Balshumet: That's right ya'll! I live! I promised this story wouldn't be abandoned, and I meant it. This is only an interlude, and not a full chapter, but we work with what we've got here. I'll give more detail at the bottom.

Disclaimer: Do people even do this every chapter any more? Oh god I feel old, as old as this property that I do not own.

Interlude: The History of Jack and Jill

The Head Commander leaned away from the console in front of him. He'd retired into his private office aboard the carrier to review the data in relative peace. The final reports from the battle were spread across the screen- death reports, equipment loss, munitions usage, fuel consumption, damage reports- the stream of information was almost never-ending. It was certainly overwhelming, or it would be to a lesser man. He had ample experience with the long, large view and the picture this painted was less than stellar. This is worse than the aftermath in Austin…but not as bad as Amity. The lack of civilian collateral and the amount of salvable materials…a bonus in our favor, still, the causalities are extensive in terms of personnel. Second Priority especially was very vicious. I imagine all the years of confrontations have twisted its already tenuous morality. The loss of several long standing officers is the most substantial though, with recruiting down and a lack of suitable talent for promotion…" He thought through the miserable scenarios of necessary promotions of incompetent hacks to fill the missing positions in the organization. The specter of recruitment drives hung even heavier in his mind.

Ordinarily, recruitment was a specialty of his, but with the F.B. after his funding, and the recent spat of battle losses, recruitment to fill the voids would be difficult. And it's a bad time for recruiting, no one ever signs up this time of year… Everyone worthwhile had already committed to a college, and the dredges of humanity left weren't worthy of scrubbing GSU's toilets for the next four years. He winced when a more pressing matter came to the forefront of his mind. There was still the meeting back in D.C. to consider. Whether or not the organization lived to worry about recruiting new members hinged on a hastily called meeting by the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

The GSU was obstinately its own branch of the military, but that had yet to be legally codified. That meant that despite having the independent funding and the hardware, he wasn't a Chief of Staff himself. The GSU didn't answer to the President directly like other branches of the military. Instead the GSU were technically under the Army, the closest to their expertise. Although we take in more pilots for the Air Division than the Air Force and more ground grunts than the Army these days considering the need for experimental and exploratory teams for the GZ. The Commander leaned away from the data stream, rubbing a forming headache at his temples. This is an impossible task. Even if I had captured one of those demons, the F.B. would still be hovering around my funding nay-saying about the amount of causalities. How am I supposed to convince them-

"Enough of the mopping Fenton; you think the answer is going to materialized on the inside of your palm?"

Jack didn't have to take his hand off his face to identify the speaker; there was only one person bold enough to talk to him like that. "Castle." It was a sentence, a declaration and a warning.

"Don't take that tone with me, there's no one here but us. I know how you get after a major loss, and a meeting with the F.B. is never a fun time under the best of circumstances. It'd be a miracle if you did anything other than mope for the first hour, but here comes a pep talk."

"I don't want a pep talk Jill; I want a miracle."

"Well a pep talk's all you've got. Make it work soldier!" Lieutenant Castle stopped to poke him in the girth over his ribs before placing her hands on her hips. "Commander Fenton, what is the purpose of the GSU?"

"Oh come on, not the 'Savior of the World' speech."

"Indulge me."

"To eradicate the ghost threat, to protect the human race, to elevate the scientific acumen of mankind, and unite mankind against a common enemy."

"Soldier, does a ghost yet draw breath?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Soldier, do ghosts yet terrorize the true owners of this world?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Soldier! Do ghosts yet divide this world against each other with their wicked powers?!"

"Yes Ma'am!"

"Then soldier, is your job yet complete? How can you sit there feeling sorry for yourself? Did your men die in vain? Have our citizenry placed their trust in you without just cause?"

"Jilli-"

"-Have you forgotten?! You, who convinced the politicians and the lobbyists that the invisible was real. You, who rallied a nation to bring a whole dimension to heel. You, who slew Pariah Dark himself and cast down Uther Glaurung from his jeweled throne in single combat." She paused, taking a deep calming breath and straightening the suit she'd donned in preparation for the DC meeting. "You have conquered kings and slain dragons. You have beheaded behemoths and subdued forces of nature. Because of you, the human race is safe. Because of you, our greatest enemies are nearly bested. You have no time to rest on the eve of victory! You are better than these funding hungry bastards, you are meaner than these soul eating demons, you are bigger than this single loss. You've already done things more impossible than telling a bunch of bureaucratic shits where to place their complaints. I know you can find a path to victory through this defeat because you've already done so. The question is: do you think you deserve victory?"

