Ryan Harker

Fall, 2025 0548 Hours Burnside Bridge at Antietam Creek Sharpsburg, Maryland After clearing his “Missing In Action” status with ARMA and ensuring his apartment was still secure, Agent Harker had gone in search of none other than Rorye Shannon-Kearney. She hadn’t answered her phone in days. Word on the street was no one had heard from her in weeks. The agent had reached out to his contacts within ARMA, but not even Captain Greene or Altheia Martin had any useful information to provide. A visit to the Book of Kells granted insight into the situation since Ryan’s absence. On the surface, the occults shop had maintained its eclectic charm. The storefront was no different than it had been the first night he visited years ago. Business as usual. Despite this, a feint aura of uncertainty seemed to linger throughout the shop. Rorye hadn’t been there in some time. The store’s shopkeeper, Nina, had never liked Ryan. A fact she hadn’t been afraid to express in the past either. Whatever faith the mage hunter had garnered with her through his deeds, had no doubt been washed away by his sudden disappearance. Nina initially refused to even speak to Ryan. Eventually, she divulged that Rorye was out searching for him. If for no other reason than to scold him and strongly imply he was a lying, manipulative, two-faced, brigand. A lead was a lead, however, and the ARMA operative took what he could get. It had taken some effort, but Harker was able to track down Rorye’s old business associate, Chris. Chris was a go-between for many within the occults black market and had connections to most major entities within the trade. Given their history, it hadn’t taken much arm-twisting for Chris to take the ARMA agent to “The Crossroads.” The Crossroads was an underground safehouse, not unlike the Book of Kells, but perhaps with less of a public image. The Crossroads was run by pair of traders known as “The Twins.” The brothers had taken significantly more persuasion to part with information, but in the end the agent’s heavy-handed tactics had prevailed. Some harm had probably come to Rorye’s reputation in the process, but she could deal with the aftermath once she was home and safe. The lead obtained from the twins had taken the mage hunter to Sharpsburg, Maryland. Specifically, the Burnside Bridge at Antietam Creek. Black, Dodge Challenger coasted slowly down the Old Burnside Bridge Road which led to the creeks crossing. Polished onyx paint, dark leather interior, matte black accents, the 2010 Dodge Challenger held a sentimental value to Harker. After his return to the corporeal world, he recovered it from an ARMA storage facility, and he was glad to have it back. Ryan parked on the narrow street west of the creek. An amulet in the pocket of his leather jacket hummed gently. The hunter reached into the coat pocket with a hand clad in a fingerless glove. The small metal crest was warm to the touch. The artifact felt as though it was pulling his hand east, toward the river. Rorye was close by, or more accurately, the demon she hosted, “Red,” was close by. Years ago, the hunter had baited the demon out of Rorye. In her father’s old boxing gym, Ryan had slapped her around until the spirit surfaced. When the two of them crossed swords, Red had given the hunter a taste of her power, one he wouldn’t soon forget. But during their fight he had taken something more. An imperceptibly small piece of demon’s spiritual mana. After the interaction, he determined Red wasn’t an immediate threat to Rorye. Nevertheless, the operative used the mana sample to produce a tracking artifact, and several other tools tailored toward fighting the demon. One could never be too prepared. Harker stepped out of the car and walked to the rear of the vehicle. The sun was just beginning to dawn over the horizon. Trunk hatch popped open to reveal multiple, large metal equipment safes. Not sure how far into the woods he would need to travel, the Soldier decided a reconnaissance loadout would be best suited for the mission. An AR-15 rifle was removed from one of the lockboxes in the Challenger’s trunk. Collapsible buttstock, 14.5-inch threaded barrel, reflex sight, tac light, and a hand-stop was his standard loadout for the weapon platform. Today, a 1-8x variable magnification optic was mounted by hand on the picatinny rail behind his reflex sight. Next, an 8-inch suppressor was threaded onto the end of the rifles barrel. Sig Sauer P226, 9mm pistol, enchanted blades, and deployable combat wards were already in their rightful place. Trunk hatch was closed with a barely audible “clunk.” Ryan was ready. The ARMA operative considered concealing his rifle beneath his sable cloak. A scan of his surroundings determined there were no innocent bystanders in the area to observe him. Carrying the weapon openly wouldn’t be an issue for now. A “splash” in the river ahead caught the agent’s attention. A struggle, flailing water, then silence. The Soldier dropped into a slight crouch and brought his rifle to bare. The sound was coming from just below the crest of the hill, where the valley dropped to the creek. The same direction the amulet had been guiding him toward. “Rorye?” Ryan thought to himself. Maybe. Whatever it was, he’d quickly find out. