Delta Green - All Part of the Job

[Audrik]

Let's Learn Aklo - Session 1d

Only a few miles away, DEA Special Agent Carl Clark was enjoying a visit with his cousin. Clark was from Virginia, and he was on vacation. Of course, he was also Delta Green, which meant he was never truly on vacation. His cousin was in the kitchen ordering a pizza for dinner, so Clark had taken the opportunity to check his email. As he was clearing his spam folder, a window popped up on the screen of his laptop. Clark knew his way around computers, and he had taken every precaution necessary to block that sort of thing. This pop up could only mean one thing: an Opera.

The message was nothing more than a television channel and a phone number. His cousin didn’t have a television, so Clark brought up the station’s live feed on his laptop. There was a press conference in progress, and Police Captain James Kerr was relating the known facts. A language studies group had reserved a conference room at the Old First Ward Community Center. There were multiple deaths. He could not comment just yet on numbers, causes, identities, terrorism, or anything else until a proper investigation had commenced and next-of-kin were notified.

Great. Some nerds got together, and things went pear-shaped. It was possible the Program would only need him to cover the bases and make sure nothing supernatural needed to be covered up, but it was much more likely they had a good reason to believe a cover-up was necessary.

He called the number. The number wasn’t familiar, but the voice on the other end was. It was his handler, a man he knew only as Agent Voss. After confirming that he had seen the news, Clark asked what it had to do with him. He was on vacation. Voss told him an informant on the scene, a firefighter named Sam Misner, had reported a possibly paranormal event. Clark was the only person with Delta Green clearance in the area, and so it fell to him to investigate. He was to survey the crime scene and conceal or destroy any evidence of the paranormal.

There was one known survivor who had recently tripped red flags in Program databases, a State Department software engineer named Dolf de Jaager. So far, de Jaager was not considered a threat, but his interests were suspicious and merited monitoring. He may be a potential recruit, or he may need to be put down.

Clark told his cousin he was going on a beer run and would be back shortly. He then made his way to the community center. Once on scene, he flashed his DEA credentials to the officer guarding the entrance. The officer nodded and stepped aside with only a caution that Clark should not disturb the crime scene while the investigation was in progress.

The conference room was a bloody mess. The bodies had been removed, but there were masking tape outlines and numbered A-frame evidence markers to show where each had fallen. Clark looked around but didn’t see anything unnatural at first; not until he saw sunlight in a large mirror shard. He took a knee and picked up the shard. It was definitely from a mirror, but no matter which direction he turned it, the reflection never moved. It was well past 10:00 PM, and yet the piece of mirror seemed to reflect the room at a point during the day. That was strange, but whatever. He figured the less he knew, the better.

He couldn’t let the Buffalo Police collect any of the shards, though; at least not any which were big enough for anyone to realize they weren’t quite right. He also couldn’t let them catch him disposing of them, but at the moment, the only other person who could see him was the guy Delta Green has told him to watch. As casually as he could, Clark began to break mirror shards into smaller pieces.

He then interviewed de Jaager. The software engineer gave a faithful recounting of the past twelve weeks, omitting only the parts about the glowing blue man. Like Charlie and Dolf, Clark also thought the FedEx packages sounded unusual. Still, de Jaager seemed relatively harmless for the time being, so Clark wrapped up his interview and investigation.

He placed a call to his handler and gave his report. Evidence had been contained, and de Jaager didn’t appear to be a threat. Voss instructed Clark to maintain a watch on de Jaager over the next few weeks. If the software engineer kept quiet about the event and still seemed harmless, Clark should make a recruitment pitch. In most cases, someone in de Jaager’s position would be allowed to remain oblivious if he could stay quiet, and he would disappear or be discredited if not. In this case, de Jaager was the only survivor of a group which had studied Aklo, a language the Program knew to be supernatural. He would be a strong asset.

Clark agreed, but he wasn’t doing anything further tonight. Tonight, he was on vacation. Tonight was for pizza, beer, and family.

 

[Audrik]

Reverberations - Session 1a

Clark watched de Jaager for about a month before determining the software engineer would be a good fit for the Program. The experience at the community center had unnerved de Jaager, but he handled it well. He had refused interviews with local and national media outlets, and he said nothing of the incident to coworkers or his significant other, Leah. He also refused to forget what had happened. Instead, de Jaager had continued his study of Aklo and was making progress. Either that burning need for understanding would make him a fine asset for Delta Green, or it would be his downfall. Probably both.

