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During the fifties, the world started to change, and not in a way that was expected. After the darkest time in the history of Earth, new inhabitants started to be discovered, or to be put in better words, dumped from some other place and onto Earth. What makes it stranger is that these inhabitants match, or at least are similar to mythological creatures, hence the term “liminal” to describe them.

You are Michael Angier, a special agent of the SLRD, or Supernatural/Liminal Response Department of the FBI. You deal with a myriad of things, from busting liminal trafficking rings, hunting down creatures that continue to prey on the dominant species on Earth, and even assisting other agencies since they don’t know shit about shit when it comes to magical incidents and anything relating to them...

Right now though, you are Corporal Michael Angier, and it’s very very hot right now in Afghanistan. You knew this going into the USMC, but damn, you would kill for some lemonade right about now. You have been here for a few months and you’re still not used to it. You step over a shin-high wall that is probably made out of dried mud or some shit and continue to follow Sergeant Pasqual, trying to keep close, but not close enough that an explosive could take the two of you out. You look behind you and see that Doc Lumaban and Mitchell, who is your radio operator, are both following behind you in the same fashion. Bringing up the rear-guard of your patrol is Private Grineldor, the newest addition to your unit and the first elf that most of the unit had ever met.

“Fuck, man. Why’s it hot even when the sun’s starting to go down?” He asks.

He’s from up north. You think he said Minnesota or something.

>What do you say? Do you say anything to him at all?

Guess who forgot the archive? This guy.

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Supernatural%20and%20Liminal%20Response%20Department%20Quest

Alright, I guess I'll just go back to the the old standby.

>"Nut up, bitch. We all feel like shit right now."
>Say nothing.

>>3215902
>"Nut up, bitch. We all feel like shit right now."

>"Nut up, bitch. We all feel like shit right now."

Writing now!

“Nut up bitch! We all feel like shit right now.” You say, wiping some sweat off your forehead.

“How bout’ both of you shut the fuck up,” Pasqual interjects. He looks around the corner of the compound that you’re passing by, then moves up. “And we can get these last few stops done with and get back to the FOB that you all love so much?”

Pasqual's used to this shit since he's been in a while, even if he's getting up there in years compared to the rest of you. He's said that he's been on three deployments to Afghan. Lots of the guys look up to him since he's one of the oldest people here that still goes past the wire.

You sigh, adjust your M4's sling, and keep following him. It takes a few more hours, and you feel like you're going to drop, but you get through the last few stops on your patrol route for today. It’s the same shit, different day. Deal with the locals, listen to Grin try to talk to them since he can apparently understand them because of some magical shit that he knows, and then get on your merry way back to the forward operating base.

You kick a rock near your feet as Grin finishes speaking to some old man with a bushy beard. Apparently he’s one of the elders around here so his word carries weight, according to Pasqual. That doesn’t involve you though, as long as you don’t shoot anyone who isn’t shooting at you first. You became a part of the corps because your dad and your granddad were in the marines, and you’ve got to make them proud.

Grin says goodbye to the man and walks back through the gate.

“He says there’s nothing out of the ordinary around here.” Grin says to Sarge, who nods in approval.

“Damn right there isn’t, and it better stay that way too. I just got a few more weeks and I’m out. Now let's get back to the base.” He replies.

You can hear Mitchell’s headset start crackling to life, and you can hear some radio chatter through it.

“Warlord, this is Gator-Five-Actual, over,” You watch as Mitchell’s face contorts into a look of confusion. “Negative copy, Warlord, can you repeat that, over?” The look on his face stays one of confusion, but he touches his transceiver again. “Good copy, Warlord, Gator will comply, over.”

>"What’s that about?"
>"Aaaand of course something happens."
>Say nothing.

Well it seems a bit slow, so I will be back at around 4PM CST tomorrow.

>>3215966
>>"Aaaand of course something happens."

>>3215966
>"Aaaand of course something happens."

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>>3217093
>>3217098

Trains are a bitch to deal with, Agents. Sorry that I'm late.

“Aaaand of course something happens.” You say, shaking your head in annoyance.

“Quiet,” Pasqual points a finger at you to shut you up. “What’s up, Mitchell?” Pasqual asks, looking at him.