"I…"

"Because if you'd rather give in to the F.B., to throw yourself on the sacrificial altar to assuage your own guilt, then nothing I say will change a thing." The Head Commander sighed. How did his Second-in-Command always see to the heart of his problems?

"I'm no longer sure…I can't really do this alone."

"Jack." She walked the final distance from the middle of the room to his side. "You're never alone." Jillian took his hand in both of hers, willing him to feel her loyalty and determination through just the barest touch.

That's right…she's been here since the beginning…"

Outside of Ripton, Wisconsin; April 22nd, 1994

Jack Fenton, the current acting leader of the Guys in White, shifted nervously outside the office of the Army Commander. The GIW had to get unprecedented approval for a full assault on a civilian target on American soil. An obstinately civilian target in any case. The field office had been set up just outside of the planned area of attack. The Army wanted officers close on the ground to the action in order to give assistance if needed. Well that was the official line.

Truthfully, they wanted to be on hand to subdue the GIW if they feel the situation has gone tits up. He'd only gotten this post in the last two weeks as his research into America's greatest enemy paid off. The former leader, an arrogant and equally power hungry Agent Chrome, hadn't been easy to oust from leadership. But Jack had learned through adversity that he could get just about anything he put his mind to. Now, all that stood between him and this approved assault was a stuffy old Army General and preconceived notions about his inexperience and competence. He pulled at the far too tight tie and shifted his significant girth from one foot to the other once more.

"My, don't you look nervous." A woman's voice rang out from the opposite end of the hastily created tent "hall". Jack looked up as the smart regimented steps of an Army member dully thudded on the tarp covered "floor" of the field office. The woman stopped an arm's length away and gave him an assessing look.

"Jillian Castle, Lt. Jillian Castle of the 86th artillery." He felt an eyebrow raise. He didn't know they let women into artillery, that was a combat position. He gave her a once over himself noting the strong shoulders and muscled arms with interest.

"GIW Commander, Jack Fenton," he said taking her hand in his. "Forgive me Lt. Castle, but I was under the impression they didn't allow women to take combat commissions."

"In America? No. But I come representing foreign interests" At Jack's stunned silence, she smiled. "Your research into ghost hybrids has made quite a stir. My superiors asked that I act as emissary on their behalf in this matter."

"And what does…?" He trailed off waiting for her to fill in the blank.

"Israel."

"What does Israel's military want with the GIW?"

"Right now? To confirm your theories. Our enemies have been surprisingly...creative with their smuggling of bombs as of late. Supernaturally effective one could say. We are concerned that this may be a gaping hole in our security. I was ordered to observe."

"That so? Observe what?"

"Well, my superiors would say your failure Commander Fenton." She paused to brush some imaginary dirt from her crisp pressed suit.

"And you Lt. Castle?"

"I would say 'to observe'. I am not convinced that you will be successful. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure your theory is correct, and I'm equally sure that this isn't merely a grudge match for you-some revenge quest. I've come to observe the leadership at the forefront of the military-scientific community." She turned away as the thickened flap separating the make shift hall from the even more ramshackle office parted. "Besides," she started just before Jack walked into the officer's arena, "this is of a personal interest to me. I've actually seen a ghost after all." Jack Fenton stopped to blink at her retreating form in surprise a moment longer before forging ahead into the unknown.

Outside of Ripton, Wisconsin; May 13th, 1994

Commander Fenton strode confidently out of the Army Commander's field office. It had taken nearly two weeks to compile the information necessary for the final report to the Army Brass, but it had been worth the effort. After the end of the engagement and the triumphant living proof of all his theory work, after the glorious high of battle, and the thrill of vengeful vindication, came the sober reality of it all. Vlad, and his potentially ghost infected spawn, had escaped. They'd lost millions in munitions and equipment-but the only causalities were the injured- and though his men had performed admirably, his own leadership needed some serious polish. All that aside, the pudding proof represented by the Wisconsin Initiative had been enough to grant the GIW a funding upgrade and a semi-independent organization designation. He still ultimately answered to military Brass, just not the Army exactly. The semi-independent status had been a surprise. It was one step below being a recognized independent branch of the military. It would do for now. His confident strides came to a halt as a tall back-lit silhouette blocked the exit a few feet away. "Congratulations Commander Fenton on your military and…bureaucratic successes."