Clark had never given the Delta Green sales pitch, but de Jaager made it easy. There was a Special Access Program with black budget funding and a mandate to defend the United States against just the sort of thing which had happened to him? Where did he sign? There was nowhere to sign. In fact, there was to be no written record of the Program at all. Special access, and all that.

Dolf felt that was all he needed to know. Well, that and the secret handshake. Clark knew there was no secret handshake, but that didn’t stop him from teaching one to de Jaager. It closely resembled a game of Patty Cake with a thumb wrestling element near the end. For his part, de Jaager was sure Clark was messing with him, but he wanted to see how far the DEA man would take it.

That handshake was the last contact the two men had for the next two months. It was early June when Dolf got his first call. He was to attend a briefing in Albany, New York the following day.

He arrived at the ordinary, three-story office building about a half-hour early and sat in his car to drink his coffee and watch the people. A steady stream of people in suits arrived for what appeared to be just another day at the office. He didn’t see Clark in the crowd, but one man did stand out.

Damn, did he stand out. While everyone else was dressed for office work in midsummer New York, this guy was wearing a wool jacket and cap. The man was almost pale enough to hurt Dolf’s eyes from across the street.

With no Clark in sight and briefing time approaching, de Jaager headed into the building and found the room. Everything about the building screamed generic office building, and the briefing room was no different. It was an internal room with no windows. There was plenty of seating, a podium, a whiteboard, and a table with coffee and hot water for tea. The pale man nodded and introduced himself as Cualin Dempsey, CIA.

The two men took their seats as another entered. The newcomer was tall and athletic with short hair. He wore a neatly-tailored blue suit.

“The name’s Voss. I’ll be your handler for this Operation. It’s just the two of you for now, but a third will be briefed separately and sent after as soon as he’s cleared. I’ll get straight to the point: Reverb. The DEA is investigating a network of otherwise unrelated gangs engaged in smuggling and drugs. DEA auditors reconstructed some of the network’s financial books from interviews and uncovered financial records. This audit found a disturbing pattern of mid-level ‘employees’ – dealers – vanishing without a trace. A common factor seems to be involvement with a hallucinogen called Reverb, but this drug doesn’t seem to be a part of the network’s activities. We don’t know if these dealers are all in hiding, or if the organization is cleaning house.”

Dolf was new to all this, so he sat quietly and listened. Not Dempsey. The Irishman interrupted the briefing several times to ask questions which Dolf was sure Voss would have gotten to in time. Did the Program care about some drug dealers in … Where were they going? Chicago, and no. The drug dealers themselves weren’t the focus; they were the catalyst and the lead. Then, the Program wanted them to get a hold of some of this Reverb for sampling? Yes, and no. Program chemists had no samples of the new Reverb for analysis, but they might be able to confirm if it bears any relation to the original.

Original? Dempsey was lost, but Voss assured him that if he’d only sit back, shut up, and listen, he would be fine. In the 1990s, Reverb was connected with Chicago Tcho-Tcho street gangs. The Tcho-Tchos, Dolf explained, were a people from somewhere in Southeast Asia. He didn’t know much other than what he had been able to piece together from his research on Aklo, but the impression he got was that they were bad news. Voss confirmed Dolf’s impression.

 

[Audrik]

Reverberations - Session 1b

“The Tcho-Tchos are a corrupted people. Don’t trust them. As for Reverb, it didn’t just get people high. It exposed them to unnatural forces. Your assignment is to confirm whether this new Reverb has unnatural effects, find the source, and cut off the supply. DEA Spec Ops Agent Carl Clark is currently on assignment, but he is being pulled. He will meet up with you as soon as possible. Clark will be your contact with the DEA in general and the DEA auditor specifically. Mr. de Jaager, you are vital to this Operation due to your knowledge and understanding of the Tcho-Tcho language. Mr. Dempsey, you are being assigned for your … rather unique set of skills. The two of you and Agent Clark are being designated Task Force 138. You’ll likely be working closely with each other on future Operations.”

Voss slid a Visa card out toward the agents, and Dempsey quickly grabbed it. The card had a limit of $5,000.00. If more was needed, Voss might be able to get additional funding. Flight, rental car, and hotel reservations had already been made.

To no one’s surprise, Dempsey had a few questions. Voss had short answers.

“First class tickets?”

“No.”

“Are we getting a BMW?”

