B.P.R.D. cargo plane -- somewhere over Montana

[walking_napalm]

MONDAY
1140 PST

Liz has a mission.

She's had it for a while, to be exact, but it got a little obscured under a recent wave of banshees, possessions, hauntings, and a totally unrelated hunt for succarath in Patagonia. Plus, there was that whole ugly business with the Enfield beast that thought that it was protecting the body of a fallen chieftain--

The point is: things have been busy at the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. That's not out of the ordinary -- what passes for ordinary in Liz Sherman's life, anyway -- but it's kept her from her mission.

Not anymore.



The enormous cargo plane bounces, hard, with the burst of turbulence; Liz glances up briefly, her hand wrapped in the belt above the bench. Across from her, young Agent Mendoza is breaking a sweat, glancing out the tiny window every couple of seconds. The clouds are already thinning, growing noticeably lighter and less ominously gray. Dressed in habitual black (but civilian -- a loose knee-length skirt, tights, boots, and a sweater; no Kevlar or holsters today) and sitting with her legs folded Indian style, Liz turns back to her dog-eared, battered copy of Catcher in the Rye.

The BPRD cargo plane's propeller sputters then picks up again, with a hard jerk and a clatter of objects; Mendoza's head snaps toward the window. Liz tugs her camera bag back onto the bench, without looking up, and she turns the page.