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Ryan was silent. His indomitable Valkyrie was allowing herself a moment of fragility with him. As difficult as it was for her, it was reassuring to know Rorye could be herself with him. The operative held her hand in his. Blue eyes fixed keenly on her face. Soaking in her every emotion as she told her sorrowful truth. Ryan could feel the anguish radiating from his lover. Though it was impossible for him to truly comprehend her pain, he had experienced enough trauma to understand, at least in part, the immense guilt she carried. As time went on, the former Soldier couldn’t help but mirror Rorye’s grief. Tears burned at the edges of his eyes. A large lump swelling painfully in his throat, even as she struggled to speak the words herself. A hushed cough to clear his throat, but he said nothing to interrupt. “He attacked us and I killed him, but I lost my son,” she pulled away from him slowly. “I had so many injuries... and I wasn’t strong enough to save my son.” These words, the pain behind them, brought Ryan to his limit. He couldn’t bear to watch her suffer another instant. With his injured arm, he reached around the Rorye’s shoulders. Gently, he cupped her head in his hand and pulled her tightly to his chest. Good arm wrapped around her middle and pulled her tighter still. The embrace brought with it a heavy, aching pain. He didn’t care. Harker held her close and after a moment, the pain dulled to a mere discomfort. “Oh Rorye,” the warrior breathed. A deep sigh was exhaled before he could continue. “My sweet girl… none of that was your fault,” his words were somber and sincere. Lips placed a light kiss atop her head. Then he turned his cheek and laid his head upon hers. “None of it. You did everything you could do… You did everything a good mother would do… There was nothing else you could have done…” Ryan felt slender fingers grasp a fistful of his shirt. Rorye buried her face deeper into his chest. Her breaths were short, quivering. The agent’s words were barely more than a whisper now, “There is nothing to forgive. But even if there was, they’d already have forgiven you… You have to forgive yourself.” The wounded man went quiet again. There was nothing else he needed to say. He merely held the woman he loved. A hand brushed her hair gingerly. Occasionally, a soothing “shhhh,” would pass through his lips. He would sit and comfort her for as long as it took. Or until one of them, or both of them, fell asleep.

“Everything that has happened to us has led us to the moments where we now exist. You are already exactly who you need to be... Ryan, you are a great man," “You give me far too much credit,” Ryan replied dismissively. Rorye’s words were kind, her smile warm. The warrior didn’t sense any unexpressed anger toward him, but even in his inebriated state, he could tell she was harboring emotions behind her countenance. As the smile faded, Ryan noticed a pause in her lips, eyes locked on his for a moment. There was something she wanted to say. The instant passed, and the shop owner resumed her jubilant façade. "You need to rest, c'mon. You can tell me more in the morning." Rorye said, still holding the Soldier’s hand. She rose from the couch smoothly, pulling lightly for him to follow her lead. Ryan’s broken bones had largely been mended by Althea’s magic. The sharp, intense pain of the fractures had been replaced by a deep, dull ache. Tendons and muscle around the bone had previously tightened to point of near immobility. The body’s natural attempt to protect itself from further injury. Now however, the narcotics, muscle relaxers, and alcohol were doing their work. Pain had diminished to a level the warrior could endure with only mild effort. Muscles had indeed relaxed, allowing for more natural movement. Liquid courage lowering his inhibitions and granting him a modest second wind. Ryan didn’t budge when the Scottish beauty attempted to guide him from the couch. Instead, he gently pulled her back toward the sofa. Rorye held her ground in turn. Hesitation displayed plainly on her face. The operative knew he was in no condition to best her in a contest of strength, but he was confident she wouldn’t risk injuring him further. A decisive tug brought his lover into his lap. “I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Ryan’s voice was low when he spoke. Features softened to beam at Rorye. “After today, I could use another drink and good company.” The wounded Soldier motioned for the blankets she had brought earlier, “Maybe you can tell me a little about what’s on your mind?” Ryan paused to gauge her response. Then added lightheartedly, “or I suppose you could just listen to another one of my horribly depressing war stories.”

