KvsW- Casefile [007.5][REDACTED]

A couple of months later...

Chris was at the wheel as the pair cruised down the freeway, headed home after a job well done in the next state. Dave had Cyka in his lap, but was more occupied in lamenting over the state of his jacket, which was covered in dried blood.

“...it’s like the fucking arterial spray was all directed at me instead of anywhere else.”

“It’s your own fault. You’re the one who decided to run ahead without me.”

“I wasn’t expecting to get tackled.”

“Well there you go. You’re lucky I was there to blow its head off.”

Dave sighed. “Who knew the fucker would have so much blood in him.”

“Oh, speaking of blood, might want to look down.”

Dave did so and took notice of the beagle licking the dark red stains on his jacket. “No! Bad dog! O kurwa!” He pulled the dog off and held him at arm’s length. “You could get rabies or something, or whatever the hell other supernatural diseases those things might carry!”

Chris smirked as Dave slipped his jacket off, balling it up and tossing it in the back seat. “Little bastard’s lucky his shots are up to date.”

Dave grunted and set the dog back in his lap, scratching him behind the ears. The interior of the car returned to an easy quiet, as Dave looked out the window and Chris focused on the road, listening to Wehrmacht marching songs on low volume from the phone hooked up to the radio.
“Hey… Chris?” said Dave, after a while.

“Hmm?”

“You ever think about the future?”

“I'm not following.”

“You know… our future.”

Chris shifted a bit in her seat and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Why? Is something wrong?” she inquired, a tiny hint of concern finding its way into her voice.

“What? Oh, no no no! Nothing!” Dave stammered. “I wasn't implying that at all!”

“What did you mean, then?”

“Just… I was just thinking. Was all. About when we might settle down?”

“Settle down? It hasn't even been a year yet.”

“It… oh… uh… you’re right… huh… it hasn’t…” Dave said quietly, getting lost in musings and looking off to the side, at the trees passing at high speed outside the window.

“Don’t take that the wrong way,” said Chris, reaching over and rubbing his leg, “I hope we can keep this going for a good long time until we’re sick of each other’s company, and by that time we’ll be half dead so we’ll just keep sticking it out from there.”

“Heh heh…”

“So, yeah, I guess I can sort of see what you might be getting at… but we’ve got a lot of good years ahead of us before we need to worry about that.”

He nodded slightly, seeing her point. He returned to staring out the window.

“Don’t worry yourself so much,” she continued. “It’ll all happen when it happens.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” He looked over at her with a wistful smile, which she returned.
A couple of hours later, they pulled up next to their apartment as the day progressed into the late evening. Grabbing their bags, they headed upstairs and let themselves into the apartment and settled back in.

Dave put the dog down and stretched, popping his back. Chris set down their gun bags and came up behind him. She wrapped her arms around him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Heh… we just got home, and you want to get to bed already?”

“Why not?” she asked, kissing him again. “Can you think of a reason?”

“No, I guess not.” He turned around in her arms to face her and she locked her lips with his in a long kiss. Together, they started slowly walking backwards towards the bedroom. Dave bumped into the door and hit his head. He cursed under his breath and reached back to the knob to let them into the other room.

Chris kept pushing him back until they hit the foot of the bed, upon which she pushed him down onto the mattress and crawled up to straddle him. She leaned bent down to kiss him again.

When she broke the contact to take a breath, Dave looked over at the doorway, noticing Cyka sitting there, staring at him and whining softly.

“Uh, Chris. I think the dog needs a walk. He’s giving me that look.”
“Ugh… right now?”

“Yeah. He was cooped up in the car with us for hours and we didn’t stop off on the side of the road or anything.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“It can, if you don’t mind having to clean it up when he craps on the floor later.”

“Fiiiiine. I’ll take the little bastard out so he can do his business.” She got off the bed and went into the living room to grab her coat.

“Would you stop calling him a little bastard?” Dave asked from the bedroom.

“He’s cockblocking me right now, so I’ll call him whatever I want.” She grabbed the dog’s leash from a drawer and whistled for him. “Come on you little turd. Let’s get this over with,” she said, attaching it to his collar. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, then shut the door behind her.

Dave got up off of the bed and went over to the kitchenette to grab something from the fridge. He ended up grabbing a carton of milk and drinking straight from it while lurking /k/ on his phone.

He waited for a while, leaning against the counter, until he took a look at the time and realized she’d been out for the better part of half an hour. Wondering where she’d gone off to, he decided to head outside to have a look.

He stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind himself, and walked down the hall.

He stopped when he noticed heavy footfalls approaching from around the corner.

In the next moment, he saw a group of heavily armed men round the corner. They were geared up in full battle rattle, complete with helmets, ballistic goggles, plate carriers and full-retard tacticool M4s bristling with attachments. Dave’s eyes jumped to the three large letters emblazoned in black right on the front of their plate carriers.

As soon as they saw him standing there, just gawking, the men were shouting at the top of their lungs.

“LET ME SEE YOUR HANDS!”
“DOWN! DOWN NOW!”
“GET THE FUCK DOWN!”

Dave turned tail and booked it back to the apartment, slipping back inside and locking the door behind him. He was hyperventilating, panicked, unsure what was happening or what to do next.

He heard banging on the door. “THIS IS THE FBI! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

“Fuck… fuck… shit!” The only thing he could think to do was find his revolver and take cover behind the couch.

“SURRENDER NOW AND COME OUT OF THERE!”

“Wh-what the fuck d-do you want?” he shouted, stammering badly.

“THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING!”

“Am I b-being detained?”

There was the sound of shuffling feet out in the hall, and a few seconds later two consecutive shotgun blasts disintegrated the door lock and part of the jamb. The door itself crashed inward, slamming against the wall.

Dave heard two distinct metallic pings, and saw a pair of objects hurled into the room. They bounced against the far wall and off the floor, one of them coming to a stop within his line of sight. It detonated.

Dave found himself blinded and deafened.

Reeling from the concussion, he stumbled into a wall, dropping his gun as he tried to steady himself. His vision slowly returned, but his head felt thick. He turned and was met with the sight of three SWAT officers pointing their weapons at his chest. They were shouting orders at him, but he couldn’t hear them. The ringing in his ears was far too fierce.

One of the men lost his patience and pulled a taser from a holster on his hip. With a pull of the trigger, a pair of barbed electrodes embedded themselves in Dave’s chest. 50,000 volts of electricity travelled down the wires with a harsh buzzing sound. His entire body seized up and he fell to the ground, screaming in agony as the most intense pain he’d ever experienced rippled through his nervous system.