"Lt. Castle."

"Your military prowess and leadership skills are impressive for a first time commander. Truly, the….Brass could not have chosen better."

"Forgive me Lt., but don't you have better things to do than congratulate a grunt?"

"Give yourself some credit Commander, you pulled off something when everyone expected you to fail. And I'm not just here for words." She brandished a manila envelope in his direction, walking towards him in the gloom.

"What's this?" He asked, looking at the innocuous beige folder with some confusion.

"My resume of course. While the GIW isn't an international organization, I do have some connections to the US military. I find you newly battle tempered organization too intriguing to resist."

"Ma'am?"

"I intend to make a transfer of sorts."

"I don't imagine the Israeli Army would much like to lose you."

"I come from a rather particular branch. Consider my application a first foray into international prominence." Lt. Castle turned to leave, a confident staccato against the tarp covered floor.

Arrogant… Jack thought, but seriously qualified. He amended mentally after taking a precursory glance at her files. I didn't know any of our allies had a spectral or supernatural division, other than the UK that is. Not sure what to make of her persona, or her claim to have seen-oh there are pictures. A broad grin split his face as he took in the green splattered images of a successful capture. Castle stood, gun over one shoulder, eyes sparking, in front of a stung up ghost. The date on the image was a year prior, almost to the day. "Well Lt. Castle, let's see what you can really do in a proper ghost hunting outfit." His growing organization could use the experience and manpower, and he was fresh off the good will of a historic victory-of sorts- he could take a few chances.

Above Chicago, Illinois; May 5th, 2005

Officer Castle stretched what muscles she could while nursing her injured wrist. Fracture. That's what the medical techs had said when she'd asked. A break would've healed faster, and a dislocation, what she'd secretly been hoping it was, would have taken hours to go from sore to bearable. Now, she had to deal with an aching wrist, and it wasn't even her dominate hand! The least this pain could do is get her out of paperwork for a few days.

She sighed as she leaned back into her padded chair and away from the blurring screen in front of her. She'd left the Head Commander to stew in a half-sulk after her pep talk. She knew he needed time to work himself up to the hellacious meeting they'd have with the F.B. when they arrived back in Washington, pep talk or not, and she had her own data to look over.

With the Head Commander reviewing the big details of the battle: death counts, munitions losses, injuries, and the like; it fell to her to analyze individual teams. She needed to ensure their attack and defense strategies were as optimized as possible, especially since they were going to have to promote people vaguely incompetent into leadership roles to cover the losses.

The losses...She thought with a wince. She'd taken a quick scroll through the death reports to see which names she recognized. Several of the officers, including a woman who apparently met her end while possessed, were heads of field teams for Zone exploration. Worse, another handful were the best of a crop from five years ago, who had survived Amity, and were middle manager material. They were the kind of assets who could be trusted to lead a team that would be out of contact for weeks in Enemy Territory, and were not easily replaced.

It was easier to think of them as lost assets at the moment. She'd have time to mourn the person after they made it through the meeting.

She hummed as she scrolled through the high priority electronic message they'd received soon after hanging up with Secretary Muller. The entire Joint Chiefs of Staff would be there, and the President as well. Not too surprising considering they authorized a military operation on American soil. What was surprising were the advisers who supposedly would be in attendance, a Ms. Hying and Mr. Foucault. The German was from the EU's Specter Division originally, but they'd never met. Hying was from the current party in power, and one of the people most responsible for whispering about the GSU's wasteful spending in the President's ear.

They'd gone toe to toe a few times in the past, and the woman was no one's fool. She never missed the tiniest detail, and with her and the Head Commander battle worn already, it would only be a matter of time before something slipped out she could use to her advantage.

Lieutenant Castle winced again at the thought, before straightening her spine. They'd faced worse aftermaths and harder battles, she was not about to be scared off by a challenge. They'd practically clawed this organization out of the bowels of obscurity and out from under a reputation of irrelevancy and incompetence.

