Part 1 – Activation
Following the Division's stint in New York, the man that invented the "Dollar Flu" dead, the rogue agent, Arron Keener has disappeared completely, and the Division now spoken in hushed whispers, they retreated back into society, waiting for the call…
Jimmy's Downhome Bar on Main Street, a place in Kansas City you can come, have a beer, get some good old-fashion Kansas-City Barbeque, maybe a sandwich, and enjoy some nice company.
The bar had been originally opened during Prohibition as a Speakeasy, then following Prohibition, it fell to a private owner, and it changed faces multiple times.
The waitresses wore corsets, skirts, and mid-ankle high boots, the waiters wore leather waist-coats, white shirts, jeans, and leather boots.
The bartenders wore similar outfits, save for the fact they wore leather ivy caps.
With New York now stable, and most agents now living their regular lives, most people were talking about what they would do if the person next to them suddenly got a signal on a strange watch they wear on their wrists.
James Staten, the head bartender mixing a cosmopolitan while he was talking to his underlying bartender, Ben Jaeger, "Can you honestly believe what they said," he asked, "Some kind of secret sleeper cell on American Soil? What made the government not trust their citizens enough to implant a sleeper cell here?"
Ben Jaeger was a six-foot-three Caucasian male with clean-cut brown hair, blue eyes, and an unusually redish-hued stubble.
"I don't know," Ben said as he double-poured two martinis into their requisite glasses, and pushed them across the bar to the two ladies that ordered them, "I saw a lot of crazy shit over in Afghanistan. Lots of behind-closed-doors crap, especially with the upper-echelon type of soldiers."
"You were a soldier," one of the girls asked.
"Nine years in, U.S. Army," Ben said.
"I was married to a soldier once," the girl on the right said as she sipped on her drink.
"Was," Ben asked as he mixed a tonic and gin for the guy sitting next to the two girls, "Past-tense?"
"He joined one of those Special Forces outfits, and we got a divorce," the girl said, "All I left him, in the end, was a house and a chair."
"Way harsh," Ben said as he poured a glass of beer for another customer sitting at the other end of the bar.
"I know I'd be pissed after that," James said.
"Who wouldn't," Ben asked, "You take a man's possessions, and leave him with a chair?"
"It was mutual," the girl said, "We both changed when he took the job."
"Military life is hard," Ben said, "My parents found it hard to accept when I joined. But they helped me pay for college, and it gave me a place where I belonged."
"Plus they taught you some great skills," James said before pointing his thumb at Ben, "Our boy here worked in the kitchen out on Kandahar Airfield. This guy can make an ordinary can of spam taste like a gourmet meal."
"You cook," the girl asked, "What were you doing tossing grenades instead of salads?"
"They needed someone to man the kitchen while the cook was out," Ben said, "Besides, you tell them you're a cook, and they'll make you a rifleman."
"You should have lied," James said, "It surely would have been a lot easier."
"Maybe," Ben said as he continued his rounds.
The bar was in the graveyard zone sometime around 8:30, by the time most of the customers had left, only about four were left by the time that 8:49 rolled around.
"What'd you think of that girl that talked about her former husband," James asked.
"She was cute," Ben said as he scrubbed out the double old-fashion whiskey glass that once belonged to a man that sat at the end of the bar to drink away his daily workplace worries, "But I sort of have a bit of a stink about women that can do that to their husbands, even if they were gone most of the time, and they weren't really talking."
"Why are you so adamant about that specifically," James asked as he handed a glass of water to the patron that was halfway buzzed on vodka.
"Because people involved in Special Forces are always in a tough position," Ben said as he began cleaning the bar in front of him, "The guys that are sent out can spend weeks on end without talking to their loved ones, and when they're deployed the only contact they have with their families is what they can squeeze in."
"It must be tough being a soldier," James said as he poured the halfway buzzed patron another glass of water, and handed it to him, "What was it like for you?"
"Me," Ben asked as he adjusted his tie, "It was difficult, to say the least. Half of our time was spent out in the field, and when we were on base, it was always in the back of our minds that at any moment we could come under attack."
"You kept weapons on you," James said as he handed a double scotch off to the man at the very end of the bar, "I'm surprised you were that concerned with attacks."
"The fighters over there were relentless," Ben said, "They would have done anything to kill Americans. It was hell, but it was our job, so we had no room to argue."
"I take it you didn't even want to argue," James asked.
"Nope," Ben said.
"Probably wise," James said, "I might have been a Marine, but even we knew you Army Boys were not all talk. By the way, how goes it with you and Sarah?"
"We're talking," Ben said, "She and James moved in with her parents. I suppose it might be for the best, maybe getting away from the city will help us."
"They settled in Chicago," James asked.
