you and UMBRA, about the horror and injustice. Things that should not be but are. Things I don't think we could ever defeat but the circle tightens."

Laine made a gesture with her finger, swirling the air. "That circle I talk myself into closes in and chokes me with the knowledge. I already know what I will do, it's just the doing of it that's hard."

She drew in a trembling breath, and felt the prick of tears in her eyes before blinking hard, resenting them. "I know we won't have a happy ending, Donnelley. We won't ride off into the sunset together. But we may yet hold back the night to see another sunrise, together."

Laine sighed a little sound between a laugh and a sob, then bit her lip slightly. "I'm living on borrowed time anyway, this life is not just my own. I took an innocent to come back and I owe it to her and the others lost to these monsters to keep fighting. I owe it to you, to the team. To give my sanity, my life... again."

She met his eyes, "The circle closes now. I am in this until whatever end waits for me. And it scares the shit out of me."

Laine moved towards him, seeking an embrace, her black polished nails digging in.

“Fuck, it scares me too-“ Donnelley stopped abruptly from what would have been his response, taken by surprise at Laine’s sudden embrace.

He stopped cold in his tracks, even holding his breath until he let it out, nuzzling his face into Laine’s neck. He wrapped his arms around his love, accepting the silence if it meant this closeness wouldn’t end. He drew in another breath, “I thought I’d ruined this.” He said, “Ruined me and you, ruined the team, ruined everythin’.”

His hand moved to the nape of Laine’s neck and he held her close like they’d been apart for years, “All I remember in Alaska was just tryin’ to get my hand ‘round yours before I died. I was so scared I was the only one to come back, that I’d never fuckin’ see you again…” He squeezed her gently, “We’re here. Ipiktok needed us here. We owe it to him to make sure his dream was true… whatever it was.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>FAIRFIELD, ID
>SOBEL’S RESIDENCE
>2200
>15.NOV.2019

Donnelley had noticed the banging around of pots and pans in the kitchen some time ago, though the alcohol kept him in bed and uncaring of it. After all, it was highly unlikely that the Feds or the Russians would infiltrate Sobel’s house without him knowing. Even then, he doubted even more that the Russians would break in and take a break to bake some cookies before killing a few of them in their sleep.

Everyone had gone to bed early and relatively without fuss. Sobel would be the last to retire after himself, and Donnelley tried his best to stay out of Ava and Laine’s way. He felt it a few times, looking just in time to see Ava’s eyes dart away from him and make like the floor was mighty interesting. He and Dave had that talk, and Donnelley agreed that he and Ava should make peace with each other. It was just a matter of when. A matter if Donnelley was strong enough to set aside his stubborn nature, because he knew Ava certainly wouldn’t approach him first.

Not after the hurt he put on her. He took another swig, and then set the bottle down, looking out at his shrouded window and at the white moonlight filtering through the silk curtains. He sighed, his knees popping as he got to his feet and the floorboards creaking slightly as he made his way to the window and opened it a bit. The cool night air felt like the rolling waves on Ruston Way in Washington, frigid but it replaced the breath it took from your chest with a fleeting moment of feeling alive.

There was a time he wanted to just walk out into the Puget Sound to see if that water could make him either feel alive, or at least hold him tight and deep enough for long enough that a living man’s problems wouldn’t ever be able to reach him again. He doubted the plains and tall grass outside could drown him, so there was only one other direction he could walk. He opened his bedroom door as quiet as he could, stepped down the hallway as soft as he could. He finally made it to the kitchen to see none other than Ava in the kitchen, hard at work baking… something.

He watched her work for a time, maybe a few moments, remembering what he had said to her before their whole night went to shit. Remembering the pictures of the younger Ava he’d been shown, all severe and smoldering. Or at least trying to. The floorboards creaked again under his subtly shifting weight, and he froze like a deer right after a twig snaps.

Ava glanced over at the sound of the floors creaking, expecting to see Thor padding into the kitchen to beg for what she was making. Instead she gave a start as she saw a figure in the shadow of the doorway, before relaxing when she realized it was just Donnelley.

