---

Monday, June 22, 2009. 9:00AM

Your cell phone rings. It is the special ringtone that signifies you are being called in on another PARC case. You were supposed to get the week off, but you knew in the back of your mind that the reprieve was just a ruse by The Company to attempt to lift your morale.

You pick up the phone. You hear a click, then you state your voice identification password. You hear another click and a prerecorded voice states: Your services are requested. Be at Headquarters at ten-hundred hours. Bring your equipment. Upon services rendered, your account will be credited according to the G7 payscale. Thank you, and have a nice day.

The phone clicks silent and you hang up.

OOC: You know that the G7 payscale is a little more money than you usually make, so the job is predicted to be a little bit more dangerous. You may decide what you were doing at the time of the call, and what your reaction is to the call. You are all within one hour's travel of Headquarters.

Tobias muttered something rather rude as he half rolled, half fell out of bed. This was his first day off, and he intended on sleeping for... He looked at the clock. Three more hours. At least. He sighed, turned off his alarm, and went to get ready for work. A quick shower, a bowl of cereal, and a cup of tea later, and he was ready.

Coat, check.
Gun, check.
Rod, check.
Wallet, check.
ID, check.
Fake ID, check.
Pants... Check.

He hopped into his car and headed for the Company.

Miri hears her phone ring and grumbles at being disturbed from her relaxing hot shower. She turns off the water and picks up her cell phone.
She slams her cell phone shut in anger and mutters under her breath I finally get one night to go out and have fun and these *$&@^&# call me on an assignment the moment I get home... Miri gets dressed fast and gulps down her coffee before grabbing her 'bag of goodies' (as she likes to call it) and heading out the door.

"Oh, yes! A mission!" Xavier grinned excitedly as he closed his cell phone and sighed. He couldn't spend all week at the shooting range and gym, after all. He needed something to do! He hops out of bed, he loved to sleep, too, and put on a fresh white wife-beater and a pair of khaki cargo pants. Slipping on his black combat boots, he grabbed his wallet and ID, cell phone and comm. link.
   He then moved to his favorite part of the house, his gun closet. Smiling, he opened the door, revealing the many shelves of handguns and portable melee weapons. He took his favorite guns and weapons, put them strapped around him, and was out the door. He took a deep breath and got into his car, driving to HQ.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:37, Thu 25 June 2009.

Tobias, Miri, and Xavier all arrive in the parking garage at the exact same time. You started noticing that such coincidences have happened a lot more often since you started working together for The Company. The parking garage is non-descript; it looks like any other private garage in the city. You step inside a side door and go down a long, plain hallway to reach the elevator bank.

You get in, and press the number 7. There is a slight pause while the elevator performs a covert retinal scan, then with a click and a whir you start ascending. A computerized voice says Welcome, agents. Transporting you to the seventh floor.

After about a minute the elevator dings and the doors open. The voice says Have a nice day!

You get off the elevator to see what is definitely not a non-descript office building. The decor is a cross between post-modern industrial and ancient tomb. All along the walls are flat screen tvs watching muted coverage of just about every news channel in the world. Smattered about in between them are ancient statues, talismans and what may well have been nick-nacks in 30 BC. Dominating the center of the room is a humungous glass-encased library, filled with ancient tomes, scrolls, and codexes. Not only are the books floor-to-ceiling on this floor, but the stacks actually continue to the floors above and below.

Beyond the unusual decor you notice the unusual people in the desks and cubicles. While almost all of the workers are human, there are some that are clearly... not. Since no English name exists for these creatures, and so few modern humans can pronounce these creatures' native languages, employees of the company have taken to naming them after fantasty mythologies. The species of thin, pale beings are called elves, the short and squat ones are called dwarves, and so on.

As if on cue, John Burns, your boss, appears from around the corner. Damnit, I see Kenny has decided to be a pain in my side again today. Well, the three of you go into Conference Room 1 to wait for your assignments, I'll be in in a sec.

He stalks off towards his office, grumbling something about all the work he puts in to logistics, and how it's all a waste of time.

"Hey guys." Tobias nodded to the others as he grabbed his field bag out of the trunk. He had always wanted to run late intentionally, to see if he dragged the others late with him. He never did though, too polite.

He chuckled at Burns before heading for the conference room.

