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Realistic or Modern Fallen Angels M.C. | In the Zombie Apocalypse



Casey Guidry

Vice President


Casey rubbed his face and exhaled as Alejandra spoke - all of his options circulating in his brain. He thought of many possible scenarios, trying to make the best of a bad decision for the safety of his club. He trusted Alejandra however, her point of view was always taken into account. In this context, she had it right and he had to admit it. "Okay," Casey agreed, knowing it would be in everyone's best interest to let Madison stay - for now at least. She knew where they were and likely had connections outside the club that could come back to hurt them - letting her go could be suicide. Patched or not she also had quite the compelling argument that was hard to prove otherwise. A member of her caliber could be useful in this new world - she seemed to be able to hold her own out there so it could compliment their group for her to stay; if she could learn how to play nice. As to interrupt the moment, the sound of an engine grew into the scene, drawing Casey’s attention. The VP turned towards the gate where he could see a black van start its approach - other members swinging the gate open so the vehicle could make its entry into clubhouse grounds. Hank and Jenkins had returned from their meeting with Edgar - another issue that would need to wait until after they dealt with this horde.

"Have Kallie get her dressed and Kit take a look at her to make sure she's healthy. Could you keep an eye on her?" he asked Alejandra, knowing she was the best choice. Without awaiting for a response, Casey wrapped his arm around her lower back and gave her a kiss. "Thank you," he whispered to her, knowing she would do what he asked, not because of rank but because of love. He nodded and started past her, heading down the steps toward the van that was parked in their compound. Casey approached the blacked-out passenger door as it opened up and the club's President stepped out. Wearing dark blue jeans, black boots and a collared navy blue shirt, Hank looked at Casey in question. "What's going on?" he asked in his smoked voice as he pulled his cut from the van.

"We have company. Madison Connor Jones. Said she’s Bill’s niece, from Elkin." Hank looked at Casey confused as he pulled the vest over his shoulders. He looked over at Jenkins still in the drivers seat. “Park the van,” he instructed him as he started his walk towards the clubhouse. His face smudged in question. "I thought Elkin was dead?"

"Yeah...me too. You think Tucker lied?" Casey questioned, referring to the person that gave them the misleading information. Hank nodded, unsure what to believe at the moment. "We'll figure it out later, right now we have other fish to fry. There’s a sea of dead out there, hundreds of them. We need all hands on deck for this one," he stated, inching his way to the clubhouse steps. “We haven’t seen dead like that in a long time. Maybe she led them here…” Casey said bluntly, trying to still decipher Madison’s motives. A moment of silence followed as both men walked up the steps of their home and stood in its porch as their eyes drew back towards the gates.

"What was your meeting with Edgar about?" Casey wondered. Edgar Clay was a very powerful man before the apocalypse and his reign continued even afterwards. He wasn’t a good man, but was the Angels’ lifeline to supplies. Without his business the club would be dead by this point.

"His daughter got involved with Mironov. He wants her out," Hank divulged uneasily. What most people didn’t know about Hank was that he had a sweet spot for children, especially young girls. His wife who has since passed was pregnant with a girl. She and Hank’s daughter passed away during childbirth. The old man never spoke of it, but mentioned once and it had stuck with Casey for forever - giving new light to the dark man Hank was.

"She's in the trade?" Casey asked in disbelief. Marinov, or better known as Madame Marinov was the daughter of the Russian Mafia. She came to the United States at a young age where she learned through mud how the world worked. Sex sold and money was power. She got into the business of sex labor and continued her business even after the dead rose to claim it. Like Edgar, Madame Marinov is not someone to mess with and they were getting in bed with the devil and his wife.

"It appears so." Hank turned around and opened the door to the club, finding Weston right on the other side facing him. “Get everybody ready, the dead are coming.”

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Lila Adkins



If nothing else, Lila was observant, and she absolutely noticed the way Monty scooted his stool away from her. Monty was a frustrating bastard - handsome, healthy (minus his obvious alcohol problem that everyone here was enabling, including herself), and with all teeth and limbs intact. He was no idiot either. So why did he spend so much time at the bottom of a bottle? Regardless of how many times she subtly tried to flirt with him, he kept reacting the same way. Scooting away like she had the plague. Part of her felt pity, but the majority of her simply reacted with a mental ‘fuck you too, then’ and moved on.