“Warlord wants us to uh... Meet up with some SF guy. A little ways that way near that big compound over yonder.” He says, pointing to the southwest, where you know there’s a compound near a huge poppy field. “Says we’re the closest ones so we’ll escort him back to the FOB and they'll pick him up for questioning.”

Pasqual shakes his head and sighs.

“Alright,” Sarge says. “Saddle up! Let’s get moving so we can get back home.”

One short march later, you’re approaching the compound, and you see someone sitting on a mound of dirt with a dirty SCAR lying on the ground nearby. He’s got the same sort of tactical gear that you’d expect from a green beret, but with just a plate carrier on instead of the flak jacket you're wearing. He also has about ninety or so pounds less of gear on him than you all, the lucky bastard. He does have a U.S. flag on the shoulder of his BDU though, so this must be your guy. His shoulders are sagging, but you can see his body move with his breathing. Outside of that though he's not moving at all, and it's giving you the creeps.

“Mitchell, what’s the name we got?” Pasqual asks, looking at the sitting man and sizing him up.

“Staff Sergeant Walters is what they said. They said he's a Green Beret, I think.” Mitchell replies.

The first one to move toward this “Walters” is Pasqual. Everyone else, on the other hand, is staying put.

>Follow Pasqual
>”Sarge, I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy.”

>>3217925
>>”Sarge, I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy.”

Shouldn't we be asking name and rank and whatnot before we get to him? This sounds like we're skipping basic procedures...

>>3217925
>Stop Pasqual and call "Walters" out

Alright, writing.

>>3217977
>>3218005

>>3218005
support.>>3217977

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You grab Pasqual by the shoulder, making him stop and turn around to look at you.

“Hold on Sarge.” You say to him.

“What’s up your ass?” He asks you.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy.”

“You’re just being paranoid, Angier.” You hear Doc Lumaban say.

“The guy’s creeping me out too, man. Look at him, he’s barely moving.” Mitchell adds.

“What happened to the rest of his unit? Don’t Green Berets work in groups or something?” Grin asks.

You step forward a bit, ahead of Pasqual, and there’s probably about fifteen feet between you and the mystery man.

“Hey!” You shout at the man.

“Angier what the fuck?” You hear Pasqual say, but you’re focused on this guy.

“Please, just trust me this one fuckin’ time, Sarge,” You take another step forward. “Hey, name and rank right now!”

The guy jumps a bit and starts to reach for his sidearm, but stops, stands up and faces you. Christ, he looks like hell. The front of his BDU is covered in blood, torn, and he’s dirty, and the way that he’s looking at you is creeping you out.

“Staff Sergeant Walters, First Special Forces Group, United States Army.” He says to you.

His voice is so monotone and lifeless, like he’s disconnected himself from everything around him and is just running on autopilot. He starts to walk toward you.

>Stop him.
>Let him walk toward you.

>>3218125
Thousand yard stare. Shellshock.
>Let him walk towards you.
Get his gun from him, be cautious, but helpful.

>>3218125
>Stop him.

>>3218137
>Trying to take a Green Berets gun after he has clearly experienced recent trama.

Purple hearts are runner up Darwin awards buddy.

>>3218153
I mean more ask him, not take it forcefully.

>>3218125
>"You good man?"

Alright, gonna start writing now.

You hold out your hand, open palm, in what you think is the universal way of telling someone to stop.

“Hold on. You good man? You look like you’ve seen some shit.” You say to him.

He doesn’t say anything to you at first, but he stops, blinks slowly and looks around, then looks over himself. He starts to shake after that.

“Nononono, I’m not good not good at all. First thing’s first I’ve got to get a phone or radio or something and get a hold of the Pentagon, and then we can take care of this and-”

“You good to come over here?” You ask him, interrupting him.

He looks at you, his eyes focusing on your chest before looking you in the eye.

“You’re marines, right?” He asks.

You nod in response.

“We’re marines, man. We’re with the First Division, Fifth Marines.”

“You guys know what’s going on in those mountains? I know what’s going on in those mountains.”

He points his thumb to the mountains far behind him, that look like they would take at least a day to walk there.