He blacked out.
Down on street level, Chris had hidden herself in an alley a little ways down the road, and was peeking around the corner. She looked on in a state of shock as the SWAT team raided the apartment, and came out with her boyfriend in handcuffs. He was half-conscious and babbling something about his rights as they practically dragged him across the street and tossed him into the back of a police cruiser.

Cyka was in her arms, and he started wriggling and growling. He was about to start howling before Chris clamped his mouth shut with her hand and retreated down the alley, out of sight.

She walked with a quick pace, trying to figure out what exactly was going on, while at the same time putting some distance between her and the authorities.

She wondered, was it all some sort of mistake? Had the feds been given a false address for a drug operation or something? It seemed like an unlikely coincidence to her, given their secretive work and how high profile some of their jobs had gotten.

No, she thought, they both had targets on their backs and now they'd been tracked down. She had to get out of dodge as fast as possible before a dedicated manhunt started for her and she ended up in cuffs herself.

She couldn't return to the apartment and get the car, so she decided she'd have to steal one. It was a small town, and she ended up on the other side of it before too long.

There was a Wal-Mart there, because of course there was. Many of the locals worked there. Chris had never bothered to get to know anyone in the town in her years of being there, however. So she had no problem skulking through the parking lot, going car to car and checking for unlocked doors.
She came across a minivan with stickers plastered all over the rear window and bumper, all possessing a certain… left leaning slant. “Coexist… Bernie 2016… proud socialist… are you fucking- high capacity assault clips kill children?” she muttered in disbelief. “No, fuck you. I'm stealing your fucking van, how about that? Call it redistribution of wealth, fucker.”

She pulled out her pistol and smashed the window with the butt, and let herself inside. She swept broken glass off the seats and tossed Cyka into the passenger side, before busting open a panel under the steering wheel, hoping she still remembered how to hotwire a car, all the while muttering to herself about filthy commie bastards trying to take her guns.

Using her pocket knife to strip the insulation, she spliced a pair of wires together, and cursed aloud as a spark burnt her fingertips. But, the van's engine started turning over, so she held it until to coughed to life, then pulled her hand back, hissing in pain. She climbed into the driver's seat and pulled the minivan out of the parking lot, making for the freeway as the sun slipped below the horizon.

Dave was resting his head on the cool metal of the interrogation room’s table, occasionally vocalizing his discomfort in the form of a low groan. His head was pounding; it felt like someone was beating the inside of his skull with a claw hammer. There was a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin sitting across from him on the other side, but they had been placed there more as part of a cruel joke than anything else. The cuffs around his wrists were secured to the table via a short chain, preventing him from reaching over.

Someone opened the door, but he didn't look up. So they slammed the door to get his attention, eliciting a groan from him and forcing him to look up. He saw two people in front of him, a man and a woman. The man was an older fellow with a gentle countenance, and wore a casual grey suit. He walked to one corner of the room and leaned against the wall, next to the one-way mirror.

The woman was significantly younger and a bit of a contrast, wearing a sharp white blouse and black skirt, with a badge on a lanyard around her neck. Very prim and proper. She moved the glass and aspirin off to the side and sat down across from Dave. She put a manila folder down on the table and opened it up, leafing through the contents for a minute or two, letting Dave stew in the suspense. At least that's what he assumed she was doing. He felt a little uneasy, true, but the pounding in his head gave him something to focus on instead.

The woman closed the folder and set it aside, and folded her arms in front of her on the table. She watched him, almost expectantly. When he said nothing, she spoke instead. “David Pope,” she stated, matter-of-factly. “23 years old, born in Charlotte, North Carolina. Moved to Michigan only last year. No prior criminal record.” She left a pregnant pause before her next words. “And yet, a prime suspect in five murder cases, as well as many cases of felony arson.”
She gave Dave a very severe glare, one that reminded him a bit of Chris when she got mad. He smiled at the thought, though the woman was not amused in the slightest.

“Is something I said funny to you, Mr. Pope?”

“No, nothing’s funny miss…” Dave leered over at her badge. “Pedersen.”

“That’s Special Agent Pedersen to you, Mr. Pope.”

“Of course, Special Agent Pedersen. And your partner over there?”

“Special Agent Browning,” said the older man, nodding once.

“There, introductions officially out of the way. Now to the business at hand,” stated Pedersen, her patience being tested.

“I’m not saying anything until I get a lawyer.”

The woman sighed and the man chuckled to himself. "So he's one of those," he mused aloud, crossing his arms.

Dave looked smugly between the two FBI agents, who were looking at each other, as if saying non-verbally discussing something.

Pedersen looked back at Dave. “Mr. Pope, while you do have the right to a lawyer, you should know that cooperating with authorities can help you with obtaining plea deals. Especially if you give information that results in the arrest of accomplices.”

“I have no accomplices.”
Pedersen flipped to another section of the manila folder. “Christina Bridger, 28 years old. Unlike you, she actually has quite a list of criminal offenses. Mostly misdemeanor items, but there are a couple of assaults here on record. Domestic abuse. Destruction of property. Things like that.”

Dave’s eye subconsciously twitched at the mention of Chris, and Browning picked up on it. “She’s got quite the temper, doesn’t she?” he asked suddenly, drawing Dave’s attention.

“I… I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“You’re undoubtedly close to her, so you of all people must have felt that temper at some point or other.”

“I’m not understanding-”

“Mr. Pope,” Pedersen interrupted, her voice now raised to a threatening level. “Lying to investigating officials can be used against you as an additional charge. Especially if those officials are federal agents.”

“I’m not lying to you,” said Dave, taking a deep breath to hide his growing nervousness.

“Yes, you are. And it’s going to get you nowhere.” She unclipped a polaroid photograph from the folder and showed it to Dave. It showed Chris and himself walking Cyka down the street, holding hands.

“How the… what the fuck is this?”


“We got warrants to surveil your place of residence,” said Browning nonchalantly.
“You can’t fucking do that… you need probable cause and… and…”

“We have that, too.”

“And how is that so?” asked Dave, growing increasingly agitated.

“We know you and your lady friend took a little trip to a certain small town in Wisconsin very recently,” said Browning with a little hint of a smirk.

Dave gulped.

“Not only do we have the accounts of several eyewitnesses and local authorities, but we’ve got your DNA.”

“DNA found on shards of broken glass right outside of a home that was bombed and then set on fire,” added Pedersen. “With someone inside it. In short, Mr. Pope...”

“Figuratively, you’re fucked. Right in the ass. With a twenty inch dick.” Browning chuckled, brushing off his suit. “And soon, that statement is going to be literal as you serve your debt to society in a federal prison.”

Dave started to go pale, and sweat beaded up on his forehead as the gravity of the situation finally dawned on him.