Rorye hadn’t shown any indication she was upset, but Ryan recognized her professional charm when he observed her demeanor. To anyone else, she would have seemed content, peppy even. Not to him. By now, he had studied his lover in an array of situations and circumstances. Professional, casual, life and death, intimate… He could tell when she was in pain, or at least when she was suppressing her emotions. Presently, Rorye had assumed the persona of the shop hostess. Had she seen the picture? Of course, she had. She had to have seen it, right? "I don't just sell books you know. You do realize you have access to one of the world's best compound pharmacists, right? If I do say so myself…" "Well, well, a woman of MANY talents," Ryan replied from the shower. A glance cast in Rorye’s direction before again allowing his head to hang beneath the water. "I can make you more effective painkillers than that. Ones that won't screw with your brain, some that activate proactively when your pain reflexes kick in." Uninjured arm was braced against the showers stone wall, keeping the weary man on his feet. He pressed his forehead against the same wall, just under his forearm. “I’d appreciate that,” Ryan murmured, this time without looking up. “Hey bathing beauty,” Rorye pulled him from the thoughtless trance that threatened to swallow him. “Ignore what you think these are and just trust me. All at once, down the hatch.” The warrior did as he was told. Guilt from the Rorye’s upset and embarrassment from his earlier tantrum, prevented him from mentioning he had already popped more than enough pills earlier. He would certainly sleep well tonight. “I check on you in a few minutes, just let me know when you’re out and I can resize the sling… and then you’re going to bed.” His caretaker did her best to conceal her emotions, but Ryan could see the hurt behind her eyes. She had seen the photograph. Soft eyes conveyed he could see her anguish. Smile was light, “I’ll be right out.” Bathroom door closed and Ryan found himself alone. The operative pressed his head back against the textured stone. The showers near scalding water flowed over him and the air thickened with steam once more. Ryan stood in silent contemplation for a time. The relationship between him and Rorye had been unexpected, but burned with an intensity he had felt only once before in his life. Their connection had grown with a swiftness he would have thought impossible had he not experienced it himself. The evening thus far had been a hyperbolic illustration of said relationship. Passionate and quarrelsome, but also tender, and now… love. This intensity combined with each of their painful pasts, at times, made for whirlwind of emotions. This was one of those times. Ryan wanted to reassure Rorye. For her to know their connection was genuine, her feelings reciprocated, and he wasn’t trapped in the past. However, this would require him sharing the details of said past. And while he wasn’t a captive to his memories, the pain was still there any time he revisited them. A pain he would have to endure again tonight. He supposed he owed her that. Bathroom door opened and the ARMA agent stepped out, followed by a billow of steam. Wearing only his boxers, he strode into the kitchen. A pair of fresh glasses were fetched from the cabinet. Right arm hung lamely at his side whilst he poured each of them a drink. Gaze remained on the task as he spoke. “I was a dumb, angry, rebellious kid back in Highschool. I met a girl though… too good for me of course. Her name was Alisha. The 9/11 attack was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and I needed a place to focus my anger. So, I told her I wanted to join the Army and I was going to be a badass military operator." Ryan chuckled as he plucked one of the glasses from the countertop. "Alisha was the prettiest, smartest, sweetest girl in school... and for some reason, she liked me. She kept me out of too much trouble, helped me focus on my grades, and supported my dream to join the military." Vivid blue eyes flitted to Rorye as he handed her the glass, but only for a moment. "We were Highschool sweethearts. So, like every dumb private, I proposed to her before I left for basic training." Another laugh from the Soldier as he walked back to the counter, quite obviously scoffing at his youthful optimism. Ryan picked up his own drink with his good hand, "She said 'yes'.” A pause as he sipped from the glass. “Neither of our parents supported our marriage, or my joining the military. Alisha loved me nonetheless and she knew the military was my path." "We got married in a courthouse. I had won a pretty big MMA tournament and used the winnings to buy her a little ring. It wasn't much, but God she loved that ring." The wounded man stared distantly at the kitchen island, a smirk cracking his somber features. "I was gone for months after that... Basic, AIT, Airborne School, RIP...” Ryan was using terms Rorye probably didn’t fully understand, but he was too inebriated by pills, pain and booze to notice. “When I finally made it to Ranger Bat, she dropped everything and moved to Georgia to be with me." "Then I was gone for months again...” Harker had meandered over to the couch by now. Cautiously, he sank into the leather with an exhausted sigh. “She was studying to be a nurse. Money was tight, so she got a side job on post to help with bills." "When I got back from Ranger School, she told me she was pregnant... we were having twins... Man was I was panicking." The Soldier spared another glance at Rorye. Azure hues glossed with more moisture than usual. Head shook back and forth as he recalled his disbelief, "we were 19 years old kids, money was tight, and we were having twins." "I deployed a little while after that...” Regret marred his countenance, lips pursed as if holding something back. “I missed the birth of my little girls, Athena and Amora...” His voice nearly broke, “I tried so hard to get home, but I just couldn’t… Fuck I missed so much..." "After I got back from my first deployment, I was home with all my girls for a little while. Then gone again...” The waves of emotion had broken against Ryan’s consciousness. Initially he had been unprepared, but now he seemed to regain his composure. Still, his tone was defeated as he continued, “They took their first steps, said their first words like a month into my second tour." "I was missing everything...” Another sip of bourbon from his glass. “So, when I finally got back from that deployment, I swore I was going to be there. I was going to get out when my contract ended, and I was going to be the man my girls deserved." "I took leave for almost two months when I got back. Best two months of my life...” Ryan didn’t seem to notice he was talking far more than usual. He seemed unphased by Rorye’s response thus far. There was a brief pause in his words before he resumed his intoxicated monologue. “Then... the Shift happened... and in an instant... they were taken from me." "All the time I missed, all the times I told myself, 'after this I’m going to do better.' You never really know how much time you have... They deserved better..." Whiskey glass was set aside. For the first time since he entered the room, the operative held his gaze on Rorye. "So, I keep a picture of the three greatest things to ever happen to my life... To always remember them... to remind myself that life is short...” Ryan leaned forward and took Rorye’s hand. He wanted her to understand his meaning, “and that if something great ever happens into my life again... to be better."