“Right.” She responded dryly to his dismissive comment about his drink being fine. Of course it was fine. It’ll be down his gullet so quickly it won’t have time to warm up. Same as the next two drinks she was going to pour and shove under his long face. Hopefully whenever he dropped dead it wouldn’t be inside the clubhouse, because then she’d have to clean up whatever mess he left behind.

She had bigger and better game to hunt. Namely, Auguste.

“Hey Daddy.” She greeted Auguste in a teasing, sultry tone as he took a seat, absolutely aware of how much it might make the man squirm. She had a feeling he’d ask for water, and was already pulling out a glass from under the counter. They had rigged one of the taps to dispense just water, marked with an un-inflated blue balloon wrapped around the handle. When they first were cleaning out the clubhouse, they’d come across a whole box full of random party decorations, and the balloons had thus far proven to be useful on occasion. Not so much the other crap in the box, yet.

“Only because you said please so nicely.” She slid Auguste the glass of water, leaning on the bar counter directly in front of him. It was at the perfect height to show off some cleavage in the meantime. She wanted to see just how long she could stand here like this, watching Auguste and Monty talk, before Auguste lost his train of thought.

Monty’s gator story made her grin a little, despite her desire to hate the depressing drunkard, though her grin slid right off her face as she saw Wess come in with a bag and dump its contents on a table to rummage through it all. She watched as Wess held something out through the window. Was that a patch? It sure looked the right size and shape from here.

The foreign bag was concerning, but not nearly as concerning as the half-stripped woman that was dragged in through the front doors and hauled into a back room. Lila stood up straight, flattening her hands against the bar counter and giving the prospect a wide-eyed, slack-jawed look. This woman - whoever she was - was out cold. Pantsless. And the prospect looked like he was enjoying this fact too damn much. She didn’t know what exactly was going on, but definitely didn’t like the look of this one bit.

“What the fuck?” She blurted out. The prospect ignored her.

She was a breath away from grabbing one of Monty’s empty bottles and marching after the bastard when she spotted movement out past the front window. Glancing that way, she spotted Hank’s black vehicle pull up and the president step out from the passenger side. Of course his ass was being driven around like some fucking political dignitary. She quickly turned away, trying to hide her disgusted look from Auguste, pretending to busy herself with checking the caps and corks on the bottles on the shelf behind her - imagining she was instead shoving the corks in Hank’s eyes.

He had to have something to do with… whatever happened outside to that woman, with whatever was going to happen in that back room. Not that she had any proof whatsoever, but her hatred wouldn’t let her think anything different. She swore if she heard any noises that were questionable back there, she was breaking a bottle over someone’s head.

Her inept frustration raised her blood pressure, but not so much that she couldn’t hear Hank’s words: The dead are coming.

That made Lila spin around again, eyes going first to Hank at the door, then to Auguste, then to the door to the back room, and right back to Auguste. If anyone had a plan for what she could do to help save her own skin, Auguste would.

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Matt “Fish” Fischer



“Well, goddamn.” Fish didn’t know what else to say about Bill’s passing. He wasn’t surprised - Bill was a tough, big guy and those types generally burned out bright and fast and went out with a bang. A bit over a year ago means he was around long enough to see the dead walk. Hopefully he didn’t become one of them.

“I hope he took a lotta fuckers out with him.” Fish muttered, looping his thumbs around his belt.

It didn’t surprise him that Casey disregarded the exchange he had with the woman. If Casey was paranoid she was lying or up to no good, no amount of front-gate-reunions were going to change his mind. He made no effort to get closer to the gate, or their visitor, and would not have even if Casey hadn’t motioned for him to stop. What did the veep expect, for Fish to go in for a hug?

Fish gave Casey one of his unreadable, passive, almost blank looks as he got dressed down for ‘telling’ ‘his’ guys to ‘drop’ their guns. A dozen or so years ago he might have wanted to send a right hook into Casey’s jaw for talking nonsense bullshit, but these days he just let it roll off his shoulders and grunted in response. Casey was clearly stressed if he was seeing things. Fish didn’t say anything. Nor did he tell anyone to drop their guns.

Nor were these strictly Casey’s men, but that was semantics.