True, Jack's success in Wisconsin was what first put the GSU, then the GIW, into the public spotlight, but a single success did not an organization make. And immediately afterward, the Head Commander had decided absent his ultimate goal of capturing the hybrids being possible, he was going to pick a fight with the entire Ghost Zone. She chuckled remembering the looks on the F.B.'s faces when he'd announced he was declaring war on an entire species. He'd just proven ghosts and ghost hybrids existed to the majority of the world, and now he wanted to fight all of them at once? Most thought it was madness, they hadn't even proven the Zone existed yet at that point, but his portal technology was on the cusp of working, and the unknown never deterred him.

She felt her lips thin into a determined grimace. You'd think after a decade of success and triumph the Fucking Bureaucracy would be thanking them on their hands and knees. Instead, they were hovering about greedy for their money just like after Austin. Win a war, and suddenly they are all asking what you need all that money for. Not like there's an entire Zone full of potential threats that needed to be cataloged and subdued.

She stopped and pinched at the bridge of her nose as the memories of the time post-Austin came flooding back. It had taken their best to swat them away then, and she didn't plan on giving them any less than her best this time. Claudia Hying be damned.

GSU Facility-Austin, Texas; July 10th, 2003

She was bone tired. The all over body aches, the muscles that shook whether she flexed them or not, the purple-green mottled bruising blossoming in uneven patches all across her body, and she still had superiors to call. The calls from Washington had been coming in non-stop since Second Priority had escaped the compound and started rampaging through downtown Austin. Preliminary reports suggested the civilian causalities weren't as bad as Amity three years previous and reports from her officers suggested the same for her personnel. But comparing this to the clusterfuck that was Amity and finding it favorable was the best that could be said of the situation. The death toll was over 1,000 and still climbing, though at a much slower pace than in the immediate aftermath. She was still in battle dress, the scorch marks black, the ash grey, on her uniform when the president himself vid-called in demanding answers. She'd been the highest ranking officer at the facility, of course, so she'd fielded his call, his questions, his demands.

She could feel her muscles quivering under the ectoplasm resistant composite polymer most of the GSU lovingly called "spandex". Said it made them feel like superheroes; she could use some superhuman endurance right now. While she was done with the informal demands of the White House at the moment, there was an avalanche of paper work that would need to be filed in the coming days...and she still had to call the Head Commander. He had been leading an expedition in the Zone for the last six weeks, thoroughly exploring the area around their newest man-made portal. He had been out of comm-range, as a matter of course, so they sent an encoded message to be relayed to the teams on the other side by their communication experts in South Dakota. It would be an hour or two yet before he was close enough to the Earth to call in, and she had to steel her nerves before the conversation.

The Head Commander and her had always been in sync, nearly of one mind. She knew how much this stung her, so she knew how much it'd hurt him too. He had a habit of lashing out when he got angry. While he usually did nothing more than bellow and scare a few new recruits, this was a lot more serious than a poorly filed field request for munitions. Second Priority had been captured on her watch, and now all her plans of showing him off on a leash for Commander Fenton had gone up in so much smoke and wasted blood.

She eased herself down into the only comfortable chair in the facility, suddenly thankful Jack convinced her to install the damn thing in the first place. In...out...in...out...she focused on her breathing. Despite the mottled collection of bruises, both her internal organs and her bones were in good shape. Did she feel like she'd been through a blender? Yes. Was it actually life threatening in any way? Only to the next stupid cadet who asked how she was feeling with a pitying look in their eyes.

Ok. So the facility had been half destroyed on Second Priority's exit. Many of the ghosts hadn't been able to escape though. The containment fields had held as they ran on backup generators, and the ghosts, collared as they were, hadn't been able to escape the cave in. That was a loss of research material, and frustrating, but able to be overcome. The loss of equipment was painful, though they had a slush fund per usual, so it could be replaced. They'd just had a bumper crop of inducted officers, now that the cadets who joined post-Amity had graduated, so personnel could be replaced.

A shame this had been a training facility, and so staffed with so many Green-Less, but keeping it here after being captured in the city had been her mistake. She paid for that hubris, and so had all of Austin.