Xavier whistles cheerfully and grins at Tobias and Miri. "No breaks, huh?" he says playfully. With his hands in his cargo pockets, he walks around, paying attention to the details of the rooms, and eyes the female elves. He had always been amazed at their grace and beauty. "Will do, boss." he says as he walks into the room and takes a seat, in a good mood. He takes out his Baretta 92 and shines it with his shirt idly.

After a few minutes, John stalks into the room and the clear glass walls turn opaque and the room darkens. The wall behind John lights up with what looks like a small town news feed.

Strange happenings in the tiny town of Ford, Montana.

The video shows a young reporter, walking slowly and seriously in front of an old-fashioned barbed wire fence. Beautiful mountans can be seen in the distance.

The normally quiet little town of 200 farmers and ranchers has been buzzing with the news of several unexplained deaths. In the last two weeks, three men have been found dead, apparently killed in an animal attack. The mayor of the town, Jed Owen, was one of the victims.

Much of the town suspects a hungry mountain lion, but one man thinks differently.

The video cuts to a shot of a neatly dressed man holding a plain black Bible. He speaks with immense energy.

These attacks are a sign from GOD. He has sent this beast as a WARNING to those who are not right in the eyes of GOD that they must step back! Onto the path of righteousness. Step back! Into God's plan. Step back! Towards His intentions.

The video cuts back to the reporter.

Are these attacks really a sign from God? Or is there a more mundane explanation? The residents of Ford don't yet know, and are looking anywhere for answers. So far, they haven't found any.

For Channel 9 Network News, this is Deborah Heidt.

The video stops, and the lights in the room return to normal.

Our analysts found this story in their research and have determined that it has a high probability of Shadow involvement. Luckily this story hasn't made it into any of the national networks, but if the deaths keep happening, it won't take long. I need you guys to go out there and check out what's going on.

Tobias couldn't help but chuckle at the last bit of the video. If they were seeing it, one thing they certainly wouldn't be getting was a mundane explanation. "You got any more info than this, or are we going in dry?"

After watching the video closely, he smiles, though with an internal feeling of uneasiness. He looks to his teammates, then back to John. "I guess its off to Montana, then?" He asks, putting his gun away.

Miri gives John a wry smile. "Farmers and fields... fun. She nods at Tobias's question and adds impatiently, Yeah John, something more than 'people are dying in a town' would be helpful.

Unfortunately the town's too small for a Wikipedia entry, so we don't have much more to go on.

With his constantly neutral face, you can never tell if John is joking. You assume sometime in his life he has to tell a joke, but you know that even if you were there for that fateful event, you wouldn't have realized it at the time.

We would normally send a recon team to find out more, but the town would probably notice a two-percent increase in population and their cover would be blown. We don't have an inside man in the local PD, so we don't know anything more than what's in the papers.

Without any indication that John pushed a button or said a secret password, the walls light up again, this time showing enlarged copies of news stories. If you take the time to read them, you can see that the first victim was Ford's mayor, Jed Owen, who died three weeks ago. The community sent out a possie in pickup trucks, but couldn't find any mountain lions or coyotes. Two weeks after that, Earl Lindscomb, the owner of the largest (and only) hardware store in town was killed, and not more than 12 hours ago a third man was killed, Bill Elgin: a farmhand.

Most of your usual covers won't work in this situation, so we have gotten you all identification to pose as a private security team, hired by Tyson. You know, the chicken company. Several of the farms out there sell their beef to Tyson, so your story is that you are there to make sure none of the cattle are in harm's way.

Xavier grinned a bit, then got serious. "That sounds like a good cover. But, we'll have to keep it quiet. Especially me, since I can get a bit trigger-happy." He smiled again, but made sure he was serious. He nodded to his teammates, then turned to John. "Mode of transport? Shelter?"

Don't worry, Xavier, just because you are going to a small town doesn't mean you have to ride coach. You will fly into Billings in MCC7^*, as usual. From there we've lined up some town cars for you; unfortunately you've got about an hour drive into town. On the plus side, you'll have a wonderful view.

Once you get there, we've booked 4 rooms at Ford's nicest, uh, hotel. Though if Kenny doesn't get here soon it looks like I'm going to have to cancel one of them.

You will have to take all your own gear, as the local store carries buckshot and hunting arrows and not much else. But the nice thing about private transportation is you can take whatever goodies you want.

At this, Burns does that which is as close to a smile as you have ever seen him get. Nothing overtly physical happens, you just get the impression that he is reliving an old war story.