“No. A Jeep Cherokee. You will be moving around some of the shadier parts of Chicago, and you’ll be expected to keep your rental from being stolen or stripped.”

“Okay. That makes sense. Are we in the Ritz-Carlton or the Waldorf Astoria?”

“Neither. You have a single room with two beds and a foldout couch at a Motel 6.”

Dempsey glanced at the Visa and then looked over to de Jaager with a wink. Dolf shrugged.

With the briefing concluded, the two men headed for the airport. On the way, they discussed their qualifications and their strategy. Anything shady and drug-related, Dempsey would handle. If the Irishman didn’t get them all killed, Dolf would handle the Tcho-Tchos. It was foolproof!

So, where did they start? Dempsey said the best way to find a new drug on the street was to find a source of marijuana. Once they’d bought enough, the dealer would open up about other opportunities. What they didn’t use themselves, they could use to bribe the drug users they would need to interview.

Dolf was a little skeptical, but the Irishman seemed to think he knew what he was talking about. In that case, the question was still the same. Where did they start? The first combination tanning salon/laundromat they could find. All the best drugs came from tanning salon/laundromats.

Task Force 138 landed at Chicago O’Hare a little before noon. Dempsey took the opportunity to mention how nice it was to see an Irishman’s name attached to the busiest airport in the world, and de Jaager took the opportunity to point out that Butch O’Hare was from St. Louis, and O’Hare was closer to 5th or 6th busiest. Atlanta, Beijing, Dubai … probably Tokyo and Los Angeles, too, were all busier.

The Irishman shrugged and led the way to the rental car counter. Once they’d collected their gear and luggage, they loaded it all into the Jeep Cherokee and headed out. Dolf wanted to drop everything off at the Motel 6, but Dempsey was driving, and he wanted to get to work. They drove around for nearly an hour. They passed by several tanning salons and several more laundromats, each with someone out front who could easily have sold them something illegal. Dempsey was adamant they find a combination tanning salon/laundromat, however. Eventually, they found what they were after: Tan ‘N’ Wash.

 

[Audrik]

Reverberations - Session 1c

It wasn’t the most inviting building, as the bullet-damaged fake brick façade could attest, but it did meet both of Dempsey’s criteria. And the scrawny white kid in the Jim Croce t-shirt out front was their guy. Dolf waited in the Jeep while Dempsey went to make the buy and get some information. The initial marijuana purchase was fast and effortless, and that opened the door for further talk. Dempsey wasted no time asking about Reverb, and that seemed to catch the kid a little off guard.

Dempsey seemed every bit the dumb tourist, so the kid figured he was harmless. He said he didn’t sell anything harder than what Dempsey just bought, but if anyone could point the Irishman in the right direction, it would be High Sally. High Sally didn’t use Reverb as far as the kid knew, but she knew everyone. She could usually be found behind the Salvation Army next to the Tan ‘N’ Wash over on Fulton Street. Dempsey thanked the kid and returned to the Jeep to fill in de Jaager. Another tanning salon/laundromat … Maybe the Irishman did know what he was talking about.
The kid’s directions were excellent. Once they’d found the Tan ‘N’ Wash, Dempsey had no trouble finding High Sally. As before, de Jaager stayed in the Jeep.

Dempsey confirmed that the pale and obviously high woman he was talking to was indeed High Sally, and then he told her the kid at the other Tan ‘N’ Wash had given him her name. He asked if she could point him in the direction of some Reverb, and High Sally said she wasn’t sure if she’d ever heard of that but maybe if she thought about it … or more to the point, maybe if she had a few portraits of U.S. presidents done up in a beautiful monochrome green …?

Dempsey gave her the last $60 in his wallet and the bag of marijuana he’d bought from the kid at the other place. That seemed to help a little. High Sally was now able to remember how Reverb dealers had been going missing lately. She was pretty sure there were a couple who were still around, but just what their names were or where they could be found … Dempsey told her to hold that thought, and he grumbled all the way to the nearest ATM. Then he grumbled all the way back.

When he returned, he gave High Sally another $60. That brought back the names. There was Roofie and Bad Luke. To her knowledge, they hadn’t disappeared. Roofie was Rufus LaRoyal Brown, and Bad Luke was Lucien Riggs. As for where Dempsey might find them … she was trying to remember. Dempsey narrowed his eyes and handed her the rest of the cash he’s pulled from the ATM; $140. Ah, there. That was better. High Sally paraphrased William Blake.