Fish gave the same passive look as he heard the audible thump and looked over, just in time to see Connor crumple, narrowly caught by Wess before she hit the ground. A good save. He made a mental note at how pleased with himself the prospect that hit her looked.

“Bit excessive.” He muttered to nobody in particular once Casey was out of earshot. Taking her bag and bike, now that he could understand in this situation. But stripping her? It wasn’t his style, but apparently some of their prospects were into it. Another fact to make mental note of. Indecisive for a moment, Fish’s initial reaction was to follow the prospect dragging Connor inside, but the sound of an approaching engine caught his attention as well. Besides, Kit and Kallie could take care of her, and she’d probably be safer with Kallie around to make sure no funny business occurred.

Backing away from the gate, letting the unpatched grunts open it, Fish lingered off to the side until Hank climbed out. Not bothering to greet the man since he beelined right for Casey, he hung back until the Big Dogs were prowling towards the clubhouse and away from the vehicle.

Stepping up to the black van, Fish leaned against the driver’s side door and tapped on the tinted window, then made a ‘roll the window down’ motion with his hand. Not that any vehicle in the last twenty-something-plus years was even made with a manual crank that rolled the windows down. He didn’t need to see through the window to know there was a ninety-nine-percent chance Jenkins was driving. He was intending to trap poor Jenkins inside until he was done pestering the poor man with whatever was on his mind at the time, or bum a light off him, or whatever struck his amusement at the moment.

That was the plan anyway, until he heard Hank’s words. The dead are coming.

“Fuck.” Fish stood up straight, smacking the van’s door and stepping out of the way. Depending on what the plan was, Jenkins may need to keep that van running. Playtime was over, and it was time to get serious.

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Connor's unconsciousness was brief, though still disturbing. Her dreams had not been gentle in a long time. The jerk to wakefulness was about as pleasant as being knocked silly had been, though in the opposite direction; the back of her head was blindingly painful, each thud of her heartbeat making a sonar echo of pain radiate from where somebody had clocked her, and good. As she rolled onto her side, she struggled to focus her eyes on what lay before her, to open her senses and concentrate. Floor. Walls. The smell of dust.

Fallen angels aren't supposed to be like this.....

Apparently, they were.

Connor wasn't surprised to find herself stripped of her things, nor shocked to feel soreness in tender places where she'd been pinched way too hard by rough fingers. If anything, she was surprised to find herself still lightly clothed. She'd had a lot of guns pointed at her head and no doubt that a sneeze in the wrong direction would have aerated her skull. Men who wouldn't have batted an eye murdering her for the high crime of showing up and refusing to become their prisoner proooooobably weren't going to clutch their pearls at having a little fun at her expense. It was the most logical reason for why she was still alive.

Damn, but this hurt.

If she moved too fast, things lurched and made her queasy. There had been worse pains in the rust and dust of Connor's past, but for now, laying with her face mashed against the floor seemed like a pretty great plan. In hindsight, Connor knew she'd been an idiot for not gunning the throttle the moment the prick in charge had pranced onto the scene, goons in tow, proud as a strutting peacock and about as smart. The events of her prior wakefulness retraced themselves into her mind, a silk-smooth road that forked and re-forked to lead her here.

Kissing floorboard. Moving up in the world.

Connor unintentionally grunted and her brain kicked into gear.

Any immediate and present threat she could have posed she'd had ample opportunity to exhibit. Any hostile scheme she might have pulled would have kicked off with a different pitch. If she had wanted to lure people away, weaken their defenses, 'Hey, there's a zombie flock' was not the way to go. The con would have required something to make the inhabitants less afraid and guarded, not more. If she'd had Bad Guy Backup, Southern Denim would have seen them, to say nothing of ambushing the compound while they were unaware rather than on their guard. If she was to be some kind of secret, dastardly mole, her desire to leave wouldn't have made sense, much less her refusal to give up the bike. That kind of play only worked if she was let (or taken) inside. Finally, if she'd lured the zombie horde this way, as had been heavily implied, warning intended prey would have been stupid. Every scenario, every scheme that Connor imagined would never have worked with how she'd put herself forward.

No....... everything from her identity to the veracity of her warning had been proven, but it hadn't mattered what anybody had said or what she herself had done, beyond refusing to bow down and submit. That meant it wasn't about safety. It wasn't about the truth.