“No, we don’t. The fuck's got you all messed up?” Pasqual asks.

He looks surprised at first, but he starts to smile and then starts laughing. It sounds hollow and it makes you shiver a bit.

“Of course you don’t know! OF. COURSE. YOU. DON'T. KNOW!” He shouts. “You know what?! Fuck Opsec at this point, there’s too much at stake! There’s something in those mountains man, and it killed my unit and-”

Your conversation is interrupted by a scream coming from the nearby compound. The gate of the compound is pushed open and a little girl comes running out. She’s barefoot, and she looks like she’s wearing her night clothes. After that, a man comes shambling out of the gate, the front of his robes dripping with blood, along with his face, his beard sticking to his chin in places. His eyes are bloodshot, and his skin has a pale complexion.

The little girl is running toward you, but trips and falls on the way. She looks at you, then at the man and starts to scream and cry some more, pointing at him and shouting in Pashto.

>Walk toward the man, shouting at him to stop moving.
>Try to get the kid away from him (roll 1d100 for me.)
>Write in?

>>3218287
>Write in?
Have our radio man stick with the Green Beret.
Us, Sarge and Corpsman advance to the girl rapidly with guns raised shouting the few words of Pashto we know for the man to put his hands up and get on the floor.

Give the girl a look over and push her behind us to the Corpsman and have the sarge cover us. If he charges, leg him. If he doesn't stop. Drop him.

>>3218287
Rise our M4 at him.
"Sarge grab our man and move"
"Doc get the girl"

>>3218287
>>Walk toward the man, shouting at him to stop moving.
Gun raised.
Ask him twice to stop, if he doesn't, open fire.

Alright, writing now.

You start to walk toward the man with your M4 at the ready, pointing it at him. Most people around here know what a gun is and they usually back up when you point it at them, but not this guy. He doesn’t even acknowledge it and just keeps looking at you.

“Sarge, Doc I need some help with this guy!” You say.

“Mitchell, Grin, stay with Walters!” Pasqual orders. You can hear him and Lumaban’s footsteps behind you.

“You gotta shoot him in the face...” Walters drones.

“Waderga! Waderga!” you say. You know enough Pashto to tell him to stop. You try to think of the words for “get down”.

“You gotta shoot him in the face...” Walters says again, his tone getting more angry.

The guy doesn’t stop, and he keeps shambling toward the girl. You reach her and keep going toward the guy. You can see him better now. He’s got bits of... something in his beard, and he’s starting to bare his teeth at you. He starts growling as you slow to a halt. The girl is screaming behind you.

“Girl’s secured!” Lumaban says.

“Get on the ground right now!” Pasqual orders.

Sarge moves up a bit in front of you, pointing his M4 at the man’s chest. The guy looks between the two of you, his head moving slowly to look at both of you. He starts to shamble toward Sarge, who pushes him back with his rifle.

“Back up!”

His growling goes from that to a throaty roar and he attempts to lunge at Sarge again, but you shoot him in the chest before he can do that. He staggers backward and almost falls back, but he keeps moving toward you.

YOU JUST SHOT HIM IN THE CHEST AND HE’S STILL MOVING.

A split second later and there’s a hole in his forehead, followed by a gunshot. His head bucks back as he crumples to the ground. You turn back and Walters has drawn his M9, the barrel still smoking.

“You’ve gotta shoot them in the face! It’s the only way they stay dead!” He shouts.

You look back at the man Walters killed. He’s got a large exit wound and his brain is spilling out onto the sand and dirt.

“What the fuck.” Pasqual says.

“I tried to stop him Sarge but he’s too damn quick!” Mitchell says.

“You’ve gotta shoot them in the face. It’s the only way I’ve seen them stay dead.” Walters repeats.

He lowers his M9 and starts walking toward the body, but Pasqual stops him, looking at him with a mix of shock and curiosity on his face.

The girl is crying in Lumaban’s arms, shouting and screaming in Pashto.

>Fuck, I need a cigarette.
>”What the fuck’s going on?!”
>”Does anyone know what the fuck she’s saying?!”
>”What the fuck did you find in those mountains?!”

>>3218469

>"...Tell me that wasn't a fucking zombie."