Second Priority was much stronger than their models had predicted. How the fuck did those damnable things continue to exceed the models' expectations? She thought miserably. No matter how many times they revised them, the answer to: "How strong are they?" was always "Seriously? What the fuck?"

It didn't matter. Fuck the models, forget the costs of rebuilding, munitions, personnel loss, all of it. She was not, this world was not, giving into these creatures' tyranny. Her hands shook as she looked over the MIA and confirmed dead reports, heart pounding, teeth grit and grinding behind a thin lipped grimace. All these dead because some little monster refused to accept its fate and behave long enough to do the world some real good with its vivisection.

That's what the reports had said, when she'd finally gotten the info out of her subordinates. Slipped right out of its locks, used its freaky water powers to create a make-shift hydraulic power drill of sorts. Went to work on the cuffs. When she'd asked how the little fucker had access to water, the feckless Green-Less still doing school at this facility had gotten all squeamish. Apparently, it had used its own blood. She knew, scientifically, blood was around 80% water, even in hybrids, but when she'd asked how it'd ended up bleeding before any procedures even started, the little cadets standing around grew more pale, if that were possible.

No wounds. That's what their instructor explained. The hybrid had simply pulled its blood out of the surface veins and capillaries of its eyes and mucosal membranes. Just forced it out, and then slashed away at the locks and anyone who got too close.

Disgusting. She hated those nasty little creatures. Always finding new and horrifying ways to escape. She hissed as the rage shaking only made the ache in her battered body worse.

She would not be beaten by this, and neither would the GSU. This was a minor setback. She'd see to ensuring that's all it was herself. She gently set down the casualty reports and straightened up the mess on her desk. The vid-call was in a few minutes. She'd take whatever disapproval the Head Commander could dish out...and then she'd get up and convince the whimpering crew around the facility to stop bitching.

She was going to fix this. She and the GSU would capture those slippery hybrids. Come hell or high water.

Above Suffolk, Virginia; May 5th, 2005

Jill came back to the present with a jolt as the carrier descend from the sky. So, they'd reached the closest repair facility to D.C. While there was room for the soldiers and their gear back in D.C., to fix the damage to the Air Platforms, the Levitators, and everything else, they needed a real engineering and docking bay. The one in D.C. was more of a staging zone. Besides, limping home with a litany of damaged crew and equipment would make an even worse impression, something we can't afford right now. She stood from where she'd been reclining in thought in an alcove they'd hastily converted into an office for some lower level officer. She'd commandeered it with little fuss, knowing it would be out of the way enough no one would bother her while she gathered her thoughts. Her knees creaked in protest when she half hobbled down the deserted stretch of hallway. She'd straighten into a proper cadence soon enough, but right now? She relished the sweet relief. She'd be ramrod straight in front of the F.B. soon enough.

The Deputy Commander of the GSU rolled her shoulders with a cacophony of crackling joints and strode back onto the bridge with her head held high. She felt a smirk trying to inch its way across her face at the sight of a calm and parade rest Head Commander standing at the helm, organizing the disembarking procedures. The smoother this goes the faster we get back to D.C. and ahead of the speculation. She hummed as she came to stand besides her commanding officer.

He nodded in acknowledgment to her presence, before pointedly re-explaining some minutia of disembarking procedure to one of the many newly field promoted officers hovering around looking overwhelmed. "I should have docking and relaunch procedures handled, despite efforts to the contrary from our new squadron leaders." He watched with a narrowed stare as they flinched back from his assessment and slunk away to complete his orders. He resisted the urge to shuffle his feet, his hip aching from landing wrong when his spectral grenade went off. "I assume you've been collating the data on individual team performance? You know how Secretary Birch loves to get into the nitty gritty of field procedure, Army man that he is." He spared a glance in her direction, before facing front to bark another order at the hapless looking officer in front of him.

"Spent long enough to get familiar with it, but not so long it sounds rote and emotionless. You know how the F.B. loves its theater." He grunted in wordless agreement before his found his attention once again drifting away from the present. He hadn't had a meeting this momentous with the bureaucracy that controlled the fate of his organization since…

It's been almost five years. He thought morose. Amity. That was the last time it had been this bleak and this important at once. It's not like the United States authorized offensive maneuvers on its own soil every day. Defending against ghost attacks? Rare, but allowable, the natural result of being in a war with the unnatural creatures. Blasting munitions and moving personnel at the scale for Colorado, or picking a fight with hybrids in the middle of metropolitan areas? Madness, costly madness.