It wasn't about principle.

It was about power.

Authority, or the appearance thereof, anyway.

Connor had to admit she could be wrong about the Sir Douche Canoe III - maybe he'd come and apologize, contrite for making the wrong call and risking her life and limb over a knee jerk reaction. Maybe he'd meant well and just let the perfume of power get to his head, and normally he was a real swell, rational guy, and cross-his-heart he'd do better.

Yeah, sure.

Whatever. One way or another, there would be an opening to escape. There was a trick to it: succeed or die. Compounds couldn't spare guards for a prisoner forever, and a hateful mouth to feed was one more than could be cheerfully afforded for most. The recognition of her position tumbled between her ears for only a few moments before fluttering away like scraps of paper in the wake of an onrushing train, but it did have the effect of sharpening her resolve.

This was not the kind of brotherhood she'd sought.

Damn shame, too. A couple of the guys had seemed friendly enough; Texas Ted and Woodstock Walter had both expressed a certain openness in their demeanor that wasn't blatantly aggressive. They'd seemed.... Nice, or at least neutral. Strange attitude to have in a group like this. Stranger still if this chapter of the Fallen Angels turned out to enjoy a little long pig on the side. If those two were men of integrity this...... this wasn't the safe haven they thought it was.

How long had she been out?

There was a distinct absence of screaming or gunfire, and she was still alive. Those two things combined meant the horde hadn't reached the clubhouse yet; if the swarm had come and gone, the chances that she'd still be alive were microscopic. The muffled sounds that filtered through to her rattled mind weren't ones of panic or battle (those would have been far louder). Alright. Alright. Time to move. This was going to suck.

With some effort, Connor kindled the old anger in her chest, stoking embers until they flared into life and forced her body to respond, lifting her face from the ground and taking the opportunity to suck down a deep breath that wasn't mostly floor. Her hands and feet seemed to be unbound, so she couldn't have been out for long. Standing still seemed a bridge too far, but kneeling was well within the realm of possibility. The deep ache made being even somewhat vertical into a miserable experience, but she wasn't dead! Good. Great. Kneeling first, then standing, then escaping and/or waiting for the dead to pass and/or....... God, here was hoping Vee Pee didn't think it was a swell idea to go head to head against a forest of the dead from inside the club. Fighting a sea of zombies from within a random building with seemingly very little in the way of fortification was..... not ideal.

Playing lunchbox was not high on Connor's to-do.

The back of her skull throbbed fierce and true, and Connor still wasn't wholly sure where her lips were, so talking wasn't real high on her to-do, either. Mush-mouth wasn't awesome for communicating, but glaring, now glaring she could do.

Connor was practically a champion of glares. Years and years of practice.

So....she did that, doing her best to try and see exactly who she aiming that glare towards and putting a little squint on it to help things along. Lights behind vague figures gave them strange halos and blurred edges from one form to the next, but they were definitely bipedal and not moaning or groping for her. Good. Great.

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Alejandra felt some tension leave her shoulders as Casey agreed with her assessment. She knew he would make the best decision for the club but she was thankful to hear that her input was correct. Their numbers had dwindled, their family and prospects now outweighed the number of full members, and while she wasn't part of the club, she couldn't see how it would survive much longer without either elevating prospects to members or bringing members like Madison.

Ally nodded at the instructions given to pass along; thankful that he'd asked her to be the liaison to bring the new member in. She doubted that Madison would have much trust for the club and she couldn't blame her. But maybe, even if she didn't want to rejoin the club, she'd at least consider sticking around for a while. She smiled against Casey's lips, watching him head towards the gate to meet with his father. She took a second to still her inner self, suppressed the desire to return to her trailer and hide, and signaled Bullet to follow at her side.

She stepped into the club and quickly scanned the people, catching sight of the prospect still manhandling Madison. She felt a burning anger in the pit of her stomach as she frowned at the prospect. "Hey, quit that shit!" She hissed, striding towards him, back straight, doing her best impression of being a stern hard ass. The prospect looked at least slightly admonished before his gaze passed her to the door and to no VP following her in. He sneered, but relented, dropping Madison down onto the floor.