Because we are not entertainment media-blind and do occasionally watch or hear about movies.

>>3218469
>"...Tell me that wasn't a fucking zombie."
>Fuck, I need a cigarette.
It's not every day you gotta kill zombies in the desert.

>>3218469
>"Let's move people! Shots fired and we standing in the open."

Alright, writing now.

You look at the dead guy, then you look at Walters. You do this a few more times while Lumaban and Grin attempt to calm the girl down. Mitchell is dumbstruck as to what he just saw, and just watches Walters and Pasqual as they walk toward you. They look at the corpse and then looks at you. There’s a pause between the three of you until you finally break the silence.

“Please tell me that wasn’t a fucking zombie.” You say.

“I don’t know what it is. All I know is that these things killed my unit and the guys we trained.” Walters replies.

“There’s more of these things?” Pasqual asks.

“Just the guys we trained. My squad didn’t come back like these,” Walters motions to the dead guy. “These motherfuckers. They just stayed dead. Black died and I didn’t have time to call down an airstrike on my head since they were eating his face. Only thing I could think to do was try to collapse the cave we were in. Maybe one of them got out, I don’t know.”

“Just what in the hell are we dealing with?” Pasqual asks.

“I don’t know. I just don’t fucking know.” Walters answers.

It seems like the girl’s calmed down by now, and she’s conversing with Grin. Pasqual walks over to him.

“What’s she talking about?” Pasqual asks.

Grin looks up at him. He looks about as shocked and confused as the rest of you.

“She says that her dad came home and was sick, so he stayed in bed. Today was the first time in a week that he was awake, and the first thing he did after waking up was tear her mom’s face off and eat it. This happened just a little while ago in the compound’s kitchen.”

You need a cigarette right now, but you know that you don’t have time right now.

“Mitchell, get on the radio with Warlord and let them know what’s going on.” You say.

“I’m already on it. This shit’s too crazy not to call in.” He replies.

He steps a bit away and starts rattling off radio jargon to Warlord. You watch Walters as he walks over to where he left his SCAR, picks it up and slings it over his shoulder, letting it hang loosely over his chest.

“We need to get to wherever you guys are from,” Walters checks his SCAR’s magazine, then slams it back into the rifle. “We need to get to a good comm system so command knows I’m fine and so we can get ready for this shit. If there’s more of these things then it’s only gonna get worse from here.”

>”Let’s get moving, then. Sarge?”
>”We should sweep that compound first. There might be someone else still alive in there.”
>Leave the choice to Pasqual and Walters, since they're the commanding officers here.

>>3218657
>”We should sweep that compound first. There might be someone else still alive in there.”
At least make sure the mother stays dead... Or can be saved?

Ask the girl who else is in the house.

Alright, I've got work earlier than usual tomorrow so I'm going to try to start again at 4 PM CST, just like today.

>>3218657
>>Leave the choice to Pasqual and Walters, since they're the commanding officers here.
As much as I understand the MC should be taking control, we're a grunt. Let's let the people who know what they're doing do it.

>>3218657
>>Leave the choice to Pasqual and Walters, since they're the commanding officers here.
Just caught up, pretty interesting

Sorry this took so long! Some things happened at work that required my attention.

Walters and Pasqual are the commanding officers here, so they should be the ones making the decisions. You decide to stay quiet and let them call the shots here.

“Alright Spec Ops, we should get back to the FOB ASAP. You’re with us now so,” Pasqual points to you. “You’re behind me. I’ll take point.” He then points to the rest of your buddies. “Grin and Lumaban, you keep the kid safe, since she’s coming with us now. Mitchell, you get on the net and let Command know that we’re headed toward the FOB.”

All of you nod in approval and Mitchell walks off and begins speaking to command. Grin looks at the two of them in confusion.

“Shouldn’t we check the compound?” He asks.

Walters looks him dead in the eye and then shakes his head.

“They’re all probably dead. You got the kid so that’s all that matters. Let’s get going.”

You start heading in the direction of the FOB. The sun’s starting to go down now, so the streetlights begin to turn on, giving you small bastions of light between the small amount that is generated by your flashlights and tac-lights. It’s quiet, save for your footsteps and your breathing. You make it to the neighboring compound before you start to hear distant gunshots and explosions.

