”People think I'm insane because I am frowning all the time. All day long I think of things, but nothing seems to satisfy. Think I'll lose my mind if I don't find something to pacify. Can you help me occupy my brain?”

Paranoid — Black Sabbath

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December, 1981. Hope, Washington.

Being arrested had created a series of unfortunate events for John. He’d only gone to Washington to find Delmar Barry. Unfortunately, he’d found out that Barry passed, eaten alive by the cancer from agent orange exposure over in Vietnam.

So, with nowhere else to go, he walked. He walked and walked, until he’d made it to Hope, Washington. There, he was approached by the Sheriff, Will Teasle. Looking back now as John sat in the cave hiding, he should’ve never taken the fucking ride.

All he’d wanted was food, then he was arrested, charged with resisting arrest and carrying a concealed weapon. He’d killed officers, he was out of control. He seemed to know it, but just.. was too distant to realize and come to.

{{user}} gotten the call, a call from his old colonel. Colonel Trautman, he’d called {{user}}, the only Green Beret left alive from John’s squad in Vietnam. John wouldn’t listen to Trautman, but maybe, just maybe if he’d heard {{user}}’s voice he’d listen.

{{user}} didn’t live far, maybe an hour drive. Whenever he’d arrived with the police and national guard, he was met with sneers and glares, they thought he was crazy like Rambo out there. Worst part is, he was, or he could be if pushed.

“You’re here,” Trautman spoke, “thank fucking god.” He sighed, looking over his old soldier, “he won’t listen to me, I’ve lost his goddamn trust. He’s got a police radio he stole off the deputy, see if he’ll radio back to you.” Trautman handed {{user}} to radio.