* Mobile Command Center 7, one of a baker's dozen private jets owned by The Company. MCC7 is outfitted with the latest communication and logistical gear, and allows a PARC team to strategize and plan while in transit. The cargo bay has been retrofitted to act as a weapon's locker, though it does not usually come fully equipped. It is rumored that the MCCs have been fitted with offensive and defensive equipment for use in aerial combat, though you have never seen it first hand.

Xavier grins as he mumbles a small YES! to himself, and then regains his composure. He awaits any other instructions as he gathers up his things in his seat.

Tobias nods to himself. Sounded like fun. His ability to pose as a cattle actuary was doubtful, but if he kept his mouth shut it should be fine.

"When do we go?"

Ideally you would go yesterday.

You all know what John is going to say next, as it's one of his most favorite phrases.

In another universe, you did go yesterday, so get a move on. Your commlinks still work out there in the great plains, so contact Headquarters if you need any help.

---

You exit and take the elevator to the roof, where a corporate-looking helicopter is waiting to take you to the airport. After a short ride, you land at a private air strip, where you find MMC7.

Your flight, as well as drive into town occur without incident.

The town of Ford is mostly made up of huge spanses of land, connected by tiny roads. The fields consist of a roughly even spread of cattle, chicken, pigs, and wheat, soybeans, and corn. Most farmers dabble in at least two or three different areas and rotate their crops. As you pass some of the farms you notice that many of the livestock farms have tiny signs out front with the names of meat companies, such as Tyson or Smithfield. [Private to Tobias Byrne; Xavier Angel Solomon: You notice that some of the fields have large patches of dead crops, as if the rain consistantly missed a spot.] [Private to Miri Ankh: You automatically missed a spot check, because you do not yet have a spot modifier]

You arrive to the center of town... if it could be called that. The main street, named, aptly, Main Street, is in fact the only street, and is filled with buildings that look like they might be 25, 50 or 100 years old. No building looks like it has had a paint job this century. The town hall, hardware store, grocery store, diner, movie theater, and a few mom and pop stores line each side of the street.

You see what must be your hotel, since it is the only hotel in site: The Chicken Ranch. It is designed to look like (and for all you know may be) an authentic Wild West-style hotel and bar, completely with swinging saloon doors which let slip the sounds of an out of tune player piano.

"Well ah do declare." Tobias said with a drawl, "That this here town tain't big enuf fer the two of us."

This was worse than being stranded out in hillbilly country; at least there they knew they were small town. This place still felt like a wild west boom town; cutting edge circa 1870.

"Well, I'll be." Xavier says with a huge grin. He walks into the establishment and looks around. Content, he wasn't one to complain, he turned to his teammates. "First observation. Did anyone else notice the spots of dead crops? That might be something."

"Yeah, I did." Tobias replied, dropping the accent. "It's like some gigantic dog decided to wee in the cornfields."

"That might be a sign or something. Something to look at when we get the chance." He said, looking around the place.

The inside of the Chicken Ranch is a cross between 1870 and 1970. You pass through the swinging doors and see the stereotypical wooden floor, wooden tables, and long, polished bar that you might see in an old western movie, but at the same time the chairs and walls are all ugly shades of 70's brown. Everything looks clean on the surface, but closer inspection reveals mismatched wallpaper, deep grooves beneath the chairs, and frayed edges on the drapes.

Standing behind the counter is an almost comically busty woman with a huge smile and curly blonde hair. Howdy y'all, you all must be the special guests we were expectin'.

The woman genuinely seems friendly, though it's hard to tell if the accent is for show, or if maybe she's a southern transplant who's decided to go all out to impress visitors.

My name's Mona Stangley, but e'r'one 'round here just calls me Miss Mona. She lets out a vivacious laugh. Your rooms are all ready for ya, and I see y'already paid 's-well. I just need ya ta sign 'ere and y'all be all set.

Tobias is taken aback at the furnishings. There were some styles that just shouldn't go together, and this place had found one combination.

He pulled the signature pad over to him, contemplated writing 'Sheriff Earp,' decided against it and signed his real name.

After you sign the ledger Miss Mona hands you each your keys.

Your rooms are up the stairs and to the left. You can't miss 'em, cause they're the only ones we got!

There is a twinkle in her eye as she throws another huge smile your way.

Is there anythin' else I c'n help you folks with thisafternoon?