“Ah, I think he’s finally starting to get it,” said the old man, looking at his younger female partner. “He’s a slow one, that’s for sure.”

“Do you still want to wait for your lawyer, Mr. Pope?” asked Pedersen. It was her turn to be smug.

Dave simply stared at the table, at his cuffs, wishing he were anywhere else.

“You still have a chance to make it easier on yourself.”

“I… I… we didn’t murder anyone…”

“We have four brutally mutilated corpses that say otherwise.”

“Not to mention the one we found later in a shallow grave,” chimed Browning.

“It… it… wasn’t murder…”

“What would you call gunning an old man down in the street, then?”

Dave gulped and stared at the table. “He was already dead…”

Pedersen looked utterly disgusted by Dave's answer. Meanwhile, Browning looked as if he was already expecting it. “Oh, these are just the murders we know about, too. I'm sure the forensic analyses of your possessions will uncover even more skeletons from your closet, if you'll excuse the expression.” The agent pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and shook one out. “For example, that jacket in your car. Who's blood is that?”

Dave put his head in his hands, overwhelmed. “That's… not… it wasn't a person…”

“Fine. Don't tell us. We'll find out soon enough.”

There was a quick knocking at the door, and a police officer poked his head into the room. “Sorry for the interruption, agents. Something has come up.”
“What could it possibly be?” snapped Pedersen.

“It's the ATF, they're on the line. And uh… the US Forest Service? They both want a crack at this guy.”

Grumbling to herself, Pedersen got up and followed the officer out, and Browning lit his cigarette. “Well, Mr. Pope,” he said, blowing some smoke, “It seems you're mighty popular with federal agencies all of a sudden.”

Dave groaned pitifully, still hiding his face. Browning took the seat across from him and held out his cigarette pack. “Want a smoke?”

“I don't smoke…”

“Suit yourself, because it seems you're gonna need one.” He put the pack away and blew out some more smoke. “Okay, so before my partner gets back, elucidate something for me. I get why the ATF is now after you, because of those pipe bombs in Wisconsin. But why in the world would the US Forest Service want you as well? What could you have possibly done to piss them off?”

“I’m not sure… I might have an idea… but… you… you wouldn't believe me if I told you.”
Almost two weeks later…

Dave was being passed around like a cheap whore, and he certainly felt the part. His nerves were frayed and he was on edge at all hours, trying his best to not incriminate himself so thoroughly as he had initially with the FBI agents. Trying his best not to incriminate Chris. He was starting to get used to staring at the ceiling of a holding cell, or the table in the center of a windowless room with a one-way mirror. Getting used to the feeling of cuffs biting into his wrists. He figured this is what the rest of his life would soon consist of.

The ATF of course wanted him put on trial for the possession and use of destructive devices. He’d made a snarky comment at their investigators, saying he was glad that it was the FBI who’d gotten him rather than the ATF, as the latter might have shot his dog. They didn’t take kindly to that.

The USFS let him know he was a suspect in several cases being investigated regarding deliberately set forest fires, including the massive blaze in Utah earlier in the year.

Local police had a crack at him. Police from other states coming around to see if they could connect him to cold cases.

Eventually, though, it was back to the friendly faces of Special Agents Pedersen and Browning of the FBI.

He wasn’t paying much attention to the questions they were asking, at least until Pedersen slammed her hand on the table.

“Are you listening, Mr. Pope?”

“Uh… yeah. All ears.”
“Your case is very close to going to trial, as you might realize by now. You’re going to have the book thrown at you for all you’ve done. Yet you’re still holding out on us.”

“I’m not giving her up.”

Pedersen watched him for a few moments, then shook her head. “You poor lovestruck fool. Even now, too naive to see how badly you’ve been played.”

“How would you figure that?”

“You’re the one in FBI custody, not her. That’s how I’d figure it. You’re the fall guy who bears the brunt of the consequences, and will spend the rest of his life in a maximum security prison while she roams around free.”

“That’s not going to work on me.”

“Despite the charade you’ve been putting on, I realize that you’re scared out of your mind. And that you wouldn’t do this for anyone except one you loved.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that the feeling is obviously not mutual.”

“Fuck you.”

“Think about it, Pope. If she really loved you, she’d have turned herself in by now. Maybe in a bid to alleviate what’s going to happen to you. But no, instead she’s disappeared into thin air, probably has a new identity by now, maybe she’s even out of the country. While you’re going to rot in a cell. Who knows how long you’ll even last in there. You’re soft. The men in those places would like that.


========


“Your case is very close to going to trial, as you might realize by now. You’re going to have the book thrown at you for all you’ve done. Yet you’re still holding out on us.”

“I’m not giving her up.”

Pedersen watched him for a few moments, then shook her head. “You poor lovestruck fool. Even now, too naive to see how badly you’ve been played.”

“How would you figure that?”

“You’re the one in FBI custody, not her. That’s how I’d figure it. You’re the fall guy who bears the brunt of the consequences, and will spend the rest of his life in a maximum security prison while she roams around free.”

“That’s not going to work on me.”

“Despite the charade you’ve been putting on, I realize that you’re scared out of your mind. And that you wouldn’t do this for anyone except one you loved.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that the feeling is obviously not mutual.”

“Fuck you.”

“Think about it, Pope. If she really loved you, she’d have turned herself in by now. Maybe in a bid to alleviate what’s going to happen to you. But no, instead she’s disappeared into thin air, probably has a new identity by now, maybe she’s even out of the country. While you’re going to rot in a cell. Who knows how long you’ll even last in there. You’re soft. The men in those places would like that.
“Your case is very close to going to trial, as you might realize by now. You’re going to have the book thrown at you for all you’ve done. Yet you’re still holding out on us.”

“I’m not giving her up.”

Pedersen watched him for a few moments, then shook her head. “You poor lovestruck fool. Even now, too naive to see how badly you’ve been played.”

“How would you figure that?”

“You’re the one in FBI custody, not her. That’s how I’d figure it. You’re the fall guy who bears the brunt of the consequences, and will spend the rest of his life in a maximum security prison while she roams around free.”

“That’s not going to work on me.”

“Despite the charade you’ve been putting on, I realize that you’re scared out of your mind. And that you wouldn’t do this for anyone except one you loved.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that the feeling is obviously not mutual.”

“Fuck you.”

“Think about it, Pope. If she really loved you, she’d have turned herself in by now. Maybe in a bid to alleviate what’s going to happen to you. But no, instead she’s disappeared into thin air, probably has a new identity by now, maybe she’s even out of the country. While you’re going to rot in a cell. Who knows how long you’ll even last in there. You’re soft. The men in those places would like that.”
Dave just grimaced at her.