The previous administration that had approved the Amity operation lost re-election, definitely the fault of the resulting utter failure. The country had been out for blood, and only the previous president being willing to throw his career away had saved his own. There was no sacrificial lamb to be had this time. Hell, it had taken everything he had to convince them to approve the attack against the hybrids to begin with.

He gruffed when he felt Lt. Castle elbow the spot between two ribs, mindful of the turn in his thoughts. The reminder of her continued presence did lift his spirits some, only just. "Don't tell me you're still moping Fenton." He heard her whisper, angled slightly towards him in the busy room.

"Not a chance." He sounded more confident than he felt, and it wasn't likely to convince her entirely, but she let it lie. There was little time for another pep talk, and he needed to work himself out of this rut. His mind turned back to Amity, this time to the meeting before they approved the operation. He tried to summon the bracing confidence and sparkling charm that had won him the day. He felt an echo of that passion surge through him, but the bulk of the unshakable self-assurance eluded him. "How long do we have until we land?" The Head Commander asked the room around him. Some freshly minted recruit snapped to attention to answer, before turning back to the monitors in the command center.

Forty minutes. He had a little over half an hour to talk himself into a mindset capable of arguing the continued existence of everything he'd built the last decade. If he were lucky, they'd take the loss out only on his hide, and he'd be able to pass the organization off to Lt. Castle with little fanfare. It would be a blow to his ego, but the Deputy Commander was more capable than any one else for the role. Realistically though, they'd demand both of their resignations, maybe even the diminishing of the duties and privileges of the entire structure and their funding of course. His frown deepened. A few days ago they'd just be able to pad some particular pockets and smooth over this fuck up. Now, the budget was as drained as their good will. How was he going to get out of this?

"If you keep up that look, your subordinates are going to evaporate in terror. You know they think they're the cause of your every displeasure." Jill leaned a little closer to whisper before straightening back up.

"That's because they usually are." He quipped back, with none of his usual good humor. Still, he smoothed out his face, if only to keep up the image of calm control. A deep breath. Fake it 'till you make it. He thought saturnine before turning his attention back to re-igniting his confidence. He closed his eyes, and a vision of the F.B. materialized in his mind's eye. Looming, dark, intimidating shadows alighting to every forgotten corner of his mind where all his self-doubt and fears lived. The Head Commander rolled his shoulders and re-opened his eyes, taking in the living organism that made up the many-handed creature of the GSU. The faces of every officer and average grunt rushing to complete the disembarking procedures came to him at once. Determined and focused, battle worn fatigue pushed away to complete their duties.

Suddenly, the path forward came to him, found in the stubborn set in every pair of shoulders working around him. It was a matter of duty. He owed it to his men, living and dead, to see them through this crisis. He didn't need the cocksure and untested confidence he'd had standing before the nation's leaders trying to convince them to let him destroy Amity. He needed the strength that let him slay the ancient ecto-dragon king and save his people when they were cornered. There was no retreat or surrender to be had. It was victory or death.

When he breathed out this time, all the anxiety left his body, replaced with fire and steel. He set his sights on success as the remaining flight worthy Air Platforms took off towards D.C. It would be a short flight, but he was no longer concerned.

The light of the setting sun bathed the command center a deep crimson. The F.B. may have been prepared for an easy win, but they'd yet to truly face him in battle. This time, they were facing Jack the Warrior-not the leader, as an enemy-not an ally. He felt a grin, broad and a little manic, stretch across his lips. He breathed in the light of the coming night and the determined strength of every man and woman around him. This time, he was out for blood, and he couldn't wait to spill it in the service of his people.

Balshumet: Ok so! I just realized I promised to update more regularly and then disappeared for like five whole years, like a loser. Sorry about that, genuinely. I will try to stick to a once a month update schedule for this fanfic. That's for full chapters, so you have one more coming this month for this story. That's once a month for all of my ongoing stories. That's a new chapter a week for all of my content, if I can keep my word. This one is back of the line, cause you got this mini-chapter, so expect a full one on the 26th.