"Kallie, come help me get some clothes back on her?" It was half an ask, she'd never had Kallie give her shit before. She picked up the discarded clothes the other prospect had left behind. "Kit, can you take a look at her head? They hit her pretty hard out there."

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Auguste nodded his thanks to Lila, immediately taking the glass and drinking back the water without pause. He was thirsty and he also truly needed a way to avoid eye contact with the girl as she blatantly leaned against the bar top in his direction. She knew him far too well and that was his own damn fault, she was under his skin and he certainly didn't mind, except for times like this, when he needed to be focused.

He listened to Beau as he spoke about his family, half expecting him to burst out into his native tongue but that didn't come to pass. Auguste shook his head and chuckled at the conclusion. "I don't think I want to fight with a gator." He mused, but Beau went on to question what was happening outside the club and his smile faded. He wanted to let the man know what was up, what was potentially coming, but there were plenty in here that weren't club, and he didn't want to incite unnecessary fear. Thankfully, the strange woman being dragged in was a distraction enough, half nude and unconscious.

Auguste turned, surprised, to hear Lila raise her voice. It was unexpected, she typically kept her blatant (and understandable) hatred of the club and its members to a low simmer. He could only assume seeing another potential non-member getting the rough treatment she sometimes received was too much.

Yet another distraction was on them, as Hank stepped into the club and announced what he'd heard and kept quiet earlier: the dead were on the way. He was still facing Lila as her eyes wildly flicked from Hank to himself and back again and he raised his hand slightly, giving a slight shake of his head. He hoped, without words, to convey that she didn't need to worry. She might not be part of the club but she was still part of their makeshift group and someone he was sworn to protect.

"Lila," he said softly. "Another glass of water, take it to Ally for the girl, oui?"



Bruno Jenkins


The President was just done giving the news when the door to the clubhouse swung open and a man stormed in. Jenkins didn't look too good.

Ignoring the residents staring at him and a possible call of protest from Lila, he rushed straight at the bar. His attention was fixated on the row of bottles and he leapt over the counter to snatch one. The cool glass met his desperate grip. He twisted the cap off and took a long, deep swig.

The fresh memory stung his squeezed-shut eyes with the grotesque mass of rotten corpses, deadly wave like a fucking tsunami of diseased bodies. He couldn't get it out of his head. Undead bastards were gnawing at his nerves so hard that even the booze wouldn't help.

He jerked the bottle away from his lips with a popping sound. His eyes darted around the room as a nervous laugh bubbled up from his chest.

"We're fucked." He put the bottle up looking at Auguste and then at Monty. "Cheers ladies and gentlemen, cause we're royally screwed! Like Lila screws Daddy here." He kept laughing and lowered it again, running a trembling hand through his disheveled quiff. Combing back a few, stray strands that escaped their previously carefully crafted arrangement. The gel that once held his hair in place started to lose that battle.

"We should toast to the wonders of statistics." His gaze paused on Fischer and he raised the bottle for another gulp. "We'd have better odds convincing Fishy to swim in tequila than getting out of this mess."

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Beau Montaire

Tail Gunner


Beau choked on his drink as he heard the president's words. "That's- That's a good reason to look upset." he coughed, alcohol burning in his lungs as he looked to Auguste. He had only just started standing when Jenkins vaulted over the bar, his panic earning another shocked reaction from Beau. He didn't have time to process much of anything of what Jenkins said besides "we're fucked' before his body moved on its own. He snatched the bottle away from Jenkins, grabbing him by the shirt with his other hand and yanking him over the bar.

"Get a fuckin' hold of yerself Elvis!" he snarled into the other member's face, his own fear distilled to anger like a redneck moonshine. "We're for sure fucked if you just give up, don't die like a cowardly bitch for fuck's sake. Think of the others," he growled, screaming at the man helping him to calm down a little. He finally released the other man. He flipped the bottle and smashed it into the bar in the same motion, using the crash to gather as many folk's attention as he could.

"EVERYBODY PIPE DOWN AND LISTEN." he roared over the chaos. He cleared his throat and turned half his attention to the president, the other half expecting Jenkins to smash a bottle over his head for that. He wouldn't blame him, his behavior was pretty uncalled for. He decided he'd give him a free punch later if they both survived.
'hypocrite, you're just begging for the opportunity to die.' that nagging voice in his head reminded him. He shut it down relatively quickly though.
'Not if it costs the club, that's the difference.' he reminded himself.