“I’ll stay as long as you want me here.” Ryan was glad to hear the words. Sometimes, he found himself in awe of just how amazing a woman Rorye was. This was one of those times. Despite having nearly been murdered earlier that morning, and despite his present condition, he couldn’t help feeling lucky. To have met a girl like her, in a world like this… “C’mon Soldier… time to get naked,” she teased, hands on her hips. “You’ll never have to ask me twice,” he replied slyly. Rorye helped the wounded agent out of his weighty, battle attire. Sharp pains and dull aches blended together into a disorienting agony. Several times Ryan was forced to hold his breath, jaw clenched and neck muscles taut in order to avoid shouting aloud. Apart from a few sharp inhales and a couple labored breaths, he remained stoic throughout the ordeal. Once his clothes were removed, Rorye paused a moment to examine the operative’s visible injuries. Widespread swelling and discoloration on his arm and back distinguished new abuse from the old. “This is Altheia’s work,” she said thoughtfully. “She’s the best.” “You know Altheia then?” Ryan asked, only slightly surprised. “Yeah, she’s patched me up more than once. She’s the best if you’re pinched for time. I’ll definitely have to go and see her again tomorrow...” The sentenced halted mid-thought. The Soldier catching himself before revealing information certain to cause his partner further concern. He hadn’t yet mentioned it, but in two days’ time he would be meeting with an enforcer of the Sheut Nation. This enforcer had an ominous reputation. The thought had occurred to him it may be easier for the Nation to tie up loose ends, than to admit culpability in an inter-agency debacle of this magnitude. He needed to be prepared. Harker intended to tell Rorye of the meeting… now just seemed a poor time. She walked him to the shower, though he didn’t require much assistance. Sitting up, laying down, putting on clothes, breathing; those were the tasks he struggled with presently. Whilst already on his feet, he was able to shuffle around well enough. At first, Ryan flinched when the heated water touched his skin. A moment to acclimate to the temperature. Before long the waters’ warmth began to seep into his weary muscles, soothing them to some extent. An exhausted sigh. From the corner of his eye he observed Rorye as she handled his weaponry. A feeling of pride as she cleared and made safe the firearm with practiced ease. “Clothing preferences?” She inquired whilst tidying his soiled equipment. “Anything comfortable,” he answered. Eyes were closed; forehead pressed to the tile beneath the showers facet. “Pain meds? In the bedroom nightstand correct?” “Yeah,” he answered thoughtlessly. “I’ll go grab them.” A pang of panic suddenly gripped the Soldier. “It’s okay, I’ll get’em in a minute.” Ryan lifted his head to glance around the bathroom. Rorye had already left. She would find more than an embarrassing amount of medication in the nightstand. Beneath the pill bottles scattered in the nightstand’s top drawer was a small, 4’ by 6’ inch, picture frame. Three faces filled the frame’s simple black border, with a blue sky and a grassy field in the backdrop. In the center was a woman in her early 20’s, shoulder length brown hair, olive skin, and emerald eyes; raw beauty made even her modest make-up an unnecessary effort. The woman embraced two young girls, one under each arm. Their faces pressed against hers on either side, all of them smiling. The three of them lay on their stomachs in the grass. Cheeks propped up on their hands and elbows, faces aimed toward the camera. The little girls were no older than three years of age, and quite obviously twins. They shared their mother’s tanned skin, their similar brown hair drawn back into matching pigtails. Uniquely captivating were the girl’s eyes. They were green not unlike their mother’s, but with stunning azure shade. As if drops of a brilliant blue had been added to the mixture. The result, a gorgeous cyan hue. Ryan gave an exhausted sigh and allowed his head to rest against the shower’s wall once more. He had just confessed his feelings for Rorye, and now she would bare witness to those he loved before her. It wasn’t as if he was hiding his past from her, but to share the history meant revisiting those moments in time. Reliving the emotions of love and loss. The sentiments consumed so much of his energy, like a void in his heart that could never be filled. Not too long ago, those same feelings had taken him to a very dark place. There was a moment of tranquil acceptance for the warrior, flowing over him as he bathed under the shower’s stream. Perhaps it was time he shared his past with Rorye… there was still so much she didn’t know.