“Mitchell, what’s going on?” Pasqual asks.

“Multiple contacts with large groups of Afghan civilians attacking indiscriminately. They’re eating people. They’re ordering everyone to fall back to the FOB.” He replies.

“It’s spreading.” Walters says, his voice dripping with fear.

“We’ve gotta keep moving. Pick up the pace, marines!” Pasqual orders.

You round the corner of the compound’s fence and the first thing that happens is that Pasqual is lit up by a spotlight.

“Stop right the fuck there, cunt!” A voice over the megaphone says.

You look around the corner and see an APC parked in the street. You can see a couple of shadows moving around it.

“Yo man! We’re not whatever those things are!” Pasqual shouts to them.

You hear the sound of a machine gun being chambered. Pasqual begins to look worried.

“Fucking prove it!” The voice shouts. His accent sounds Irish.

>Pull Pasqual back. The fucking limeys sound on edge.
>Pasqual’s a smooth talker. He can handle this.

>>3220885
>>Pull Pasqual back. The fucking limeys sound on edge.

>>3220885
>Pull Pasqual back. The fucking limeys sound on edge.
When was the last time flesh eating monster held conversation with you, you dimwit. Now let us thru, you Irish piece of shit we don't have whole fucking day

I've been writing for a bit but things came up. That's why it's taking so long for this update. Apologies Agents.

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You grab Pasqual by his ruck and roughly pull him behind the compound wall. About at that point you hear another voice, in a much, much angrier tone.

“Hold your bloody fire! It’s just the Yanks!” Another voice shouts behind the light.

You step out of the safety of the mud wall and see that there is indeed an APC here. Both of the top hatches are open, with one of the brits manning a machine gun, and the other one manning the spotlight.

“What the fuck?!” You say. “”When’s the last time a fucking zombie’s talked to anyone, you dumb Irish fuck?!”

“Fuck you, you daft cunt!” The one on the machine gun shouts back at you.

“Ross, shut the fuck up and let me handle this.” The other one says.

He looks at you, and then at Pasqual, who has gotten back on his feet and is dusting himself off.

“Alright gentlemen; I’m Staff Sergeant Wesley Morris,” He says, and then gestures to the paranoid Irishman. “And this is Lance Corporal Conor Ross.”

“We ain’t saying anything else until you let us in there!” Pasqual shouts.

“Fine by me, gentlemen, just wipe your feet first!” Morris replies.

You all walk over to it and Ross undoes the back hatch. Inside there is one other man, a black man whose uniform is stained red near his arm, which he’s clutching. He is also wearing the uniform of the British Army.

“Just call me Mickey.” He says through gritted teeth.

Ross squeezes past you and shuts the door behind you all. He sits down next to Mickey and just stares at you all until Morris gets down here.

“Apologies on not having any tea made gents, but I’m sure you understand the circumstances.” He says, sitting down next to his two comrades. The little girl is clutching Grin’s arm and is alternating between looking at the other soldiers and the inside of the APC.

>”So why are you guys just sitting here?”
>”Let’s get this thing moving. We’ve gotta get to FOB Geronimo right now. Do you guys know where that is?”

>>3221205
>”Let’s get this thing moving. We’ve gotta get to FOB Geronimo right now. Do you guys know where that is?”
Then ask
>”So why were you guys just sitting here?”

>>3221205
>”So why are you guys just sitting here?”

Did yer man over yonder get his arm bitten off?

Okay, writing. This'll be the last update today, but I should be free the coming weekend so that's good. I'll try to start at 5PM CST tomorrow.

“Let’s get moving. We’ve gotta get to FOB Geronimo now. Do you guys know where that is?” You ask.

“Yeah, we know where it is.” Morris states.

“So why are you just sitting here then? I’m sure we’d let you guys in.” You reply.

“We’ve been trying to get in contact with our guys. We’re not getting any response from Command on our end. Along with that we’re having some engine trouble and were trying to get a tow when all this started to go down.” Ross says.

“And what happened to this guy?” Lumaban asks, pointing to Mickey.

“One of those fuckers bit me pretty bad.” He says.