“Donnelley. You scared the shit out of me.” Ava sighed, pressing a flour covered hand to her chest, then immediately removing it with a frown. She glanced back at him then focused on dusting at her pajama shirt, a familiar pink baseball tee with a happy turtle exclaiming ‘Shell Yeah’ on it. “Sorry, was I being loud in here?”

Donnelley smiled at first, though it was snuffed out when he remembered they weren’t exactly on smiling terms. He looked away from Ava and then shook his head just the tiniest bit back and forth, “No, you’re alright. Just, uh, can’t sleep some nights.”

Donnelley made his way to sit at the bar on one of the stools looking into the kitchen. It fell quiet again as Ava returned to her task of baking. Stayed that way for some time while Donnelley twiddled his fingers and pretended there was something interesting about the plain white counter top kept immaculately clean and without a single scratch on any millimeter of it. Sobel kept his things almost disturbingly neat. But, then he’d seen a lot of disturbing things about Sobel.

He looked back at Ava, “Can’t sleep neither?”

Ava wasn’t sure if she should be happy or not the awkward silence was broken. She tried to ignore Donnelley’s presence, instead focusing on the messy lump of flour she was trying to hand knead into a cohesive lump of dough. But that hadn’t been working as Donnelley being there seemed to settle on her back like a physical weight.

“No,” She answered, still looking down at the lump in the bowl she was pushing and pulling. “But I’m used to it.”

“Yeah.” Donnelley snorted softly at the truth in that. He could relate, but again, the smile he had quickly snuffed out as he now began to sense Ava’s nervous energy.

He would’ve politely excused himself back to his room if it weren’t for the fact he knew that the team’s cohesion would depend on the strength of their bonds with each other. The fact that he’d told Dave he would apologize. The fact that he liked Ava, and missed her and her quirky energy while she was gone. Still missed it now she was here too, and hadn’t brought it along it seemed. He sheepishly cleared his throat of nothing and looked around the kitchen, still unable to muster the courage to just say what he needed to. What he wanted to, “What’re you makin’?”

“Sweet bread.” Ava answered simply, judging the dough in the bowl to be cohesive enough to knead properly. She dusted some flour on the table and dumped out the dough with a soft ‘plop’. “I’m going to make some cream for a filling too.”

She grew quiet as she began to hand knead the dough, the normal therapeutic monotony of the activity somewhat dampened by Donnelley being there and ignoring the obvious elephant in the room.

It seemed like she would have to break the tension. “So did you just come in here to see why I was baking in the middle of the night?” She asked, her tone coming out blunter than she had intended it.

Donnelley was hit with offense and an edge of hurt at Ava’s tone, a tide of anger rushing in to smother both and replace them with something better to face her with, “You know what?”

Donnelley stood quick, the stool’s feet jittering across the wood floor and making a racket. Donnelley already felt the tingling in his arms from the adrenaline dump, more like he was about to get into a firefight than making a clumsy effort to apologize. He was breathing hard, so he hauled in a breath through his nose and let it out the same way. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them up again with a softer expression.

“No.” He shook his head imperceptibly, “No, I didn’t.”

Ava started from the sudden anger and she tensed, both unsure of what he was going to do and afraid she’d just provoked another rage fueled tirade out of him. She froze and didn’t say anything, carefully watching Donnelley as he visibly calmed himself down.

“Okay.” She said quietly, careful not to invoke more of Donnelley’s anger. “Did you…want to talk about…What happened?” She asked carefully.

The voice in the back of Donnelley’s mind immediately made him feel ashamed. The part of him that wasn’t chewed up and blackened by his life so far. He was used to arguing with Holly, or Laine. They stood their ground and threw it right back in his face, stoking the flames until they just died, or he had to remove himself or they’d devour the whole place and leave blackened timbers and smoldering bridges.

