Per 
hat + The War Ain't Won
December 13th, 1997
Time: 1527
Log: Alpha
Agent: 22/Spokes
Squad: Whiskey
Location: Franklin, Tennessee.
Misson Status: UNKOWN
Agent Report/Comments
Report:
Hostile has yet to be seen by the crew, but evidence of activity percent.
The victim is a Troy Helmen. The location of Troy is unknown, but signs of a struggle are eminent.
The front door was broken by force, and blood is evident in cabins den.
Interview with a Christen Every was uneventful. The neighbor of the victim investigated.
Interview with Law Enforcement also inconclusive.
Request topside support for recon, and geo-mapping of location.
The landscape is mostly woodlands.
There is no more information to give at this moment.
Part One: Rookie
Closing his CF-53, he rubbed his eyes and engulfed the cold December air through his nose; It was sharp yet pleasant. His plane landed just before dawn and, he had spent the better part of an afternoon doing interviews while draining the communion coffee pot. Yet, he couldn't seem to shake the jet lag, or forget about it; the burning from behind his eyelids made sure of that. He made his way into the cabin that they had set up as H.Q. It was a short walk from the incident. He entered the back door into the kitchen area. Sluggishly he grabbed a mug from the counter and poured thick, cheap coffee into it. As he pressed the cup to his lips, the liquid was intense and bitter the way he enjoyed. He then made his way to the den. Three men in suit and tie were sitting there going over the files to themselves in silence. Spokes quickly fount a chair next to the fireplace with its rock face and wood shelves above it, he thought to himself; it had to have been made by hand a long time ago. He quick drifted off in thought all he wanted to do was..to…close….his……eyes. He woke abruptly to the sound of his coffee mug, thudding onto the ground.
"Oh, fucking amazing 22", said Agent 019. "Rookie cant stays awake," he said in a condescending child voice. Leaning to collected his coffee mug, Agent Richy smirked. He was a rather tall man with a sharp jaw, disheveled hair, and a strong New York accent. Spokes thought he had a very Devil may care sort of K-9 feature about him. That's nothing newbie Agent 096 used Sergeant White over there as a pillow his first day on the job. ''Ain't that right, Fat Boy.'' A short, portly man shot a thumbs up from the other side of the room without ever breaking eye contact with his monitor. Sorry, I just couldn't sleep on the plane, guess my nerves are getting the best of me. ''What you mean by that, Rookie'', said Richy placing the mug onto the table beside Spokes. Well, training was one thing you know, you read about cases and profile creatures; he had a long pause. Ah um, now that I'm here is all, I don't know; real. "You damn right its real Rookie," said Richy, ''and you best put that scared shit behind ya, that's how ya get killed out here.''
At that point, Agent 096 looked up from the monitor with tired, bloodshot eyes. In a gravelly voice that suited his stature, said, ''Richy shut up, the first time you were out in the field you about pissed yourself, HELP ME, HELP ME!'' he placed one plump hand lightly to his chest and softly fluttered the other about in the air. ''NO, I DIDNT FAT BOY!'', said Richy in an aggravated voice. "HELP ME, HELP ME'' taunted 096. The bickering brought Spokes back to life a little. He liked the comradery, almost like brothers that show they care for one another with bullying and tall tales on things they did to impress their younger brother. It reminded him of his past childhood. "So how long yall been working together," asked Spokes. "Aww, me and Fat Boy been on the slate now for like what seven years. Sarge has been with us for three." An older African-American gentleman who was wearing a fitted grey suit with a navy blue vest. Pulled out a pocket watch and said '' Alright Tweedledum and Tweedledee stop with the lip slappin and get back to it, we need to isolate a region this thing might be." he tucked the pocket watch into his front pocket and looked at 22."You the lucky one you get first sleep, see you in 5 hours." Twenty-two pushed himself from the armchair. ''well, night guys'' Agent Spokes turned to Sergeant White ''night, sir.'' Sergeant White lazily threw a salute towards 22 as he continued to study the file in his hand.
Part Two: The Noise
December 14th, 1997
Time: 0342
Log: Bravo
Agent: 22/Spokes
Squad: Whiskey
Location: Franklin, Tennessee.
Misson Status: Yellow
Agent Report/Comments
Report:
The day of the 14th was eventful, with evidence of witchcraft.
Little is know about the creature we are tracking.
Agent 019 did find traces of black powder, but this does not match any profile we have on file.
Further investigation of the victim's door leads me to believe it was broken down with a long thin blade.
As for the blood, there are no drag marks. The lack of drag marks leads me to believe he has been carried away by the hostile.
Comment:
It seems like this may be more of local homicide than a U.S.R.T.H.E.M matter.
''Hey 22, come here. Take a look at this,'' said Richy. Agent Spokes made his way to the back of the cabin to where 019 was. "What you got 019,'' said Spokes. " We got something 22; we got something."
Carved into the floor in front of the back door was a crudely made symbol. " Have you ever seen anything like this before?" said Spokes. "yeah, I have back in 92. Me and Fat Boy was on a case down in Adams, Tennessee. What we have here is witchcraft, my guy.'' Twenty-two leaned down to touch it with his hand. At that moment, Richy slapped his hand away " The fuck you doing, Rookie, don't touch it. You are trying to be the next log in the case file.'' Waving his hands in front of his body, Richy mocked Spokes. "Dumbass Agent toughs unknown symbol at the crime scene. I can see it now." "Well, ok, what is it then," asked Spokes. ''I'm not sure, Rookie. You'll have to ask Fat Boy. He's the expert on all things, Pagan and witchy. I'm more of a tracker. Nose like a bloodhound." with his thumb, Richy brushed the tip of his nose. Spokes stood up and bruised his pants legs off. "Where is Agent 096," said Spokes. "Last time I saw him, he was out back with Sarg. I believe they were checking the tree line out there." Spokes looked out the window and out by the tree line, he could see the round frame of Agent 096 writing in a notepad, but no sign of Sergeant. Spokes grabbed the knob to the back door to leave, but the door would budge.