“Let me see it.” Lumaban orders. Lumaban moves closer to him so he can inspect the wound.

It looks awful, like someone ripped a chunk out of his forearm. It looks like he put a tourniquet around it to stop the bleeding as best he could, but it’s only temporary. It takes Lumaban a bit, probably around fifteen minutes, but he is able to stop the wound from getting any worse.

“You’re gonna be fine. The painkillers should be kicking in right about now.” Lumaban tells him.

“Whatever, bruv.” Mickey replies. He slouches in his seat and coughs.

“C’mon, we gotta get moving!” Pasqual says.

“We’re bloody working on it!” Ross barks back.

A half-hour later and the APC is at least moving again, chugging down the dirt road. Minutes feel like hours as you sit in the APC and think about everything that’s happened today.

“Alright gents, we should be about halfway there by-”

Morris is cut off by a muted explosion. You can feel the APC shake and lurch as it’s knocked on its side as you black out.

You wake up on the floor of your bedroom. You can hear birds outside your window, and you’re having trouble moving. You look down and realize that you’ve gone and gotten yourself wrapped up in your sheets. You start to go through the process of untangling yourself, you hear someone knock on the door.

You shakily stand up and look at the phone on your nightstand. It reads that it’s Tuesday, March Eleventh, Eleven-hundred hours. You’ve been asleep for a whole day!

“Michael? Are you alright in there?” Jess asks you, her voice muffled from behind the door.

>”Yeah, I’m fine!”
>”No, I’m not. I’ll be down in a little while.”

>>3223710
>”Yeah, I’m fine!”

Alright, writing.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You throw on a shirt and some shorts. “Just fell out of bed!”

“Well, if you’re okay, I’ll be downstairs!” She replies.

You sit down on the bed and think about that dream again. It’s been a long time since that happened to you, but you’re still dealing with what it did to you. You take a deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth. You’re not in Afghan anymore. You’re back home. You steel yourself for the outside world and head down the stairs.

Jess is in the living room, coiled up on herself in front of her workstation like normal. She appears to be working on a project right now, since you can hear her keyboard clicking rapidly even as you round the corner into the living room itself. She turns and looks at you, her smile putting you at ease. You're home and you've got her friendship to keep you steady, especially since your folks are back in Illinois and your sister is in Hong Kong. You remember what the shrink told you about having someone to lean on. He was right, that's for sure.

“So how was your sleep?” She asks.

“Pretty good. Didn't think I'd sleep a whole day.” You answer.

You sit down on the couch and turn on the TV. On the coffee table in front of you is your personal laptop and your phone.

“Got any plans now that you’re free for a little while?” She asks.

>”I was probably gonna go to the range today, maybe.”
>”I was going to look around the house and see if anything needed fixing.”
>”I was thinking I’d just chill today.”
>”Well, do you want to do anything today?

>>3224149
>”I was going to look around the house and see if anything needed fixing.”

>>3224149
>”I was probably gonna go to the range today, maybe.”
>”I was going to look around the house and see if anything needed fixing.”

Writing.

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“I was gonna look around the house and see if anything needed fixing, maybe go to the range afterward.” You answer.

“Sounds fun. Looking to become the next John Wick?” She replies.

“You know, you could do with some range time yourself.” You add.

“You know I’m not as into guns as you are.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt to know how to shoot well.”

“Dude. Are you fucking with me?”

She motions to her lower body, giving you a deadpan stare to go along with it. You pick up what she’s putting down, since you know just how strong her lower half is. You’re pretty sure she could do some serious damage to someone if she wanted to. You know better though. She couldn't hurt a fly.

“Fair enough, I guess.” You say.

You get up and start looking around the house, seeing if anything looks like it needs a touch-up. You’re not plumber or mechanic, but dear old dad made sure that you knew how to at least take care of things that don’t require calling someone else for, and you learned more when you were still in the Marines.

You head to the backyard. It’s pretty big since you live just outside the city limits of Los Angeles, but the place is fenced off about one-hundred or so feet from the back door. You see something sitting in the potted plant on the patio. You look closer and realize that the camera that you installed when you got here fell off of the wall. Upon closer inspection you realize that one of the screws that held it to the wood of the awning had come loose. It doesn't take too long to get it back into place, and a quick visit to your laptop tells you that it is indeed in working order.