“There, now. It’s like the doors of perception have been cleansed.”

The reference went straight over Dempsey’s head. So, too, did the implication that a druggie in a Salvation Army lot in Chicago might be more widely-read than he was.

He didn’t care. Locations. Did she know where Roofie and Bad Luke were? She did. Roofie had been arrested earlier that morning on charges of heroin possession with intent to sell. Dempsey could look him up at the station down the street. The Irishman briefly contemplated hitting High Sally and taking his money back. Okay, and Bad Luke? Bad Luke was usually at the Tan ‘N’ Wash on Ashland Avenue.

Dempsey thanked High Sally for her time and returned to the Jeep. High Sally thanked Dempsey for his cash and returned to her Hunter S. Thompson novel.

Again, Dempsey related the information he’d learned, but he left out the bit about getting taken for $260. Dolf nodded as he considered the leads. His suggestion was to get lunch, head to the Motel 6, and see just when Agent Clark was going to arrive. If they were going to have a talk with Roofie, a DEA agent would make things a lot easier.

 

[Dannyalcatraz]

Many of your last several posts are nearly invisible, Nomessiah. Here’s why and how to correct it.
http://www.enworld.org/forum/showthread.php?348563-Dark-Text-on-a-Dark-Background-Tutorial

 

[Audrik]

Reverberations - Session 2a

Dolf called Agent Clark and gave a quick, sanitized synopsis of the current Opera and requested assistance. Clark had already been contacted by the Task Force’s handler, Voss, and he had been pulled from his assignment. He was already booked on a flight to Chicago and would be there before dinner time. That was good enough for de Jaager. He and Dempsey had a late lunch, and de Jaager passed the time by researching mentions of Reverb in old news stories.

Once Clark had arrived, de Jaager and Dempsy gave him a more detailed briefing. The next step seemed to be an interview with Roofie, so they made their way to the precinct where the drug dealer was being held. Clark showed his DEA credentials to the officer at the front desk who then called for a Detective Johnson.

Clark and Johnson spoke briefly and reached an agreement. Clark and Dempsey would interview Roofie in Interrogation Room 1 on an unrelated matter, and de Jaager would observe and film the interview from behind the one-way mirror. In exchange for privacy, the agents would gladly turn over any names or leads they gained. Of course, Roofie knew his rights, and so he might not be willing to say anything without his lawyer present, but the DEA agent was confident he could get the dealer to talk freely.

Detective Johnson had Roofie moved to the interrogation room and left the agents to their work. Rufus LaRoyal Brown, aka “Roofie,” was a tall, African American man, but slumped in his chair as he was, he was unintimidating. Clark introduced himself as Agent Plant and was about to introduce Dempsey as Agent Bonham, but the Irishman interrupted with a cover of his own: Tate. Clark shot Dempsey a quick glare. Did he mean Page? Did he not understand that when you choose a cover identity, it should be the name of a rock star?

Agent “Tate” took over the interrogation from there, and he didn’t waste any time before throwing out the word Roofie seemed to feel was coming: Deal. If Roofie answered their questions about Reverb, they would do their level best to get him released.

Not good enough. Roofie sat up straight and leaned forward with his hands folded on the table. An ear to ear grin spread across his face.

“Reverb ain’t illegal. Look, man, they got me in here on heroin charges. Heroin! I don’t mess with that, and they know it. But you. You can get me out of here. You’re the DEA, man. Flash that badge of yours and take jurisdiction. Trust me. Detective Johnson gets off on that sort of thing.”

Dempsey doubled down on his offer. They couldn’t get him released unless his information checked out, but if he would give up some names that turned out to be good, he’d be out on the streets tonight. Again, not good enough. Roofie seemed to feel he had the upper hand.

“I’ll give you the name of the guy I get my stuff from, and I’ll tell you where he is. Then you walk me out that door and tell Johnson he’s got nothing.”

“Sure. You give us that, and we’ll walk you out the door.”

“Guy named Spider J gets it to me. He’s got a room long-term at the Talbott Hotel.”

Neither man noticed Clark go stiff at the mention of Roofie’s source. He knew Spider J. Spider J was Jacob Simmons, a 32-year-old African American veteran of the U.S. Army. He was a former contractor with the heavily militarized security firm Academi which had previously been known as Blackwater. Simmons had done two tours in Afghanistan before being court-martialed for suspicion of smuggling. The charges didn’t stick, and so he received an honorable discharge.