"Firearms are clean and prepped, are we staying or going Sir?" he asked, his voice ever so slightly raw from his outburst. It would be a shame to abandon the camp now, but it was certainly better than being ripped to shreds. That being said, if they had any explosives on hand that would probably be helpful. Maybe they could hook up a hose to a gas can and set a chunk of them on fire? 'good thinking dipshit, flaming zombies are just what we need.'

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Lila Adkins



Lila knew well that look on Auguste’s face and what that gesture meant. It was his everything is fine, don’t worry, I’ll handle it look. Most of the time it worked well enough, but this time it was different. It felt different, and maybe a big part of that was because she didn’t really know what was going on. Sure, Hank said the dead were coming, but what did that mean? How many? What was the plan? Why were so many of these damn people just standing around gawking at Hank instead of doing something?

Pressing her lips together in an angry line, which hopefully did something to hide her fear, Lila grabbed a large mug - some stupid novelty thing with a giant bear face on the front, twice as big as a normal glass - and started to fill it with water for the unconscious woman.

She barely had her hand on the tap when Jenkins slid over the bar, reached past her, and grabbed a bottle. Not that it was unheard of for anyone to just waltz back there and take what they want - it wasn’t like the club was charging any money or keeping any real tally of what was being consumed here - but the man’s bullish behavior caught her off guard.

His we’re fucked proclamation was even more jarring, though Bruno’s comment about her and Auguste really made her want to deck the idiot. If she moved now, she could clock him squarely in the kidneys. It didn’t matter that Bruno was clearly upset and terrified, what with the way he was shaking. It still pissed her off. Ballsy words for a guy within nut-punching distance.

“You’re not helping.” Lila hissed at Bruno before shoving past him, purposefully pushing him closer to Monty, who was already reaching for him. Scrunching her shoulders up as she cringed at Monty’s yelling, she quickly filled the mug and hurried off to the back room. If these bastards wanted to spiral, they could do it away from her.

Lila knocked on the door to the back room gently, though she wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to announce her presence. It wasn’t like she was checking on a changing room or something. Pushing open the door, mug in her left hand, she poked her head into the room and looked down. The woman looked rough, to say the least. Bloody and banged up.

The woman seemed to just now be coming around, still knelt on the floor. At least she wasn’t dead, that was a start. Not a great start, just a start. She closed the door behind her, not that she thought it mattered. It wasn’t even locked right now.

“This is awkward.” She wasn’t sure who that comment was really intended for. Surely Kit would be right inside in a moment, or Ally, or Kallie, or someone with half a brain - unless the shock of Hank’s announcement had derailed everyone from the other important event going on here.

“I brought you water.” Lila said gently, kneeling down in front of the woman and putting the mug on the ground, sliding it within her reach. She wasn’t sure if she’d be lashed out at, so she stayed a respectable distance away.

“Sorry it's kinda room-temperature. We, uh… we have a medic. He’ll be here in a moment, I’m sure. He’s nice.” The guy was more akin to the friendly neighborhood pot dealer than an actual doctor, but that wasn’t a detail that needed to be shared with strangers.

Putting two and two together, Lila had to wonder if that object Wess held up was a patch or not. She didn’t see the front of it, but it sure as shit looked like one. So, she just had to ask.

“Are you a biker too?”

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Matt “Fish” Fischer



This wasn’t the first time the M.C. had faced danger or an emergency. Shit, they even had their first few brushes with emergencies before the dead started walking. They had a long hard road getting here to begin with, and knew damn well they had a long hard road in front of them too. Countless dead already made dead-again (re-killed?), bad weather, low supplies, low morale, injuries, medical issues, dangerous travel conditions - and that wasn’t even mentioning the danger that living people posed.

Hank hadn’t shared any details yet on numbers, but this was probably their first time their new home was threatened. Their first real trial. Hank wouldn’t walk in and announce it like this if it wasn’t something worth paying attention to.

Heading into the clubhouse, Fish hung back near the door and watched as Bruno made an ass of himself. It was disheartening. No matter how used to Bruno’s pessimistic attitude he got, it still bothered him when he had to display it for the whole club to see in a time like this - especially in front of the prospects. He had to hold patched members to a higher standard, and this wasn’t it.