There was an awkward pause amongst the trio once the elevator doors had finally opened, though it only lasted a moment. Despite the intensity of their last discussion, Rorye assumed her “saleswoman” persona with little visible effort. She gave Ryan a look of “I’ll handle this and then we’ll talk,” then she casually corralled Mrs. Hanson and her feline down the hall. Ryan excused himself politely and shirked back to his own apartment. The agent stood just inside the doorway of his flat, listening as Rorye charmed Mrs. Hanson back into her residence. Before long, the ladies finished their conversation. At the sound of Mrs. Hanson’s door closing, Harker strode deeper into his living room. He seated himself at the kitchen table, facing the front door, which he had left open as an invitation to his guest. “Motorcycles, huh?” his Valkyrie asked from the hallway. “It was the best I could come up with in the moment… Cora.” Ryan waved her forward, “come in.” “Please tell me the walls are not thin enough for her to have heard us,” she said closing the door behind her. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” “You know, now that you mention it… she might have,” the agent rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his unhindered hand. “I thought she was acting weird after the first night you stayed over…” his voice trailed off for a moment. “The wink and the fist bump were so out of character…” face held mock contemplation for only another second before a grin cracked his façade. “You called, do you need anything?” she seemed eager to change the subject. Nose and cheeks were visibly pink, she was absolutely blushing. “Just you,” Ryan murmured softly. Smirk fading from his features. “Would you settle for an ‘I’m sorry’ gift? I... was a bit harsh, I'm sorry. It’s not flowers and a teddy bear… it’s more shiny and pointy and pisses off vampires.” Rorye tried to conceal her embarrassment by looking away and brushing at the cat fur on her coat. “Eh, I am probably the one who should apologize,” the Soldier said sullenly. “I was being an ass. I’m not mad at you… I’m just pissed off about everything else. I’m not sure you understand what this all means. The threat is still out there, and I am all out of leads.” His head tilted as if to shrug, “Sure, the group hunting you is dead, but their higher organization still exists. Their search for magus blood brought them to you once, and there is nothing to stop them from seeking you out again. You’re safe for now, but I can’t guarantee how long it will last.” Harker stared distantly at the wall in the kitchen, as if looking for something beyond its surface, “I will come up with a plan, but right now I’ve got nothing.” Eyes fell to the floor, his fingers tapping lightly on the table near his glass of bourbon. “and for the record, I feel the same way about you too…” It was a roundabout way of saying “I love you too,” but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to say the exact words. Even the indirect statement seemed to pull at his heart. Ryan hadn’t said those words to anyone in many years. It was ludicrous to express them to someone he had known so briefly. Deep down however, he knew it was the truth. “I never wanted you to see me like this…” the wounded warrior continued, still avoiding Rorye’s gaze. “But, now that you’re here I suppose you should know it’s not exactly uncommon for me to end up in the infirmary from time to time.” Ryan’s frustration, anger, and rage had finally dissipated. All that remained now was acute exhaustion, and a hidden, childlike desire to connect with someone. For someone to tell him his efforts hadn’t been in vain, that his best had been enough, and that everything would be okay. This desire was one the Soldier never allowed himself to feel, and one he hadn’t felt in many years. A rare moment of vulnerability, one spurred by his disparaging failure of present and drawn out of him by the compassion of his indomitable Valkyrie. “Please stay,” his voice was barely louder than a whisper. “I could use some help out of these clothes,” hand motioned toward attire, still spattered with vampire gore. “and I would rest easier knowing you were here with me… safe.”

Ryan stood brooding in the kitchen of his Manhattan apartment. Gaze lingered on the front door. The room had fallen silent, he could hear the tinnitus ringing in his ears once more. Constant, high-pitched whine was interrupted only by the beating of his heart. His home felt empty now. Which was odd, because it had never felt that way before. She shouldn’t have come. Her intentions had been pure, but the ill-opportune meeting had caused only grief for them both. After reeling from defeat, he had needed time to refocus his mind. Furthermore, seeing her lover in such a wounded condition probably hadn’t benefited her psyche either. An image he had tried to spare her. Regardless of what should or should not have happened, she had come to his apartment and the conflict had occurred. Now, what could be done to better the situation? Harker hadn’t moved. Contemplation had absorbed him. A side of his mind desired nothing more than to chase after her… to set things right. Another part of his mind advised him against the pursuit. It reminded him he was a Soldier with a damaged soul, and that if he wasn’t in the right frame of mind, he could do more harm than good to those he loved. Yet another piece of his mind was consumed by a single, important, notion. She had professed her love for him. A sentiment he had answered by hawking venom in her face. Good, bad, or indifferent, the last section of his mind managed to triumph over the others. Door swung open and Ryan jogged out into the hallway. He grimaced at the discomfort but continued trotting until he reached the floors elevator lobby. Metal doors had just closed. Fingers pressed the call button urgently, but the doors remained sealed. “God damn it,” he cursed aloud. Able hand reached into his coat pocket to retrieve his cell phone. “Everything alright dear?” Quivering tone was one the agent recognized. Mrs. Hanson was his neighbor in the apartment next door. The kind old woman owned a single cat, but otherwise lived alone. With little else to occupy her, she had taken it upon herself to gather gossip on the building’s other tenants. Ryan only spoke to her in passing, except when she sometimes brought him a homemade dessert. An excuse she used to interact with him; one indulged on the rare occasion he was home. “Hi Mrs. Hanson. Yeah, everything’s fine,” he sighed. Rorye’s number was dialed and he held the phone to his ear. “Oh my god! What happened to your arm?” Mrs. Hanson exclaimed as approached him. “Err… Motorcycle accident.” “Oh, my goodness, are you okay?” She seemed genuinely concerned. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a scratch.” He responded politely, though he was worried Rorye may have already left the building. Elevator button was pushed again for good measure. “I didn’t even know you owned a motorcycle?” “Yeah, not anymore.” His patience was wearing thin. This elevator was taking forever and Rorye’s phone wasn’t ringing through. “Good, you’re better off without it.” Ryan hit the call button for the tenth time, “Come. On.” “In a hurry?” “Yeah, you could say that,” he answered unenthusiastically. Pleasant as she may be, he was about to strangle the woman. “Chasing after that girl that stormed out of here crying?” She asked, arms folding over her chest. She eyed him disapprovingly. The agent gave a defeated groan, “Yeah.” “Whatever you did John, you better make it right,” Mrs. Hanson scolded him. “She seemed like such a nice girl. Poor thing.” “She is, and I will.” He capitulated. Ignoring the fact Mrs. Hanson had taken Rorye’s side after only glance. Ryan had been her neighbor for almost two years. Contact was dialed once more in Harker’s phone. Rumble beyond the elevator door informed him it was near his floor. Finally. Call on his mobile was ringing through. At the same moment, he could hear a song playing on the other side of the metal doors. There was a pitched “ding” and the elevator doors opened. Whomever was inside the compartment, would find a battered man and an elderly woman staring at them. No doubt, the pair would make an unexpected sight.