He was also the man responsible for the incident which put Clark in Delta Green’s sights. Clark was running surveillance for a DEA operation targeting an opium smuggling ring. Spider J got spooked and slipped out the back. Clark hopped out of the van to intercept him, but Spider J threw a pinch of something right into Clark’s face. Not long after that, the hallucinations hit, only they weren’t hallucinations. At least, Clark was confident, some of them were honest to goodness visions. He was placed on extended medical and psychiatric leave, and that’s when Delta Green had contacted him. Spider J had dosed him with something they called the Liao drug, a powerful hallucinogen with unnatural properties. The psychiatrists thought he was crazy, but the man from Delta Green believed him. More importantly, the man from Delta Green could get him out and back to work.

Dempsey nodded to Roofie and let him know they’d be back for him if the information was good. Roofie’s eyes narrowed. He was mad, but he didn’t lose his composure or his smile.

“That wasn’t the deal, man, but you know what? I don’t care. You’ll be back in twenty minutes. You ain’t gonna find Spider J at the Talbott.”

Dempsey didn’t listen. He walked out. Clark decided to follow up.

“Why won’t we find him there?”

“He’s not there under his name, man.”

Clark sarcastically feigned surprise.

“You mean, he didn’t check into a 4-star hotel under the name Spider J?! We’ll find him. I know his real name and his aliases.”

“He ain’t there under those either. His girl pays cash for the room. You want to find him, you need her name. You want her name, I walk out that door. That’s the deal.”

 

[Audrik]

Reverberations - Session 2b

Clark wasn’t in the mood to be pushed around by a smalltime dealer. He repeated Dempsey’s words: “We’ll be back for you if it checks out.”

The agents stopped at the front desk to let Detective Johnson know they could have Roofie back and to ignore him if he mentioned anything about a deal. Clark gave Johnson his card in case he needed anything. He told the detective Roofie had named Spider J as his source, but he left out the part about where he could be found. Detective Johnson was pleased enough with the new lead.

Clark used de Jaager’s laptop and his own DEA login to access the NCIC, the National Crime Information Center. Spider J had never been arrested, but he had been investigated, so there were plenty of photographs.

On their way to the Talbott, the agents discussed their leads and their strategy. They had the name of a source, and they knew where to find him – sort of. Dolf would get a room at the Talbott and then sit in the lobby watching for Spider J or anything suspicious. Meanwhile, Clark and Dempsey would check out a popular but shady nightclub called Studio Overground for anyone who might know about Reverb.

First, though, Clark needed to get ready. It had been months since he’d been to a nightclub. He was what he called a recovering bro, and the nightclub scene brought all fratty bro culture screaming back. As Dempsey drove, Clark hopped into the backseat of the Cherokee and put on his cargo shorts, sandals, and oxford shirt being careful to leave the top three buttons unbuttoned. By the time they arrived, his hair was adequately spiky and stiff enough to hold his sunglasses. Dempsey rolled his eyes and asked if Clark was supposed to be Abercrombie or Fitch.

Inside, Studio Overground was dark, and the dancefloor was packed with people dancing to old hip hop and pop rock. Dempsey recognized some of it, but Clark could sing the words to everything from Coolio, Run-D.M.C., and Beastie Boys to Third Eye Blind, Maroon 5, and Nickelback.

Dempsey sat at the bar while Clark mingled. After an hour or so, they had two leads. A waitress and a kid in his early 20s had talked to each other for a couple minutes, and they had mentioned Reverb. Dempsey flagged down the waitress and pointed to a random appetizer on the menu.

“I’ll take one of these, and I was hoping you could get me something special that’s not on the menu.”

The waitress winked and said she wasn’t that kind of girl, but she’d be happy to get his fried spinach. She seemed surprised. Nobody ever ordered that, but then, Dempsey was quite obviously not from Chicago.

Dempsey whispered loudly enough for her to hear over Salt-N-Peppa. What he meant was, you know, something like Ecstasy? Oh, well, in that case … She wasn’t that kind of girl either. When she came back with his fried spinach, he asked about Reverb. Now, she did know about that.

She said it didn’t just get you high; it made time stretch, and it felt like you repeated the same instant over and over. It also made physical activity like dancing much more intense. She didn’t have any to spare, but if Dempsey wanted some, the guy she got it from would probably be in soon. His name was Roofie.