The look in Ava’s eyes as he found himself standing reminded him instead of someone else. A girl who didn’t deserve what he’d done to her, or what was happening to her mother and father because of it. He swallowed at Ava’s question, nodding softly, and then more visibly, “Yes.”

He put his hands together, rubbing his palms and looking away from Ava, “I’m…” He sighed, “I made myself a liar.”

He cleared his throat again, surprisingly dry, and then swallowed a bit of spit to keep his voice from growing hoarse, “Maybe I didn’t. I remember I told you before… everythin’. Everythin’ that I did happened. I told you that whoever would leave a girl like you had to be the stupidest, sorriest bastard in the world.” He glanced at Ava, “Or, somethin’ ‘long those lines.”

“And then I did what I did…” he said at first, but shook his head, he’d better say it how it rightly happened, “After I yelled at you for somethin’ you didn’t have no hand in doin’… I left.”

“And I’m sorry,” He said, “I’m sorry for doin’ that to you, I’m sorry for sayin’ everythin’, Ava.”

He looked back up at Ava and his hands dropped to his sides, a wetness glistening in the corners of them, maybe just the whiskey taking hold, “There we were, watchin’ movies together, and you showed me your paintin’s, and I was talkin’ all this good stuff to you…” He swallowed hard, gulping in the silence, “And then I do that, I leave, and you can barely stand to fuckin’ look at me now.”

“My daughter’s in the fuckin’ emergency room with a broken arm, she can’t fuckin’ paint or draw, or anythin’ now and she’s beggin’ me just to be there for her, and I’m over here knee deep in this shit and it’s all my fault, and...” He stopped himself as his voice shuddered, “But that ain’t about you. All I know is after I left you, I’ve been sorry about it this whole time. Sorry for everythin’.”

“So, yeah, I guess I was just in here to see what you were bakin’ in the middle of the night. Only other thing I can do right now except drink and think about how sorry I am.” He sheepishly tried a smile on, but it fizzled out, “But… yeah. I’m sorry for what I did.”

He sat back down for a moment, staring at the countertop. It grew quiet again, and he sniffled wetly, “Maybe I’ll just go back to my bedroom and try to sleep again. I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat again, “How, uh, how do you feel… about it… I guess?”

Ava stared at him for a moment before reaching over for a dish towel, wiping the flour off her hands and walking over to quietly hug Donnelley. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders and giving him a firm but gentle squeeze. “I feel like you might need a hug.” She said quietly, her eyes growing misty themselves.

Donnelley gave a chuckle despite himself, a blubbering thing as he placed a hand on Ava’s arm around his shoulders, “You’re the one who deserves it.” He said, “I just don’t want you to look away from me anymore. I don’t want to make you think I’m gonna explode at you anymore, you don’t deserve none of it.”

“That, and I’ll have to deal with fuckin’ hillbilly Dave.” He chuckled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

Ava sniffed and pulled back from the embrace, wiping her hands over her shirt. “I appreciate the apology.” She said, folding her arms over her chest. “What happened…It really hurt and still kind of hurts.” She started to look away from him but stopped herself and looked back into his scarred features. “But, I appreciate you apologizing.”

“I know.” Donnelley nodded, looking back at Ava, “If there’s anything I can do… more than apologizing, just give me the word.”

Ava pursed her lips in thought for a moment. “Honestly, I kinda miss hanging out with you.” She nodded her head to the dough on the table. “Also, this is a brand new recipe I’m trying, so, you can be the taste tester.”

Donnelley smiled again, and it stuck this time. He looked at the ball of dough and then back to Ava. He knew one apology wasn’t enough, wounds didn’t heal right after the gauze was put on. He nodded, “I missed hangin’ out too.” He said, getting up from his seat and sniffling again and ripping a piece of paper towel off to wipe his nose, “Gotta stop doin’ this shit. Ghost wouldn’t ever let it go if he saw me like this.”

“Well, then he doesn’t get a roll.” Ava said, returning to the table and resuming kneading the dough, pushing and pulling it across the floured surface with quick and practiced movements. “These are sweet rolls, not jerk rolls.”