The apartment was warm. Temperature inside maintained by the thermostat despite the agent’s prolonged absence. ARMA could afford the expense. Rorye removed her layers and hung them on the coat rack. She was quiet. She seemed tentative in almost all that she did. As if deliberating on every act before she carried it out. Without a word, she walked to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Meanwhile, Ryan had forgone removing his coat. Instead he headed straight for the liquor cabinet. Glass and a bottle of his favorite, affordable, bourbon was withdrawn from the cupboard. Both items were placed on the countertop below. Despite the sling impeding its movement, his right hand held the bottle in place whilst he unscrewed the cap. A couple fingers worth was poured into the whiskey glass. Bottle was set aside before he picked up the glass and hurled its contents down his gullet. Glass was slammed roughly on the counter. The Soldier wiped his mouth, pausing a moment to allow a liquored breath to ease through his lips. Another drink was poured and taken in hand. Finally, he turned to face Rorye. Ryan hated the way she looked at him. Her eyes pained with fear and sympathy. She seemed to notice his discontent, and almost subconsciously began to avoid his stare. Somehow, the elusion felt worse. He was a warrior. An unstoppable, unkillable, consequence to any foolish enough to cross his path. There was nothing he couldn’t do. There was no task too great, and no force on Earth he couldn’t defeat. At least, that was the reputation he had established for himself. Those within his community had come revere him as “the mage hunter,” or simply “the hunter.” An ARMA boogeyman for even the deadliest of the organization’s supernatural foes. The man, the myth, the legend. Harker didn’t want her to see him any differently. He had made promises. Rorye was depending on him. He wanted her to feel safe with him, to trust him, and not to worry about him. He wanted her to believe the legend. For in a world plagued by monsters, demons, and magus, what could a mere mortal hope to accomplish? Presently however, battered and broken as he was, Harker appeared anything but extraordinary. Just a man, nothing more. Rorye pulled a chair out for him at the kitchen table and motioned for him to sit. When he stood his ground, she refrained from arguing. An awkward moment passed before she left the kitchen and walked into the bathroom. Ryan seized the opportunity to slip into the bedroom without her being immediately aware. Glass of bourbon was set atop the nightstand by the bed. Top drawer was pulled open to reveal a gun, a picture frame, and several half empty prescription bottles. The agent plucked the bottles from the drawer one at a time, removing a couple capsules from each before throwing the them back into the drawer. Rattle from the discarded containers could probably be heard in next room. He didn’t care. Gathered pills were tossed into his mouth and then washed down with another gulp of bourbon. A moment later Harker returned to the kitchen. Rorye was waiting by the table with a pair of damp towels. “When you’re set-up and comfortable, I’ll go,” she said softly. “I’m fine,” he insisted. The statement was only partly true. Reluctantly, he strode to the table and seated himself in the chair she had set for him. Drink was placed on the table’s surface. “You didn’t need to come.” “I know I didn’t need to come,” she replied calmly. She attempted to swab his face with the towel, but he held up a hand to stop her. “I said, I’m fine,” the agent asserted, this time more firmly than before. She was trying to take care of him, and in return he was being an asshole. Rorye set the towel aside. Her eyes found his for a time, until he flinched uncomfortably from her gaze. “You need to understand I’ll always come,” she said. Despite his resistance to her affection, she leaned in closer. Delicate lips touched gently to his forehead, then she whispered “…and even if you have to limp home. Just come home.” Ryan stared distantly at his glass, refusing to acknowledge the woman before him. Emotions divided his mind, pitting the sides against one another. Unsure of how to resolve the conflict, he chose to remain silent. Rorye walked about the apartment for a couple minutes before returning to the kitchen. She tried talking to him, but her words weren’t being heard. Harker glared intently at the drink in his hand. Mending of his wounds, the pills, the alcohol, all were helping to subside the disorienting pain. The fog in his brain was beginning to lift enough for him to think. The more he reflected on his circumstances, the angrier he became. The way she was looking at him, the way she spoke to him, the indignity it afflicted… fuel to a growing fire. “I don’t know what happened last night and I don’t expect you to tell me. But don’t be afraid to ask me to be here, even if it’s just to sit on the couch and read a book. What are we all fighting for if not for the opportunity to be safe and with those we love?” “You want to know what happened last night?” Ryan’s voice was low. Whiskey glass was pushed aside, and his gaze drifted in her direction. Slowly he ascended to his feet; a tempered rage burning behind his radiant eyes. “I did exactly what I told you I would do,” he said stepping nearer to her. “I took the fight to them. I tore their organization apart. I followed a trail of bodies that led me directly to the O-F-L.” His volume was increasing, tone becoming more vehement with every spoken word. “Until eventually they realized, the men they’d hired to protect them couldn’t. Until they realized, the men they’d hired to kill me couldn’t! So those fuckers gave up on you, and they gave up on their hold of these streets!” By now he was practically yelling