“We’ve tried to help you. We’ve bent over backwards to do it, to see if we could get you a plea deal. But you’ve thrown it right back in our faces. And for what? For whom? For some spoiled daddy’s princess who was only in love with your money.”

“What… wait, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“For someone who claims to love this woman, you seem to know precious little about her,” said Pedersen, flipping through a file with a smug look.

“I know enough.”

“No, obviously not. Christina Bridger is the daughter of a very wealthy family line. Bankers, lawyers, that sort. A trust fund baby. But, she got cut off from the family fortune early on. And so, for nearing a decade now, she’s jumped from relationship to relationship, drifting from place to place, living off of other people’s money. And when some of those poor saps wised up to what was going on and dared to question her motives, she knocked their teeth out, or took to their car with a baseball bat.”

Dave stared at the table, eyes wide. “Wh-why… are you telling me this…”

“Because we know all about your past as well. Your family was rather well off. Well, until they all died in a sailing accident when you were 17.”

He was silent now, but was gritting his teeth as she spoke with the most nonchalant manner.

“Drifting along by yourself for a few years. Must have been pretty lonely. She likely interpreted that as vulnerability when you first met.”
“That’s not true.”

“It wouldn’t be hard for it to be true, would it? A young man, suddenly all alone in the world, having come into his inheritance early after his entire family dies in a tragic boating accident…”

“Stop it.”

“And then comes along a beautiful young woman, an heiress turned black sheep, out on the street and penniless, and she finds the young man in such a vulnerable state…”

“Stop. Talking.”

“But of course the young man is naive and doesn’t see through her act as she proclaims her undying love to him and secures her own future.”

“SHUT UP! YOU DON’T KNOW HER! YOU DON’T FUCKING KNOW HER!”

Pedersen smiled. He was finally cracking. She was about to push her advantage when the door cracked open and a man stuck his head in.

“Uh… agents… sorry to interrupt.”

“What. Is it. This time.” Pedersen looked like she’d just about had her fill of interruptions from interloping agencies.

“Its…”

“Well, spit it out.”

“Homeland Security.”
“Oh for all that’s good and holy…” She got up with such force that she nearly knocked the chair over. “You’d think this guy was the next Timothy McVeigh, with how many people want his head on a platter…” She stormed out, accompanied by the officer. The door slammed and Browning leaned on the table. He lit up a cigarette and sat there in silence, puffing away.

“You still don’t want that smoke?”

He shook his head.

“How about some coffee then?”

“N-no… I’m fine…”

“Y’know, kid. This might be your point of no return.” He took a long drag on the cigarette and continued. “You’re not a hardened criminal. I can see that.”

Dave was silent.

“I'll stress again and again, we can't help you unless you help us.”

More silence. Browning dragged on the cigarette, thinking.

“All these people taking an interest in your case, I'm sure they want to see you crucified. Or at least put on Death Row,” Browning said, sitting down in the chair. “That's not my aim. My partner, she wants a case closure. She wants a commendation. Me? I’m too old to care about that shit. I just want to keep more people from getting hurt. And the longer your girlfriend evades authorities, the higher the chance that she kills someone else. And that someone could very well be herself.”

“She wouldn't kill herself…”

“Probably not. But her actions could result in her own death. If she went after another person and they're armed, and are quicker on the draw. Or she gets in a shootout with police and takes a bullet. Her blood would be on your hands.”

“She… she's not the type… to…”

“She very well might not be. But do you want to risk losing her forever? After all, you know her temper better than most.”

“I… I can't… I…” Dave's voice was cracking, and Browning kept pushing.

“You don't want to betray her, I get that. But it's not betrayal if it's to keep her alive. She might not understand it, but you would. Because you love her, right?”

“I do… I do…”

“Then do the right thing, kid. Help us.” The agent patted him on the shoulder in a fatherly way.

Dave looked like he was about to break down, so the agent let him regain his composure before speaking again.

“How about it, son?”

There was a knock at the door before Dave could answer. Browning got up and opened it. There was a woman on the other side, but she was not Agent Pedersen.
This woman was of a caramel complexion with shoulder-length raven black hair. She was dressed in a well-fitted black pantsuit with a crisp white shirt underneath. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of reflective aviators, but her expression was stern. To Dave, she looked like the very definition of a government spook.

“Can I help you?” asked the agent to the newcomer. Browning was a big guy, but she seemed to intimidate him.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, you can help me, Special Agent Browning.” She produced a badge from an inner pocket and handed it to him. He looked it over.

“Ah… so you’re the one from HomeSec. How is it I can help you?”

“You can start by leaving the room so I can speak to the detainee. We’re taking over this investigation. You’re off the case.”

Browning seemed to consider this for a few moments, before handing the woman back her badge. He sighed heavily. “I see. Well, I know my partner won’t take this well.”

“That’s for you to deal with.”

“Mhm. I’m assuming you’ll want our case files?”

“Every last one.”

Browning gave another heavy sigh. “Well, I should’ve guessed this. I’ll get on the paperwork.”

“Yes, do that.” She waited until Browning closed the door behind him before taking the seat in front of Dave. He looked back at her with apprehension, not really sure what to expect.

“Hello, Dave,” she said, projecting a steely gaze even behind the aviators.

“Uh… hi…”

“You’ve gotten yourself into quite a bit of trouble, haven’t you?”

“I… I guess I have… am I considered a terrorist now or something?”

The spook almost smirked, but her face instantly returned to the hard expression. “Not quite. You’ll be coming with me. We have some items to discuss.” She produced a small key and reached over the table to unlock his Dave’s handcuffs.

He rubbed his wrists, looking thoroughly confused at the development. “What… am I free to go or something?”

She ignored the question and stood up. “Come with me.”

She lead Dave out of the room and down through the halls of the police station. They received odd looks from those they passed, but if any even appeared to have thoughts of stopping them and asking questions, the spook flashed her badge and sent them on their way.

They stopped in front of the elevator, and the woman pressed the call button. “I’ve got a car down below in the garage waiting for us.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“All in due time.”

There was some shouting down the hall, and Dave turned to see Pedersen storming towards them.

“Hey! You! Where the hell are you going with my suspect?”

The spook stepped between him and the fuming FBI agent. “That’s on a need-to-know basis.”

“I feel I have a good god damned need to know why some MIB-type bitch gets to bump me off of an investigation that I’ve spent months building the case for! Lining up the paperwork, getting the warrants, dealing with all the bureaucratic bullshit just to nail this fucker. What right do you have?”

The spook took a step forward, getting into the agent’s face. Pedersen took a step back.

