Agent Greg Parisi - Personal Journal - Thursday December 4th, 2008

Can't shake this feeling of listlessness.  I try to concentrate but my mind wanders.  I remember not being able to breathe, pulling at my flak jacket, the taste of the dust of that Ghost Town making my mouth as dry as I can ever remember.  Then there was pain, like someone had grabbed hold of my heart and was squeezing it hard.  Then darkness.  Then Light, the warmest I had ever known followed by more light but this wasn't warm, it was cold, clinical, stark and uncaring.  Like God's maglite had suddenly been turned on.

I lost a couple of days.  The others are saying I was dead but I can't tell if they're shitting me or not.  All I know is I have trouble bench pressing even light weights and I can't run more than a few hundred metres before passing out.  Then there's the constant thirst and   the dreams...but I can't process that right now...I just can't.  

So we dusted Simon Chandler or at least the rest of the team did.  I didn't have a problem with that going in and I don't have an issue with it now.  Just it seems to have sparked off a whole pile of crap among the alphabet soup brigade to the point that the rest of the team got to wear orange jump suits and were treated by some nameless goon from the intel community as if they were terrorists.

Yeah we're in the hands of the old enemy - Majestic and they were pissed that Chandler got greased.  In the old days that would have been all she wrote and we'd have been buried in toxic landfill somewhere.  In these more enlightened times though the MiBs smile, wear Hugo Boss suits and speak in management jargon whilst they trample on the constitution and hide behind Homeland Security IDs.  I don't pretend to understand the full ins and outs but basically our actions, witnessed by MJ personnel violated some ‘ceasefire' agreement between Majestic 12 and Delta Green.  

Now MJ12 are demanding DG move out, hand back the keys to the car and see the kids every other weekend etc.  However, a new branch of MJ called Thirteen have taken responsibility for taking care of us whilst they try to broker a peace agreement between the sides.  They also have an interest in our Stenneau problem so whilst the bosses decide whether to shoot each other, they're going to help us deal with the Ghost of New Orleans. 

They, by the way are Agent Firth (Liz - a brunette with a Bryn Maw accent) - she's the team leader and says she's an ace psychic; Agent Clay Walker (whip thin, laconic, laid back) and Agent Drew Clayton (red headed Texan who seems to be the listening type).  Their boss is a guy called Palmer who seems okay but has swallowed a management speak book somewhere along the line.  

On our side Frost, Pierce, Devereux and myself are the real deal DGs whilst Wilmot, Sommers and Chief had to do some coming to terms with the whole situation.  On the whole everyone took it kinda well other than a few hurt feelings.  

Anyway, with Venetta dead (in one sense of the word at least), we're re-focusing on Stenneau and have relocated to a villa complex outside Gulfport, Miss where Thirteen have established an Ops centre.  Going over the evidence, we're back with the Death Row case of Edward Cook, the alleged killer of the wife of Louisiana's Assistant D.A. John Edwards.  We're going to make this the focus of the next part of our Stenneau investigation on the basis that whoever helped frame Cook must be connected into the Stenneau web and if we can shake their tree, then whatever falls out might give us leverage.  It's thin and with six weeks or so to go until Stenneau transcends and becomes the avatar of a dread God, bringing who knows what to New Orleans, we're going to need a break.

Just reading that last sentence back has left me drained.  Until next time - Parisi out.