After that, you have enough time to go and spend some time at the range. You head to your room and open your gun locker. Inside, you come to the newest issue: you have too many choices.

You think about it and decide on taking six, since it would be a pain in the ass to carry more than that. You’ve got to go with your old standbys when you can't decide. You go with your M9, Ruger GP-100, Kimber 1911, one of your AR-15’s, your Remington 870, and your Remington 700.

You load them up into your SUV, along with your range bag and some ammo.

“Need anything while I’m out?” You shout from the garage.

“No, I’m good! Have fun!” She shouts back.

“Damn right I will!”

There’s a good outdoor range about thirty minutes from your home called Bill’s Bullseye, and it’s open today so you’re feeling good. There are a fair amount of people out here since the weather’s nice. The man at the counter is an overweight, trucker-looking sort of guy.

“How’s it going, Angier? I ain’t seen you in ages. For a while there you had me thinking you got yourself killed.” He says.

“Bill, my man, you know I’m busy.” You answer.

“I know, I know, just busting your chops a little. How long do you wanna be here for?”

>”Just a little while, about two hours.”
>"Give me a day pass.”

>>3224499
>"Give me a day pass.”
Gotta use up all our old ammo that's been sitting around so we can buy more ammo :p

Alright, writing now.

“You know what? Give me a day pass.” You say.

“Alright, thirty dollars. You know the rules, so I don’t have to go over them with you.” Bill replies.

You slip him thirty bucks, and a few moments later you’ve got your AR-15 out and are sighting it in at one-hundred meters. Before you know it, you’ve went through two mags worth of ammo and you've started to draw attention to yourself with your marksmanship.

You’ve always enjoyed spending time shooting. You get a sense of accomplishment out of hitting far-away targets. You feel the AR-15 stop giving you the small amount of recoil that it usually gives you, meaning that it’s out of ammo again.

>Switch to your sidearm. It’s always good to keep your skills sharp.
>Keep shooting the AR-15. The performance during the Chupacabra Hunt tells you that you need to get more competent with rapid target acquisition.

>>3224764
>Keep shooting the AR-15. The performance during the Chupacabra Hunt tells you that you need to get more competent with rapid target acquisition.
Don't forget to keep track of how many rounds are left in the magazine.

>>3224764
>>Keep shooting the AR-15. The performance during the Chupacabra Hunt tells you that you need to get more competent with rapid target acquisition.

>>3224764
>>Keep shooting the AR-15. The performance during the Chupacabra Hunt tells you that you need to get more competent with rapid target acquisition.

>>3225084
Ditto

Apologies on going dark, Agents. I've had some things happen so I've been unable to update over the last few days. I will attempt to update as often as I can in this thread until I feel I've reached an acceptable stopping point, but due to the new schedule at my place of employment I have to gauge when I can run and for how long per day.

You decide to keep shooting the AR-15. Your performance during the chupacabra hunt told you that you need to work on your target acquisition. If it weren’t for your magically-enhanced protective gear, you might have had a shattered shoulder when that chupacabra slammed into you. You grab a new magazine and switch them out.

You take aim at a group of targets about fifty meters out. You fire off two rounds in rapid succession at each target. You hear five dings from the steel plates in response. You nod in approval, since five out of six isn’t bad to you. You do this for a few more hours until you run out of the ammo that you brought with you. You think that you’ve made progress toward rectifying your mistake there, so you spend the rest of the day burning through ammo and practicing your marksmanship.

By the time you’re done, you’ve probably went through five-hundred or so rounds of varying calibers. When you get home and step into the house, you can hear the television.

“-esulting in a firefight with the San Diego Police Department and the DEA agents that were present that ended with one officer and five agents dead from an improvised explosive device that was hidden within the shed on the property. The San Diego Police Department has not released a statement pertaining to the shootout yet.”

You turn the corner and Jess is lying on the sofa, watching the television and looking to be eating her dinner. She looks at you, gets up and pats the seat.

>”Sorry, but I’m just gonna get some sleep. See you tomorrow.”
>Join her on the couch.

>>3234492
>>Join her on the couch.