Dempsey thanked her and went for a piece of whatever appetizer it was he had ordered, but it was already gone. Clark had eaten it all, and to make it worse, he got glitter in the ranch dressing. It was probably time to meet back up with de Jaager anyway.

On their way out, Clark’s phone rang. Detective Johnson had something the DEA boys might want to see. Clark asked if Roofie was okay. The answer was a nervous laugh followed by a curt ‘no.’ The two agents hopped in the Cherokee and sped to the precinct.

Detective Johnson was visibly shaken but holding together well. He thanked them for making it so quickly, and if he noticed the glitter on Clark’s hastily donned suit, he ignored it. First thing was first: the cell. The bars of the cell had been bent outward like something the size and mass of a small truck had hit them. The mattress had been flipped and shredded, and the concrete of the walls and floor had deep gouges. It was like an animal the size of that hypothetical small truck had scratched deeply into the cement.

But there was no Roofie, and there was no blood. The detective confirmed Roofie had not escaped, and he waved them to his office. He shut the door, closed the blinds, and hit play on the digital playback of the closed circuit television security footage. Roofie had been lying on the mattress with a smile on his face when he appeared to hear something from the corner by the toilet. He sat up and looked, and then his eyes went wide. He screamed, but whatever he was seeing wasn’t showing on the video feed.

Suddenly, Roofie’s body was lifted into the air like a doll. If there was indeed something in there with him, whatever it was, it tossed him around like he was a pillow before shredding the meat from his bones. Blood, flesh, and bone went in all directions and none all at once. Nothing made contact with a surface, however; it all vanished into thin air, piece by piece, drop by drop, and splinter by splinter. In about twenty seconds, the cell was demolished, and there was no longer any trace of Rufus LaRoyal Brown.

 

[Audrik]

Reverberations - Session 2c

Clark only flinched and shuddered as if he had been watching a movie. Dempsey became visibly angered and muttered something about how it was just like his brother trashing his room all over again. Clark didn’t ask. Whatever it takes to cope …

Johnson didn’t watch. When it was over, Clark said the words the detective was hoping he would.

“Of course, you realize I’ll have to claim jurisdiction for the DEA on this one. I’ll need that video and your word there are no copies. And no one mentions this until my investigation is complete.”

Detective Johnson was only too happy to turn the case – and the explanation – over to the DEA. Clark and Dempsey left to meet up with de Jaager and let him know one of their leads had vanished. Fortunately, they still had others. The kid at Studio Overground might still be there, and he might want to talk, Spider J was supposedly staying at the Talbott in a room paid for by his girlfriend, and to their knowledge, Bad Luke hadn’t yet disappeared.

Clark was tempted to go back to the nightclub, but he really didn’t want to get his bro gear on again, and he’d used all his glitter on the first run. Instead, he would get another room at the Talbott and then take a self-guided tour of the building. Dempsey and de Jaager could take the club.

Once Clark had checked in, he began to walk the halls on each of the Talbott’s sixteen floors and the stairwells between them. Fortunately, he only had to go as high as the fourth floor before he found what he was sure he was looking for. Someone had installed small wireless cameras in inconspicuous places in the hall; two overlooked the hallway itself, and on was pointed directly at Room 412.

Now, the question was whether the occupant of Room 412 was paranoid and rich or if he was paranoid, rich, and tech savvy. Clark went back to his room and powered up de Jaager’s laptop. He connected to the hotel’s Wi-Fi, and from there, it was a simple matter to find all other devices connected to it. He determined there were the three cameras he’d seen in the hall and one other.

Whoever had installed the cameras had neglected to change the default password, and so with a few keystrokes, Clark had a live feed from all four cameras. The fourth was overlooking the fire escape. The cameras weren’t recording directly, though; they were transmitting. That meant he couldn’t watch anything but the live feed without access to the device to which the cameras were transmitting. He could, however, start a recording of his own.

Once he had that in place, he called de Jaager. Nothing was panning out at the nightclub. Dempsey had come on too strong and spooked the kid. They were headed back to the Talbott.

The agents decided to settle in for the night and get some rest. Dolf took the first shift monitoring the video feed, and Clark took the second. Dempsey refused to do his share and flopped onto one of the beds. The night was uneventful until partway through Clark’s shift. At around 3:00 AM, the cameras picked up a woman exiting the elevator on the fourth floor. The footage was grainy, but she seemed to be Hispanic and in her 30s or 40s.