“Special Agent Pedersen, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear this little rant of yours. But you had best unfuck yourself and start acting like a Federal Agent and not a petulant little girl with shit for brains. That is if you still want to have a career with the Bureau.”

Browning quickly came up behind his partner. He put his arm around her shoulders and started pulling her back. “Regina, come on. Come with me. This is not a good way to handle this.”

“This is bullshit!”

“Be that as it may, you know that what the spooks want, the spooks get.” He turned his head to the spook in question. “Sorry about this. I’ll have those case files sent over to you.”

“Appreciated.” The elevator pinged and she herded Dave forward inside when the doors opened.

Not a word was spoken as Dave was ushered about, down to a black SUV with black tinted windows. The spook opened the rear passenger side door for Dave. “After you,” she said. Hesitantly, he stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him. Then she climbed up into the front passenger’s seat. “Let’s head out,” she said to the driver, who started up the engine and pulled the vehicle out onto street level.
As they drove along, the spook reached into the glovebox and pulled something out. A black bag. She tossed it into the backseat, into Dave’s lap. “Do me a favor, put that on.”

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m not serious? So yes, go ahead and put that on, and rest your head or something, take a nap. It's going to be a long drive.”

It was in fact a very a long drive.

Dave was thankful that the bag was clean, at least. He'd expected it to be like the movies, where it smelled of vomit, sweat, fear, and bodily excrements.

He had thoughts of taking the bag off several times, but thought better of pissing off a woman who could very likely make him disappear.

It was nightfall by the time the SUV pulled up somewhere and stopped. Dave was snoring in the back, drooling on the bag, when he was woken up by the spook tapping on his shoulder.

“We're here. Get out, but keep the bag on.” Dave climbed out of the SUV and stood still as the spook apparently gave the driver instructions to circle the block once and then return to his rally point. She then grabbed Dave by the arm and lead him inside some sort of building. He could hear the ambient humming of a cheap HVAC system, and what sounded like muffled conversations and televisions behind closed doors. He wondered, was he just being stuffed into a different sort of holding facility?

The spook led him into a room and locked the door behind them, then sat him down on a metal folding chair.

“Where have you brought me?” he asked, his voice betraying a hint of fear.

“Take off the bag and see for yourself.”

He did so, and looked around to see a small apartment with shag carpeting and yellowed wallpaper. The place had a full complement of furniture, though it consisted almost solely of the folding sort. Aluminum tables, pelican boxes, a couple of folding cots visible in the next room.

“I… I don’t understand… what is all this? What is this place?” Dave stood up, trying to piece it all together in his head. There wasn’t much to go on.

“Don’t worry. This is a safe place. A safe house, more specifically.” The woman went over to a mini fridge tucked in a corner of the main room, and grabbed a bottle of beer from within. She put it down on the table in front of Dave.

“What's this?”

“Why do you have to phrase everything as a question? It's getting on my nerves, so cut it out.”

“Sorry…”

“Have it if you want. I understand you've had a rough time in the past couple of weeks, and I can tell you're wound up tighter than a nun’s asshole.”

Dave eyed the beer for a moment, then grabbed it and popped the cap, taking a long pull from the bottle. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome.” She sat down on a folding chair next to him and crossed her legs. “I understand you have questions, and I'll provide answers. So don't be so apprehensive.”

“Thanks… I'll try.” He took another swig and swallowed. “So, that little shakedown back there at the holding facility… does that mean I'm no longer looking at spending the rest of my life in prison?”

“So long as you haven't actually murdered anyone.”

“Well… I would say that I’m innocent… but I'm not so sure anyone would believe me at this point…”

“What happened in Wisconsin wasn't murder, Dave.”

“Wait, you believe me?” He turned to her, eyes wide with surprise.

“Of course I do. You and I both know the truth. Those weren't people, at least they weren't anymore when you put them down.”

Dave slumped in the chair, letting out a long sigh of relief, then laughed nervously. “So I really am innocent, then… I'm not a crazy person…” he muttered aloud to himself.

“Mhm. When someone dies and their corpse is buried, but then illegally exhumed and reanimated with a dark ritual, the resultant bloodthirsty monster doesn't retain the rights of a US citizen. Or even human rights, for that matter.”

She took her sunglasses off as she watched Dave polish off the beer and set the bottle aside.

“You really needed that didn't you?”
“Yeah. I… I did.” Dave leaned back in the chair and ran his hands down his face, exhaling. “Fuck… I thought my life was over. Thank you for getting me out of there miss… uh… did you ever mention your name?”

“No, I didn't. But you can call me Morrigan.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Morrigan crossed her legs the other way and folded her hands in her lap. “Do you have any other pertinent questions for me? Because I imagine that if we sat here and I answered every single question you had, we’d be here for days on end.”

Dave went quiet for a minute, still processing everything that was going on, and trying to isolate a specific question among the jumbled mess that was his thoughts. He stared at the now empty bottle of Corona, and then looked back up at Morrigan.

“If I may… ask… why exactly are you doing this for me?” he asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat at the creeping suspicion that he may have simply jumped out of the oven and into the gas chamber. “What is it you want from me?”

“You look like you’re afraid to have asked that.”

“I am.”

“Well, don’t be. It’s an understandable conclusion that one might reach, that a shady government suit has just bailed you out of an impossible situation and of course there would be an expectation of a quid-pro-quo to take effect. Or that because you were hunting supernatural monsters that perhaps you’re going to be silenced.”

“Shit, silenced? I hadn’t thought of that… fuck, is that what--”

Morrigan held up a hand to shut him up. “No. You’re not being silenced, you’re not being tossed in some dark hole for the rest of your days so ‘the truth doesn’t get out’ or whatever nonsense Hollywood pushes. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’d like to offer you a job.”

Dave’s mouth was slightly agape. “Uh… run that by me again?”

“More specifically, a position as an ‘independent contractor’ with my organization. You see, our business is dealing with threats that could be called paranormal, supernatural, etcetera and so forth. Things that can’t be handled through conventional means. So, to keep the American public safe, we employ unconventional means. In doing so, we employ unconventional people. People like yourself and your girlfriend.”

Morrigan stood up and straightened out her pantsuit before continuing.

“As the head of Field Operations, I would like to offer you and Christina an opportunity to continue your work, with actual support. I see potential in the two of you, and I’d like to develop that potential.”

Dave took a few moments to compose himself. “Do I have a choice?” he asked, finally.

“Of course you do. You’re not being forced, you’re not being blackmailed. I hardly think any relationship would start off on a good foot if it involved coercion.”

“So the whole thing with the FBI… all essentially a giant favor to me and Chris?”

“Essentially. I see it more as tying up loose ends. The hunter you linked up with in Wisconsin, the priest?”