At least Monty had his head on straight… sort of. Which was almost funny - the man was probably halfway to smashed and already unfit to drive or shoot, yet here he was making the most sense, stepping up right away to both deal with small problems (Bruno, damnit) and steer the crowd back on track towards a plan to deal with the bigger problem (the dead, damnit again).

The clubhouse crowd, especially the younger prospects, began to murmur as everyone was abuzz with adrenaline and fear after Monty’s assurance regarding weapons and his question to Hank, not even giving the prez a moment to answer. People were already voicing their opinion on what the plan ought to be. A lot of people wanted to stay and fight, but a solid number also wanted to pack their shit and hit the road again. It was hard to tell which side of the fence the majority was, in the event that was their only two choices. Not that it mattered - Hank would have a plan.

Hopefully. Presumably.

“Shut the fuck up, everyone!” Fish called from his spot by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. It was such a rare occurrence that Fish ever raised his voice at anyone that it quickly silenced a good chunk of the room - if nothing else, out of surprise that such a loud voice could come from such an unassuming guy.

“Hank has the floor.”

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Kallie & Mason Weston

Santina was an angel, even Kallie couldn't deny it. In this dark world a child, which was sadly a rare sight these days, was such a light, and gave most people a reason to fight and continue on this path to hell. Kallie, as harsh and abrasive as she was, always had a soft spot for the kiddos. Their brutal honesty was usually her favorite trait among them and she always found it amusing. Kallie softened toward the little one and stuck her tongue out playfully with a scrunch of her nose, but made sure to shoot Cris a warning with a sideways glare before his attention wandered elsewhere.

Returning to the match before her, Kallie snickered at Kit's unforeseen boost in confidence. He was beaming, and she was just rubbing her hands together ready to shoot him back down. "You really thought you did something there, huh?" Her own cockiness came out to face-off against his. A wrestling match of egos fuled by playful pride. She stepped forward and put the end of her cigarette out in a nearby ash tray on one of the empty tables. Once again she lined up her shot, "If I recall, I said fancy tricks arent needed, but if its to see that little smirk of yours disappear into oblivion, Kitty Cat," she sang the last bit, "I'll gladly pull a trick out from my hat." Kallie thought she'd ought to take a page out of Fish's book and repeat the same flair he performed not that long ago. Except in this case Kallie wouldn't be sucker punching a poor soul's crotch with a three pound ball.

Kallie was ready to demolish Kit's game with her blow, but like the rest of the room, was distracted when a pair of prospects dragged in a poor looking soul from who knows where. She stood straight up, and searched for her brother, who untimely had just walked out. Kallie flashed a serious look to Kit for a moment, neither of them having the faintest idea of whats going on. When Alejandra instructed Kallie and Kit to help out she didn't argue. Instead, she gave a, "Yes ma'am," and jerked her head toward Connor for Kit to follow, placing the pool stick on the table. "This isn't over," she nudged Kit and left to search for some clean clothes. Part of Kallie actually wanted to help the poor woman. Guess it was a sort of women-sticking-with-women kind of thing, especially in a social society mostly ran by dicks...literally. She may be an asshole, but only 'cause she has to be. Men even ran the end of the world, but she was determined to carve her spot in it.

Wess stepped outside and raised Connor's bag to eye level ready to share his findings with Casey but was unfortunately cut short when he noticed the Pres had returned. He watched the Pres and VP talk a distance away from him. What ever they were discussing it seemed serious. Proving Connor's case would have to wait a little longer it seemed. He followed them back inside the clubhouse. Hank wasn't known to sugar coat things, and this was no different. His announcement of the dead heading straight for them initially caused a looming silence among every soul in the room. Except for Jenkins who broke the stillness with a blatant, "We're fucked," earning a narrowed gaze from Wess at the other end of the room. They were all thinking it, he didn't have to out right say it. To make matters worse he continued to spew his negativity and hopelessness, which was visibly latching onto the others. "Jenkins, c'mon, man," Wess muttered under his breath. Then chaos broke out. Panic, more like. Questions were thrown back and forth about the room, some were more level headed than others, and some thought it wise to turn tail and leave.