Alright, writing.

“Alright.” You say, sitting down on the couch next to her. She’s got the local news on the TV, and they appear to be talking about something that happened this afternoon. The headline reads “Shootout in San Diego Suburbs”, and the reporter appears to be speaking to witnesses who saw the shootout.

“All I could hear was shootin’ and people shoutin’, then I looked out my window and I see a cop lyin’ on the ground.” The interviewee, an overweight African-American man says to the reporter. It cuts back to the Reporter, who touches his ear, nods, and then looks back at the camera.

”We have come upon some footage showing the shootout. I warn any viewers that are faint of heart or squeamish to look away, as this footage may shock you.”

Some shaky cell-phone footage comes on the screen. Someone is filming through a window, and while they have censored where the police officer is supposedly lying on the ground, you can hear the cracks of the gunfire, followed by muffled shouting. A loud explosion follow that, with a massive cloud coming up from behind the house. The recorder, who sounds like the man who was interviewed, swears up a storm, which is censored, and then the video ends.

“The fact that this can happen in our own backyard is shocking to say the least, but we know that the SDPD will do their best when it comes to making sure that this doesn’t happen again. Back to you, Donald.”

“Reddit’s talking about this like crazy,” Jess says, moving back to her computer. “They’re trying to find out who might have been the people who owned that house.”

>”Good for them.”
>”Why? Let the actual police handle it.”
>Roll your eyes and change the channel.

>>3234783
>>”Why? Let the actual police handle it.”

>>3234783
>Roll your eyes and check what's shitposters on 4chan have to say.

>>3234783
>>3234783
>”Why? Let the actual police handle it.”

When has an internet witch hunt gone wrong? Oh yeah pretty much every time.

>>3235158
>>Roll your eyes and check what's shitposters on 4chan have to say.
Rhis

“Why? Let the actual police handle it.” You respond.

She shrugs and continues scrolling through Reddit.

“Probably thinks that it gives them something to do. People find interest in the strangest things.” She says.

You roll your eyes at that. You think of the amount of times that anonymous assholes on some forum actually accomplished something that didn’t immediately backfire on them. You, as expected, come up with nothing. Even so, your curiosity gets the better of you and you decide to go to check the first place you can think of that might be interested in this: 4Chan.

You decide to go to the news board first, and you find a thread that relates to a local article that was hastily done on it. You’re surprised that it only took five posts for it to devolve into slurs about the race of the man who did the interview and the recording. A lot of people bring up ideas as to who it might have been that had, according to the article, hid bodies in the walls alongside stashes of cocaine and fentanyl. Apparently, frequent posters from some other, more unsavory boards who are posting in the thread are also guessing that it was probably relating to a cartel.

That makes sense to you. The majority of organized crime in California can be usually traced back to one of the many cartels that exist in Mexico, and there’s a good chance that if a gang is primarily Hispanic, they’re probably on some cartel’s payroll for pushing their poison. Thankfully, most of the people who were subject to the raid decided to be some smart fellers and resist arrest, which led to all people who were in the house being killed in the ensuing shootout by the assembled DEA agents and police officers. The DEA agents were told about the shed, and when they tried to breach the door of it, it exploded.

You close the tab and look at Jess, who has went from looking at stuff on Reddit to going back to working on one of her projects. She has her headset on and you can hear the eurobeat that she’s listening to. You decide to get yourself some sleep, since you had already eaten before you came home.

I'll update my twitter when I decide to run the next thread. Otherwise, until this thread drops off the board, if you have any questions I'll answer them to the best of my ability.

>>3238580
What powers do we get, or are we baseline human?

You're just a normal, average human boi. You do have the power of the Department of Justice on your side though, if you can count that as a special power. I know I personally would. Along with that you're physically fit and sharp enough to be a special agent within the Federal Bureau of Investigation so you're not some wimp that would be useless if bullets (or fireballs) start flying.

Not to mention that being a part of the Supernatural/Liminal Response Department opens you up to equipment that most other departments within the FBI and other alphabet agencies would not normally have access to. Things like magically-enhanced undershirts that are damage resistant, shoes and boots that can walk on water, and somewhat exotic ammunition like silver-plated rounds.