Watch Dogs: Dark Clouds

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He had been on Aiden Pearce’s trail for weeks.

Walking along the waterfront in an early November mist, under a reticent sun half-shrouded by a silky gray screen of clouds, Mick Jeremiah Wolfe was glad to be back in Chicago. Despite the cold and the mistrust and the frustration, it felt right to be here. He’d grown up in “Back of the Yards”, the neighborhood fringing what had been the old stockyards, and Wolfe felt Chicagoan from his ice blue eyes to the bottom of his booted feet. He still wore the Army boots, and Delta Force jacket—but the Special Forces jacket was shorn of its shoulder patches and insignia. They’d taken all that away from him, after the dishonorable discharge.

Six years “in-country”—first Afghanistan, then Mali and Somalia. Three Purple Hearts, two Bronze Stars, Two Silver Stars. And then… a dishonorable discharge for being stupid enough to listen to the low but insistent voice of his own conscience…

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