“Yeah, Adam.”

“He’s actually one of my operatives. And what happened was supposed to be a test to gauge your abilities. But, as you would very likely know from your firsthand experience, it got out of hand, and other agencies came sniffing around, sticking their noses where they didn’t belong.”

“So you’re saying this was all your fault to begin with.”

“Don’t get accusatory with me,” she asserted, her steely grey eyes boring a hole into him. “I apologize for what happened, but you’ll be coming out of this in a better position than you went in with.”

“Sure, if you don’t count my girlfriend being missing. She disappeared on the day of the raid on our apartment, and they never caught her, so she’s still out there and certainly not aware that she’s no longer being pursued.”

“We can find her. We have people who specialize in that sort of thing.”

“How long would that take?”

“Well, that’s hard to say. It would all depend on how paranoid she might be. Would you have any idea where she might go?”

Dave sighed and rubbed his forehead. “She’s… she’s pretty paranoid, actually. So I don’t think I know anywhere specific she’d go. She might have gone off the grid, into the woods somewhere.”

“Finding her could be tricky, then. But not impossible.”

“I don’t want her being out there any longer than she has to be, not knowing what's happened to me, or what will happen to her… she needs to know I’m okay, and that she’s going to be okay too…”

“I’ll have a team assembled to search for her. We’ll find her, Dave.”

Morrigan went over to one of the folding tables in the center of the room and opened up a small pelican case on top, pulling out a laptop and setting it beside the case. She opened it up and inserted an ID card into a slot on the side, and started tapping away at the keys.

Dave spoke up as he watched her. “Hey… maybe I can just contact her directly? I don’t know if it would work at this point, but might be worth a shot?”

“You want to try for her cell phone?”

“Yeah, she might not have it with her, maybe she might have left it in the car or in the apartment prior to the raid… but there’d be no harm in at least trying, yeah?”

Morrigan considered it for a moment, and shrugged. “I can give you a burner phone, and you can try it. Here.” She reached into one of her pockets and handed a flip phone to Dave.

“Thank you.” He dialed in Chris’s number and held the phone to his ear. It went to voicemail, so he tried again. And again. He was about to give up on the third try when he heard the line being picked up.

“Who is this?” Chris asked from the other end, her voice wrought with suspicion.

He had honestly thought that it wouldn’t work. He stammered in his reply. “Chris? Chris it’s me! It’s Dave!”
“Dave… oh my god…” The other end was silent for a few moments, and he thought she might have dropped the call. But she responded before long, likely having needed to regain her composure. “Are you alright? Where are you?” she asked, her voice sounding close to cracking.

“I’m alright. I’m alright. And I… I don’t really know where I am right now, but I’m-” he stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Morrigan staring at him and shaking her head.

“No details over unsecured lines,” she whispered. “Catching up can wait. Find out where she is first.”

He nodded. “Okay, yeah, sure,” he replied, still holding the phone next to his mouth.

“Dave, who’s that? Who are you talking to?”

“Shit. Uh, I can’t say right now, Chris. I need to know where you are. I’ll explain everything to you in person, alright?”

“Dave… who the fuck is that you’re talking to…”

“Please, I said I’ll explain. But right now I need to know where you are. Please, just trust me. It’s a very good explanation, I promise.”

The line went silent for another short while, and Chris gave Dave an address, then abruptly hung up.

He relayed it to Morrigan, who performed a quick online search. The address came up as a motel in Kansas.

The expression on Dave’s face was one of joy and immeasurable relief. “Okay, we have to head over there straight away. I have to see her.”
“Not so fast,” she said, closing the laptop. “She heard you talking to me and got suspicious, right?”

“Yeah, but... “

“It’s possible she now thinks you’ve sold her out to the authorities.”

He was almost taken aback. “If that were true, why would she have given us the address?”

“Who knows. She could be setting up a trap. Maybe she just wants to see you again one last time, believing she’ll be taken in immediately afterwards. She might just not be thinking straight, still reeling from the shock of hearing you on the line. But regardless of her reasons, it’s possible she’s going to be prone to doing something very rash, now that you’ve compromised your own situation.”

“What would you be suggesting, then?”

“That you let me go ahead with my original plan of assembling a team. They can go in and nab her, and we’ll be able to explain everything to her in a controlled, safe environment.”

“You want to give her the black bag treatment? No way! And besides, she might get hurt in the process!”

“With the people I have on hand for this sort of op, she’ll be just fine, I can assure you. And, honestly, this is much safer for all parties involved than walking in there blind or calling on the cops to handle it.”

“Fuck…” Dave paced around the room, running his hands through his hair and cursing under his breath. “I… I just want to make sure she isn’t harmed…”

Morrigan grabbed Dave’s arm, stopping him from pacing, and looked him straight in the eye. “You have my word.”


=====
Dave took a deep breath. “Alright… you’ve giving me your word, I’ll take it then…”

“Good. Now, I have to make some calls… get a few things set up, slap together a team. It’s going to be a few hours. You should get some rest, calm your nerves.”

“Where, the cots in the next room, right?”

She nodded.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll have someone rouse you when everything’s ready.”

And so, Dave rested for a while. It was a far cry from a five star hotel, but still leagues better than the nights he’d spent in a cell. By degrees, he fell asleep. It seemed like only a mere few moments had passed before someone was shaking his shoulder.

“Mmmm… what…”

“Get up. Time to move,” said a gruff voice.

Dave opened his eyes to see a large black man standing over him. He looked like the very spitting image of a stereotypical Man in Black, with a bald head, sharp suit, earpiece and sunglasses. A black Man in Black. Dave chuckled. The man was not quite so amused, and left the room without another word. Dave stood up and followed him out.

Morrigan was standing by the door with a briefcase in hand. “Sleeping like a dead man in there, eh? Come on, then. Downstairs to the car.”

“Do I need to put on the bag again?”

“What do you think?” she counterposed, handing the item in question to him.

He groaned and slipped it on.

“Good boy.”

Another long drive ensued, though it didn’t take nearly as long as the first one. They were parked up somewhere on the outskirts of a city when he was allowed to remove the bag from his head and breathe freely again.

“Looks like we got here just in time,” said Morrigan, holding binoculars in one hand and a two-way radio in the other, staring at a motel across the street from them. “The operation’s about to commence.” She passed the binoculars to Dave.

Peering through them, all he saw was a somewhat rundown building that could have been a motel complex but could have just as well been a long term storage facility, minus the orange garage doors.

“What room is she in?” he asked.

“Room 107.”

Dave counted down the room numbers next to the doors until he located the door of Chris’s room. “I don’t see anything.”