in Rorye’s face. Of course, it wasn’t her fault. None of it was. Once more, he didn’t care. He needed to be strong, he needed to be angry. He couldn’t stand her sad eyes lingering on him any longer, gazing at him as if he were a wounded puppy. Better she be furious with him, hate him even, than to look at him that way for even another second. “And do you know what they did?” The rhetorical question came with a lull in his shouting. “They set a trap, and they murdered all of their own people to do it. Anyone I had any intel on, they killed. They contracted a pro. The kind of assassin you can’t buy with just money! You must have influence and connections to even find a guy like this! He was trained, well equipped, and he was ready for me. He knew exactly what I was going to do, and I walked right into his fucking trap!” Ryan turned away from her, putting distance between himself and Rorye. Breathing was heavy. Fists were clenched. Rage boiling on the edge of violence. He wanted to punch something, hurt something, but he did neither. Anger wasn’t toward her, the Order, or even the creature that tried to kill him… he was angry at himself. Harker pivoted sharply, pointing a finger at Rorye as he boasted, “But I killed that son of a bitch! Because that’s who I am! I won’t beaten by some shady fucking Order offshoot, and I certainly won’t be killed by some two-bit vamp!” Arm lowered slowly to his side, and an odd silence fell over the room. A short time passed, and Ryan’s demeanor began to calm. A puzzled expression marred his countenance. He was beginning to digest the words Rorye had attempted to convey before his rant. Indirectly, she had proclaimed something important. Blue eyes softened, as did his voice, “Wait, did you just say you love me?”

Once the scene at the warehouse had been transferred over to the Knight Division for processing, Harker had been transported back to ARMA headquarters for enhanced medical care. There he had been tended to by several medical staff, but his primary doctor had been Altheia Martin. At the agent’s request, Dr. Martin had used advanced magic to augment the modern treatment of his injuries. The result had been mended bones and healed lacerations, but strained ligaments and torn muscles remained debilitated. By the end of his session, both Ryan and the good doctor were completely exhausted. Some hours later, the agent managed to drive himself back to his apartment building. Sable Challenger was parked in its private garage and the door lowered automatically behind it. Rumble of the muscle car’s engine filled the small space. Turn of the key killed the machine’s aspirated growl. The vehicle’s interior and exterior lights dimmed, and the garage became totally dark. Harker sat in quietly inside the cabin of his car. A heavy sigh escaped the man. The prospect of exiting his vehicle, let alone walking to his apartment, seemed a daunting task. Perhaps, it would be easier to simply sleep in the car? No. At some point he would have to make the journey. Might as well get it done and get a bit of decent sleep in an actual bed. Another deep breath as Ryan steeled himself for the trek ahead. Driver door popped open. Slowly, he turned himself and placed his boots firmly on the concrete floor. Then, while making a sound similar to a wounded mule, he gradually climbed out of the vehicle. Right arm was bound in a sling, so the extrication was done with only his left hand to assist. Anguished wince subsided after a few more labored breaths. Car was locked and the agent made his way into the apartment building. The dark clad operative limped casually through the building’s lobby. Behind the front desk, stood a young man in a cheap suit. Golden name plate pinned neatly over his left coat pocket. “SHAWN” engraved neatly in the badges metallic surface. “Another rough day at the office, John?” Asked the young man, his gaze holding only mild surprise at the agent’s condition. “You could say that,” Harker answered without any indication he would elaborate on the subject. He walked directly to the elevator, having spared little more than a glance in lobbyist’ direction. “Take it easy, Shawn,” he said before the elevator doors closed. “You too, sir,” Shawn replied. “Get some rest.” When the elevator doors opened again, Ryan nearly ran into Rorye. She was looking down at her phone when he stepped onto his floor. Almond eyes darted up at him in time to avoid the collision. Initially, the agent was disoriented by the unexpected encounter. A second passed before his dismay dissipated. “Rorye,” he said abruptly, obviously startled. Rorye’s cheeks were flush from the cold, lips purple despite her lipstick. Still, she looked beautiful. It was obvious she had put effort into her appearance. Not that she needed to, but the extra time was evident, nonetheless. Curls in her hair were pulled back into fraying braid, but Ryan suspected they had been flowing naturally over her shoulders some hours earlier. Lightly applied makeup elevated her already perfect features, her eyes specifically drew his attention. After taking in her beauty, Harker was suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of the evening’s events. Eyes fell to the floor, too ashamed to hold her gaze any longer. Her presence there meant he would be forced to divulge his failure. She would demand an explanation. He had hoped for a little time to regroup before confronting her. A chance to develop a plan, before telling her how he had managed to fuck everything up. “I told you everything was fine. You didn’t need to come,” Ryan said as he walked past her. Breaths were shorter as he forced himself to stand up straight. Limp in his step was barely visible now, at least for the moment. “Come inside and get warmed up, you look absolutely freezing.”