The woman stopped in front of Room 412, placed her right palm on the door, and bowed her head. She seemed to mutter something, and then she disappeared. A few minutes later, she reappeared on the fire escape seemingly out of thin air. She had something like a briefcase or laptop in her hands which she tossed into the alley below. Then, just as she had appeared, she disappeared. A moment later, the woman appeared once more in the hallway and headed for the elevator.

Clark wasn’t sure what he had just seen, but it was a live feed, so the footage hadn’t been edited. He had been knocking back the Red Bulls like water, so he was sure he wasn’t just tired. He woke de Jaager and showed him the replay. The software engineer confirmed he saw what Clark saw.

On his way out of the room, Clark shoved Dempsey hard enough to wake him up. He pointed to de Jaager and then headed for the alley. The Irishman rubbed his eyes, yawned, and moved to get a look at the replay of the video feed. After seeing it once, he went to check the lobby.

In the alley, Clark found the remains of a laptop computer. It appeared to have been sturdy, but a four-story drop onto concrete caused significant structural damage. Clark was confident; this wouldn’t be his first time salvaging a hard drive from a laptop. He gathered up the pieces. While he worked to pull what he could from the drive, Detective Johnson might be able to pull fingerprints from the case and keys.

 

[Audrik]

Reverberations - Session 3a

Something had happened in Room 412. Hispanic women didn’t just teleport into and out of hotel rooms to destroy laptops. Dempsey figured it was just a Chicago thing. Whatever the case, they needed to know what happened in there. The laptop hard drive might give some answers, and since Clark was going to be playing with computer stuff anyway, he could also watch the camera feed. Dempsy and de Jaager would handle the breaking and entering. The earpieces from Clark’s kit would allow the three to stay in contact.

After a quick regroup in their room, Dempsey was set to take the elevator down to the fourth floor, but de Jaager suggested the fire escape. Room 412 was on their side of the building, so they’d just have to go down three flights. Also, given it was 3:00 AM, it was probably darker outside than in the hallway.

Clark cracked open another Red Bull and waved them off without looking. Of course, the fact Spider J had dosed him with pure Liao drug only a couple years earlier had nothing to do with his staying in the room; he had work to do. Not just anyone could be trusted to monitor four camera feeds while performing forensic analysis on a damaged hard drive. Dolf could, and he could do it every bit as well as Clark, but that was beside the point. Clark had already settled in the chair and opened a Red Bull.

The Irishman and the Dutchman stepped out into the fire escape while the American sat at the computer with a case of energy drinks. Dempsey felt sure there was a joke in there somewhere, but there was a job to do. Breaking and entering. Good work if you could get it.

The blinds were drawn, but the window to Room 412 was unlocked and open slightly. The room was dimly lit, but the early Chicago morning was darker. Through the gap in the blinds, they could just make out a large African American man slumped in a chair. The agents readied their guns. Dempsey could hold his own in a bar fight as long as he only had to look after himself, and de Jaager wasn’t exactly a 98-pound weakling, but this guy was former U.S. Army.

Dempsey quietly slid the window up far enough that they could fit through. He made no announcement before stepping in and holding the man at gunpoint. It was Spider J. The drug dealer didn’t seem surprised. In fact, he seemed a little out of it. The glassy eyes and the pipe in Spider J’s hand prompted Dempsey to state the obvious. The dealer was high.

Once Dolf was through the window, he, too, pointed his gun at Spider J. Dempsey ordered the man to put his hands in the air, but Spider J only smiled and said something about a reptilian in a silk robe and a dinosaur out the window.

He didn’t resist when Dempsey handcuffed him or when de Jaager took the pipe from his hand and placed it in a plastic bag. Dempsey checked the dealer for weapons but only found empty shoulder and ankle holsters.

The agents began searching the room for a stash of Reverb or Liao. While they looked in cabinets, under beds, and between mattresses, Spider J’s demeanor took a turn. He began to babble something about pulsing lights and energies intersecting. Dempsey and de Jaager had a little trouble following, but it sounded like these energies were full of malice; like the vision he was describing was of the essence of evil.

The agents continued to toss the room looking for drugs.

Spider J held up his still-cuffed hands with his pinky fingers together like the American Sign Language sign for ‘book.’ He deliriously described two surfaces converging, and … something coming out of the line where they met. He sounded terrified.

“It’s … It’s like all the evil of the universe. It’s concentrated. It’s alive. It’s … It’s hungry.”

The agents continued to toss the room looking for drugs.

Spider J shrieked.