"That's where her parents live," Ben said, "And it's nowhere near New York."
"You think New York will ever be the same," James asked.
"Never," Ben said, "Whenever an event like this happens, the bombings in 1993, 9/11, Hurricane Sandy, it all ends up changing the face of the city altogether. Life might return to normal in NYC, but it'll never be the same as it was before the outbreak."
"You think something like that might happen to this town," James asked.
"You never know what's going to happen when a psychopath gets a hold of a dangerous weapon like the Dollar Flu," Ben said, "Gordon Amherst invented the disease as a means of 'natural selection', which goes to show that most people who have access to these kinds of labs are something that needs to be addressed. When someone has that type of personality and is handed the keys to a deadly disease then something like that is bound to happen."
"How do you know all that," James asked.
Ben knew he had screwed up there, but he put on a straight face and said, "I've got some friends in the Department of Defense," he then went to clean out a beer mug, "They told me a few things about the situation in New York."
"Indeed," James said as he began working on a whiskey and coke for one of the few patrons they had sitting at the bar, "For a second there, you had me thinking you could be some kind of secret agent."
The two of them looked up at the TV, and on it was the growing situation in New Orleans: the Dollar Flu had hit there, and the Joint Task Force consisting of the Louisiana National Guard, the New Orleans Police, and the hospitals around town were struggling to keep the peace.
The Louisiana Daily reporter, Michelle Ripley was standing on the opposite side of the Mississippi River from the city, "There is still no word on the status of the Joint Task Force that went into the city, so far it's been two weeks since any contact was made from the other side of the river," she said, "So far the only sounds we hear coming from inside the barricades set up by the National Guard to keep anyone from leaving are sporadic periods of rapid gunfire and explosions. We so far have not seen any real indications of the situation getting better or worse, and when asked for comment, the National Guard refused to comment."
The anchor then posed a question, "Michelle," he said, "Just from your point of view, is there any indication that the JTF has any handle on the situation?"
"From my point of view," Michelle asked before pointing at the city, "Right now, most of the city is under lockdown, but nothing so far seems to be changing, and nothing seems to be stable."
"Shitty situation," James said, "I'm sorry for everyone trapped inside, I'm just glad we don't have to be."
"Yep," Ben said as he handed another beer off to the patron in front of him who was waiting on his cab before that mysterious watch on his wrist glowed orange.
"What's that," James asked as he pointed at Ben's watch.
"That would be my calling card," Ben said as he walked out from behind the bar, "I have to go."
Ben's House…
A small two-bedroom house in Washington Weatley with a small basement, Ben went straight for the phone beside his bed, and dialed the number that's so top secret that if anyone were to share it, it would be considered committing treason, and the person that gave the number away would be thrown into a super-max for the rest of their lives.
"Standby while we connect you to a secure line," the automated voice over the other line as the phone went silent for one minute before a woman came over the line.
"Begin voice recognition," she said.
"Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought onto this world a new continent, a new nation, conceived by Liberty," Ben said.
"Stand by for voice identification," she said before there was a loud beep, and a buzzing sound, "Identity confirmed: what's your status, Agent Jaeger?"
"Green, ma'am," Ben said.
"Good, because there's a lot of work to do," she said.
"New Orleans," Ben asked.
"Yes," she said, "The JTF is struggling to keep peace in the city. Right now, the city's in a power struggle: locals who have taken to looting just to survive, religious zealots who believe that the Dollar Flu is a sign, men who have taken the Confederate flag in the name of the south, and a paramilitary gang that have taken up arms, and taken over a major portion of the city."
"Is there any news on the agents in New York," Ben asked.
"They have to stay in New York for now," she said, "Right now we have senior agents waiting in New Orleans, but we need more agents if we're going to secure the city."
"When am I going in," Ben asked.
"As soon as you get your gear," she said, "They'll be a truck coming to get you, and a plane waiting at the airport. Good look, Agent."
Ben hung up the phone and descended the stairs to his basement.
The basement was twelve feet by twelve feet, and had all the amenities of a small gym: punching bag, treadmill, and a yoga matt.
Right next to the punching bag was a large case meant for clothes, and after pushing it aside, it revealed a hidden locker behind it.
Ben held his smart-watch up to the small device mounted to the front of the case, after five seconds.
The leather coat he put on would be perfect in the January weather down in New Orleans, the ammo case on the ground of the locker held his .45 Mk23 Mod 0, his ISAC Brick, and the rifle case in the slot next to where his jacket hung was for his main weapon.
After attaching his ISAC Brick to the shoulder-strap of his backpack, he pressed a small button, and it sprung to life.
"Isaac, you there buddy," Ben asked.
"I am active," ISAC said, "Welcome back, Agent Jaeger."
Guess what'll happen…
