Choose federal law enforcement. Choose the military. Choose NASA or the CDC.
Choose lying to your superiors. Choose to ruin your career. Choose no friends. Choose divorce. Choose life through the bottom of a bottle. Choose destroying evidence and executing innocent people because they know too fucking much.
Choose black fatigues and matching gas masks. Choose an MP5 stolen from the CIA loaded with glasers, with a wide range of fucking attachments.
Choose blazing away at mind-numbing, sanity-crushing things from beyond the stars, wondering whether you'd be better off stuffing the barrel in your own mouth. Choose The King in Yellow and waking up wondering who you are. Choose a 9mm retirement plan. Choose going out with a bang at the end of it all, PGP-encrypting your last message down a securely laid cable as an NRO Delta wetworks squad busts through your door.
Choose one last Night at the Opera.
Choose Delta Green.
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2017
---===---
Your ears were ringing. Your head was pounding. Your vision blurred the world around you.
*…One, SITREP…*
Your blink once. Twice. Thrice. Your vision begins to stabilize.
Why was the lightbulb on that wall hanging sideways?
*…One, radio check…*
No, not wall. Ceiling.
You were on your back, looking at a ceiling.
Ceiling. Interior. Building. Back.
Someone's in your ear.
*…this is Homestead Actual, sound off...*
You make a mental flail for some shred of reality still floating in your head.