*** Continued from “A Night in Hell” *** February 13, 2022 0200 Hours Waterfront Warehouse, NYC Despite his injuries, the dark, the wind, and the cold, Ryan had managed to shoot his communications jammer on his first attempt. It had been placed on the fire escape across the street, hidden from view. The small, black box jumped when the round tore through it. The sound of gunfire muffled by the silencer at the end of his weapon’s barrel. After checking his phone to ensure service had been restored, the agent trudged through the snow and made his way back into the warehouse. A shaking hand dialed the contact in his phone. Shivering couldn’t be helped, by now the cold had seeped down to the bone. First call was made to the head of the Cloak Division. The Division leader had been disappointed at the mission’s outcome, but nonetheless, was understanding of the agent’s situation. Authorization was approved to request immediate support from the Knight Division. Harker was given a verification code to confirm the requests approval. The next call was made to none other than Cassandra Greene, the Knight Divisions most trusted Captain. Harker’s “request” for support wasn’t really a request. A Cloak operative in the field, on an authorized mission, could pretty much demand emergency assistance from the other ARMA Divisions. If the support was available, it would be provided. That said, these requests were not made lightly, and poor judgment on the part of the operative could easily result in the end of his career. Given the nature of their previous encounters, Harker wasn’t surprised by Captain Greene’s displeased response to his request for assistance. By the end of their conversation she had called him a “shit magnet” more than once; probably not an unfair assessment. Regardless of her personal frustrations, Cassandra assured him the cavalry was enroute. A tactical team, crime scene investigators, emergency medical personnel, and a host of other Knight agents would be at his location shortly. Ryan paused before making the last call. Her contact had been pulled up on his phone, thumb hovered over the dial button. She was expecting a call from him. Had the mission gone according to plan, he would be bringing the recovered artifact to her place for analysis presently. Unfortunately, this mission had been FUBAR from the beginning. Rorye hadn’t been given any information regarding the operation at the warehouse. Ryan mentioned he would be acquiring an enchanted item this evening; a relic pertaining to their investigation of the “threat.” She was probably still awake, waiting for him to return so they could examine the artifact together. Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen now. She would worry if he didn’t call. Still, for several reasons, the Soldier hesitated. Most prominent amongst them being the shame he felt. Arrogantly, he had promised he would keep her safe. Vowed he would find those responsible for Remy’s death. Boasted he would follow the organization to its highest levels and see it destroyed. Told her not to worry and assured her, he could handle himself. Yet, his current circumstance invalidated all those claims. He had failed. Button was pressed and the phone rang. When he heard her voice on the other end, he said casually, “Hey gorgeous.” Ryan could feel a lump growing in his throat, tightening his vocal cords. “What the fuck?” he chastised himself. He had managed to maintain his composure throughout both of his previous conversations. Now, he could feel his bearing slipping. Was it the intense pain in his shattered arm? The stabbing sensation he felt in his ribcage with every breath? Or was it the disparaging chill threatening to freeze his exposed extremities? The ceaseless ache throughout his body, as his muscles spasmed involuntarily against his injuries in an attempt keep him warm? Perhaps, it was merely the shame of letting her down? Or knowing he was going to lie to her about it now? More than likely, it was a combination of all the above. Ryan coughed lightly to clear his throat. “Pull your shit together,” he coached himself mentally. “Hey, so I kinda fucked up some of the paperwork for my last mission.” A deep breath, mouth away from the phone so it wouldn’t be heard. Frustrated tears burned at the edges of his eyes. Adrenaline had all but subsided. The pain of his condition was wearing down his mental fortitude. Given everything, he was probably on the verge of shock. Voice in his head came again, “You’re a warrior God damn it, get your fucken mind right.” Another light cough, then he continued. “No big deal, but I gotta head over to H-Q and sort it out.” The agent stood alone in the dark, away from Maya. “Probably not going to make it back to the shop tonight. My place is closer to H-Q, so I might just stop in there for some sleep.” “There you go,” the voice said. “Calm breaths. You got this.” “Everything is fine,” surprisingly, Ryan had managed to keep an even tone. “I just wanted to give you a call so you wouldn’t worry.” (OOC: Ryan isn't in good shape, but his injuries really just consist of a broken arm, a couple cracked ribs, a head injury, assorted bumps and bruises. Nothing life threatening. But if you have ever had all these injuries at once, once your adrenaline wears off, it can be a lot to handle.)