“Because I haven’t given the order yet.” She depressed a button on the radio. “Entry team, you have the green light.”

Dave then noticed some movement in his peripheral vision, and shifted the binoculars to get a better look at it. He saw a column of men in five men in street clothes, balaclavas, helmets and plate carriers making their way along the building’s wall, guns up and at the ready, covering their sectors.

“I'm not so sure about this anymore,” said Dave, sounding worried.

“It's the safest way,” replied Morrigan, finger still hovering over the radio’s transmit button. “It presents the least risk to all parties involved.”

“Unless she gets shot.”

“The team is equipped with less-than-lethal munitions. FN 303’s, beanbags, the works. She's not at risk for taking a bullet.”

“She could still get hurt, though.”

“I understand your concerns, but these men are professionals. They have years of experience and many successful raids like this under their belts.”

The column stopped in front of room 106, and the pointman, dressed in a garish blue Hawaiian shirt under his carrier, opened the door and let everyone inside.

“I thought she was in 107…”

“They won't risk a frontal approach. They're going in through the wall.”

“Oh god… this is a mistake, call it off, let me talk to her!”

“Too late for second thoughts.” She spoke into the radio again. “Support team, hit the lights, spook her,” she ordered.

A pair of white, unmarked Crown Victorias sped into the parking lot, blue and red light bars flashing, but without sirens. They screeched to a halt a short distance from room 107, and Dave saw the curtain in the window quickly swish, no doubt as Chris retreated from it in a panic.

In a few moments, there was a muffled thump, followed by a nine sharp pops in quick succession, accompanied by nine consecutive flashes visible through the drawn curtains.
Several seconds of silence passed, then the door of room 107 was thrown open and the five men rushed out with a woman in tow, her wrists bound with zipties and a black bag over her head. One of the men had a squirming dog under one arm, a little black bag over its head as well.

They made a beeline for the Crown Victorias and piled in with their quarry, and the cars promptly peeled out of the parking lot and sped off.

Morrigan tapped her driver on the shoulder. “They’re clear. Head to the rally point.”

Dave had his head in his hands as the engine started. “Oh god… she’s gonna hate me so much…”

“She’ll get over it. They always do.”

Meanwhile…

Chris found herself unable to think straight, to concentrate after what had just transpired. Her head was hurting, ears were ringing. The bag on her head deprived her of sight, even kept her from breathing too hard or too fast, for when she did, the thick fabric prevented the air from escaping too quickly, and made the interior hot and unbearable. There were two men sitting on either side of her, sandwiching her in place, and the zipties further cemented her situation.

She knew this would happen. She regretted talking to Dave, regretted not hanging the phone up immediately. He’d sold her out. Maybe for his own freedom. Now she was the one getting fucked. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

The men didn’t speak to her, not even to each other. Even when the car stopped and they piled out and dragged her with them. She was weak in the knees, but they hooked their arms under her shoulders and she stumbled along with their assistance. Down a flight of stairs, into a basement of some sort. A metal door opened, she was shuffled in and sat down on a metal chair.

And from there, she waited.

She wasn’t sure for how long, but with no way of telling time, it could have been minutes or it could have been hours.

The metal door opened and closed again, and the bag was pulled from her head. She snapped her gaze around the room in a panicky way. It was too dark to make out any details. The only source of illumination was an incandescent lamp over her head, the light of which just barely touched on the edge of a metal table.

“Hello, Chris,” said a woman’s voice from across the table, shrouded in the darkness. There was a small flash of light as a cigarette was lit, and Chris saw her captor’s face outlined by the dim orange light of the ember.

“What is this? Who are you?”

“You’re very good at hide and seek, aren’t you?” asked the woman, ignoring Chris’s questions.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Pulling such a disappearing act that even the FBI can’t find you… rather impressive, for a civilian.”

Chris gulped. “I have absolutely no idea why you guys would want me, I’ve done nothing wrong, I don’t associate with criminals, either…”

The woman blew some smoke in Chris’s direction. “Cut the shit, girl. We’re not with the FBI. We’re not in the business of catching criminals.”

“What’s all this about, then?”

“This is about all that you and your little boyfriend have been up to for the past year. All those little misadventures in the wilderness. And the knowledge you’ve acquired from it.”

Chris’s eyes widened, and she started to go pale. “Who are you? Are you CIA?”

“Oh, no no no, we’re even spookier than that.”

“Am I being silenced? I know too much? Is that it?”

“You could say that.” She saw the woman make a gesture to someone behind her. She heard heavy footfalls approach, but she couldn’t turn her head far enough to see the man behind her.

“Oh god please no, please please please…” Tears formed in her eyes as she begged. “Please not this, please god…”

“Do it.”

Chris screamed… as she found her wrists suddenly freed from their restraints. Immediately, fluorescent lights buzzed to life, and she found herself blinded. She covered her eyes, cursing aloud.

The woman started laughing, clapping her hands. “Oh man, the look on your face. Priceless.”

“I don’t- what the fuck’s going on, I don’t understand!”

“Calm down, Chris, no need to yell. You’re not actually in any danger.”
“I’m not?” she asked, breathless.

“Of course not. I was just having some fun with you.”

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” she shouted. “This is your idea of fun?”

“Quiet down. Think about it from my perspective.”

“Your perspective?”

“Yes. What’s the point of being a clandestine government spook if you don’t get to use that status to fuck with people?”

“So… so I’m not being killed? Or sent to Guantanamo Bay?”

The woman shook her head, still smirking.

Chris grumbled, still pissed at being laughed at. “How do I know you’re not still fucking with me?”

“How about a show of good faith, then?” The woman looked over at the guard standing behind Chris. “Be a dear, let him in here. I’m sure he’s anxious enough for a reunion.”

The man, whom Chris recognized as one of the men who’d nabbed her from the motel, stepped out of the room for a few moments, and returned with Dave in tow.

Chris leapt to her feet. “Jesus Christ, Dave?”

“Chris, thank god!” He went to embrace her.

She immediately slapped him, hard enough to leave a stinging red mark on his cheek and cause him to stagger. “You fucking asshole!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

He was about to stammer out an explanation when she then wrapped her arms around his torso and all but crushed the breath out of him with a bearhug. “I fucking missed you… you fucking asshole… I was so worried…” She buried her face in his chest, and carefully, he put his arms around her as well, letting one of his hands come to rest on top of her head.

Morrigan watched for a few moments, before checking her watch and clearing her throat. “This is touching and all, but I actually don’t have all day for this. Dave, let’s get her caught up with current events, shall we?”
One quick rundown later...

“...”

“Now that you’re all caught up, what do you say?” asked Morrigan, twirling a pen between her fingers.