“No, no, no! No! It sees me! Why? Why can’t I come back to myself? Please!”

Dempsey continued to toss the room looking for drugs. Dolf paused and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, God! It’s in my brain!”

Spider J rose into the air, lifted by the same invisible force that had lifted Roofie. Just like Roofie, Spider J’s body was shaken back and forth like a doll in the teeth of a giant, invisible, rabid dog. Blood and flesh scattered in all directions, winking out of existence just before hitting a surface.

Dempsey continued to toss the room, but now he was looking for a fire extinguisher or something else he could use to reveal an invisible creature. This guy called himself a drug dealer, and yet he couldn’t be bothered to have several bricks of cocaine the Irishman could slap together like chalkboard erasers?

 

[Audrik]

Reverberations - Session 3b

In a matter of seconds, Spider J was no more than a rapidly splintering cyclone of bone fragments. That was good enough for Dolf; he was willing to call this avenue of the case closed. Unfortunately for Dolf, as soon as he turned away from the swirling carnage, he saw it. Looking directly, it was invisible, but in the peripheral vision, he could see it. The thing was composed of a seemingly infinite number of sharp, glittering fragments of space and time which moved, rotated, swirled, shattered further, and reformed. It was like the mirror shards from the community center had risen up to form a vague dog- or cat-shaped creature with no real structure of its own; only distorted reflections from all angles and directions at once.

The software engineer let out a very unmanly yelp before running for the door to the hall. He slammed the door shut behind him. It may have been preoccupied and possibly too large to fit, but there was no sense giving that thing a chance to follow. As for Dempsey, he had hands. He could open the door himself. The real question was whether or not the Irishman was smart enough to run. Three gunshots in quick succession told Dolf all he needed to know about that.

Dempsey had fired at the invisible creature that was destroying Spider J in the bloodiest possible way. No sooner had the gunshots faded than what remained of the drug dealer hit the floor. Dempsey could feel whatever it was studying him. There was no way he could have missed, but he had missed. Maybe a full retreat was in order. He turned toward the window, but that proved to be a mistake. Just like de Jaager before him, he saw the beast.

The Irishman wasn’t sure from where he pulled the instinct, but something told him to duck and roll backward at the same time. As he did, he saw a thousand razors of distorted space dart toward where he had been only a moment before. He didn’t get away clean, but he wasn’t sharing Spider J’s fate just yet. He had avoided the worst of it, but the shards had still nicked him in thousands of tiny multi-directional cuts like a head-to-toe shaving accident. As he rolled to his feet and ran for the door, Dempsey stumbled. It felt as if even the bottoms of his feet were covered in tiny cuts.

Dempsey fired twice more before slamming the door behind him as he made it to the hall. Dolf winced when he saw the Irishman, but neither man spoke. Instead, they ran for the stairwell and took the stairs down as quickly as they could. They had just passed the second-floor landing when Dempsey saw the creature again. It shot out of the angle where the two walls met like water forced by intense pressure through a tiny crack. Dolf didn’t see the beast, and so he ran straight through it. He paused only briefly, making damned sure not to look when he heard Dempsey make the same shrieking cry Spider J had made. Then he continued down to the lobby and out the front doors. He had a plan, and he hoped Dempsey would survive long enough for it to work.

Dempsey watched de Jaager run straight through the creature as if it wasn’t even there. Hundreds of shards stretched from the thing like an octopus growing new tentacles. Once again, they darted for him, and this time he wasn’t so lucky. He felt the razors slice his flesh from everywhere at once, and he could see pieces of himself carved away in chunks and strips.

He made a desperate lunge for the door on the second-floor landing a few steps above him, and he was able to turn the knob. As he flopped into the second floor hallway, the wood chipper scene from Fargo played through his head. Wasn’t it a character named Carl that got put through that? And yet the Carl in his group was nice and comfy with his laptop and Red Bull. The Carl in his group should have been the one raiding Spider J’s room anyway. The Carl in his group was no Steve Buscemi for damned sure. Screw you, Carl. This mess should be you.

Dempsey played dead. He had no idea if the creature would be fooled, but the three surprised and horrified hotel guests in the hall were. They screamed and ran, leaving Dempsey like a pile of roast beef in his own blood. It seemed Chicago had its pros and cons: Fire a gun five times in a nice hotel, and no one investigates; get shredded by a giant, invisible razor-tiger and fall into a pool of gore, and no one helps. On the bright side, he had lived long enough to have that thought.