“You’re saying we’re free to go, yeah? Well, I want to leave, right goddamn now. Enough of this shit, I don’t want any part of it.” Chris tried to get up from the seat, but Dave put his hand on her shoulder.

“Come on Chris, let’s just consider this for a moment. We like what we do, right? This could give us the opportunity to keep doing it with a bit of actual support behind us.”

“I see you’re drinking the goddamn kool-aid, but I don’t buy it.”

“What about this don’t you buy?” asked Morrigan, her patience starting to wear. “You’d think it’d be something to be flattered by.”

“It just doesn’t make any goddamned sense to me. I’d be flattered if it made sense. Why would some clandestine government organization decide to induct untrained civilians into their ranks? They aren’t worried about OPSEC? They aren’t worried about them proving to be utterly incompetent?”

Morrigan leaned forward. “You think we just extend this offer to anyone? No, we watch you for a while. We observe you, we check your past, we test you. The two of you are far from perfect candidates. And you’re right, OPSEC is a bit of a concern considering we first found you blabbing on about your exploits on a Taiwanese Basketweaving Symposium.”

“Then why extend the offer to us?”
“Because inexperience can be remedied, tactics can be taught, and the idea of keeping your mouth shut can be reinforced. My point being, I feel, overall, you could be valuable additions to our organization.”

“I still don’t get it… why *us*? Why would *we* be valuable, when you could probably get soldiers? Special forces guys, CIA spies, whatever?”

Morrigan folded her hands together and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Hunting cryptids causes a certain kind of…” she began, making a gesture, trying to come up with phrasing. “A certain kind of stress. At least, in most people it does. We’re not too sure what causes it; probably has to do with being in close contact with that-which-should-not-be, but for all we know, we could chalk it up to goddamn magic. Point is, if someone’s not acclimated to it, after a while hunting causes a degradation of one’s mental health. It can even culminate in physiological effects. Schizophrenia, suicidal tendencies, full on mental breakdowns, aneurysms, bleeding from the ears, the eyes, the mouth, etcetera.”

She paused for a moment, pulling a folder from the suitcase sitting in front of her on the table. “It’s a mixed bag, but if one can’t handle the special sort of mental strain hunting cryptids puts on you, then eventually you just lose it. And this happens in spite of training, and prior experience with conventionally stressful situations, like combat, seem to have little bearing.”

Chris and Dave looked at each other, wearing expressions of surprise. “Are you saying we’re immune to this stuff? Because I don’t think either of us have experienced those kinds of symptoms…”

“You could say that. You two seem to have a very high resistance to the… degenerative effect cryptids seem to have on most people.”

“And that’s why you can’t just pull from government and military ranks then? Why you can’t just go for the most experienced guys out there?”
Morrigan tapped her pen on her folder. “Precisely. We have to find people who can handle this work. There’s other benefits to this approach, of course. Since you’d be a contractor, you can walk away at any time.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking? Any time?”

“Mhm. No questions asked. Of course, we’ll have you sign a few things to make sure you don’t go talking about your experiences with us to anyone. Not like anyone would believe a word you’d say about all of this, but still.”

Chris looked over at Dave. Her expression was an attempt to portray lingering doubt and apprehension, but both he and Morrigan could tell she was now seriously considering the proposition. Dave shrugged. “It’s up to you. I’m in if you are. If not, then I’m not.”

“I don’t need an answer from you right now,” said Morrigan. “We can give you some time to consider it all, because I know it’s a lot to take in for such a short period of time.” She pulled a couple of packets from her folder and passed one to each of them. “Sign these, and we’ll drop you back off at your home. Just some simple non-disclosure agreements. You can read them if you want but it’s full of legal jargon, a waste of time in my opinion.”

She pulled something else from the folder and passed it over to them as well. It was a small slip of paper with a phone number written down on it, a toll free number. “When you’ve made a decision, call that. Ask after me. I’ll be waiting for your call.” She stood up and placed the folder back into her suitcase. She picked it up, brushed off her suit jacket and headed for the door.

A day later…

Dave and Chris made their way up the stairs to their apartment. Dave had his arms over Chris’s shoulders, the previous two weeks of forced separation still weighing heavily on him. He couldn’t help but to keep Chris close.

They came up to their door. It was still half-disintegrated from the FBI raid, and it was wrapped up with neon yellow crime scene tape. The landlord had always been a lazy bastard, and apparently hadn’t gotten around to repairing the damage.

The interior wasn’t much better. The investigators had tossed the place, even going so far as to rip cabinets off the walls and rip open couch cushions.

“God damn it if they weren’t thorough,” Dave muttered under his breath.

“You know, after this, I don’t think Mr. Chang’s gonna be very keen on us coming back to live here,” said Chris, sounding despondent as she kicked a stray piece of wood across the floor.

“So I figured, too. I still think we should talk to him.”

“I doubt it’ll do much good. We’ll need to find a new place.”

Dave walked over to one of the windows overlooking the street below. “Hey. I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“What about my cabin?”

“That dusty old thing? It’s probably full of rats and termites.”

“Right now, sure. But together we can probably fix it up.”

“What makes you think I’d want to go live there, anyway?” Chris asked, hands on her hips.

“Well, for starters, I own it free and clear thanks to dear old Dad. Even if shit like this were to ever happen again, it’ll still be there when we get back. Plus, we can make it our own. Fortify it. Make it into the perfect SHTF retreat.”

“What, like dig trenches? Make a bunker?”

“Why the hell not? Who’s going to tell us otherwise? We’ve got our own money, we can do this shit.” Dave’s smile was growing by the moment as his mind flowed with the possibilities.

Chris snorted, his glee becoming infectious. Running a hand through her hair, she sighed. “Alright. I suppose we can try that.”

Dave grinned, then went over and kissed her on the cheek. “Great. We can make it bear-proof, skinwalker-proof, ATF-proof. If they want to shoot our dog, they’ll have to make it past the punji pits first!”

“Okay, Ho Chi Minh, let’s not get carried away.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She wrapped her arms around him and held him for a while, the pair standing amidst the localized destruction with the dying light of day filtering in through the blinds. “We should probably find a hotel for the night. Unless you’re keen on sleeping in the car. I know I’m not.”

Dave nodded. “And there’s still the matter of that… thing. The offer.”
Chris was quiet for another good minute before responding. “I’ve been giving that a lot of thought, actually… and I have to admit I’ve been warming up to it more and more…”

“I was sort of hoping you’d say that. I just didn’t want to make any decisions without you being on board.”

“I know. Thank you for that.” Chris took a few deep, slow breaths, making some final considerations in her head. “Yeah,” she spoke with an exhale, “Make the call. Let’s do it.”