Kallie burst through the doors with a stack of clothes tucked between her side and left arm. She watched the ruckus unfold, "Mace?" There was a brief pause to take it all in, then she drew closer to her brother, "What the hell is going on? I was only gone for a second and everything turned to hell--"

"The dead are comin', and they're a lot closer than most folk realize," he glanced up from the floor to give her a regretful look, "I saw 'em with my own eyes."

"Oh....well, shit," was all she could say. Her head scrambled as she took in the information, then she spoke up again, "What do we do?" The sound of shattered glass made Kallie's head whip around to find Beau with his ass off the bar stool for once, "EVERYBODY PIPE DOWN AND LISTEN!" If they weren't in the midst of a dire situation his violent display might've actually turned her on. ....But that was for another time...

Wess gently pushed his sister in the direction of the backroom, "Go do as you were told, we'll take care of things here and I'll give you the low down." Kallie had no words and just gave a reluctant nod as she crossed the room toward the back. It was the first time in a long time Wess had seen his otherwise fearless sister look worried, "Don't worry," he assured after her. Wess was commonly level headed in these situations. The only time to panic is when you've run out of options. Right now theres a few, with packing up and leaving being the last (albeit, safest) one, but its an option nonetheless. Knowing Hank and Casey, they'd go with the best option for not just themselves but for everyone. They all worked for what they have now, every single person in this MC, they weren't just going to throw it all away for some mindless flesh eaters, but Wess trusted that his Pres and VP wouldn't just throw everyone into the wolves den if they didn't think they'd have a fighting chance to survive this. After all they made it this far. 'Maybe we can redirect them somehow...' Fish's barking by the door next to him was enough to burst Mason's swirling thoughts and turn his attention in surprise. The man was always so tranquil, but he was right, Hank has the floor right now. Wess crossed his arms and leaned back on the wall behind him, his head hung low to retreat in thought but also to listen and await orders. This was Hank's call now.

In the back room Kallie shoo'ed away the two prospects that were lingering around after stowing Connor there for safe keeping in the first place. Safe for who, she wondered, "If I find out either of you touched her, I'm throwing both your dicks into a meat grinder as an appetizer for those walkers out there!"

The two knuckleheads passed a puzzling look to each other, "Walkers?" Oh. Right. They were here, in the backroom the whole time. While everyone else was currently losing their minds.

Kallie rolled her eyes out of impatience, "Yeah, shit heads, walkers. Did I fucking stutter or are you two just that dense?"

"Oh c'mon Kallie, we just wanted to have a little fun," the first prospect chimed, ignoring her comments. "We'll let you join in too, if thats what you're so sour about," the other added, causing them both to stir up in juvenile laughter.

Kallie's nostrils flared like that of an antagonized bull as they laughed in her face. She had a dead-pan stare as all sorts of malicious thoughts twisted that little brain of hers. She could feel the heat boiling into a blaze from the pit of her stomach to the apples of her cheeks. Its one thing to humiliate a lone woman by stripping her down and insinuating that having your way with someone unconscious is "fun", but its another to be disrespectful enough to joke about "joining in on the fun". Kallie went from sheer anger to seeing red. Reacting solely on impulse, and not a single thought out idea, Kallie dropped the clothes in her arms and pulled the pistol from its holster on her thigh. She pointed it at the closest prospect with one hand, catching him off his guard enough to allow her other hand to grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him in closer. He towered over her, but like the tigress tattooed on her right arm, it was clear she held no fear regardless, and even less hesitation to match with her lack of emotional restraint. Tension hung in the air, and to break the silence she uttered a single warning with pure disgust, "Move." It was the only word she could get out with out exploding (or pulling the trigger), but she meant every bit it represented. It came out slow and intentional, with the ability to send shivers down the back of any witness. It was obvious a gun to the prospect's face helped get her point across. Both smiles evaporated quicker than they appeared, and their laughter with it. The prospect raised his hands while staring down the barrel and leaned back slightly. Kallie released him, but not with out a forceful shove, and quickly stowed her weapon (and her anger) back in its place. With an an exchange of dirty looks the prospects reluctantly left to join the others and Kallie released a held breath once they were out of view. "Fuck me...," she sighed, after realizing that this little stunt she pulled off could land her into some serious trouble....again. One should never pull out a gun on another member of the MC...buuuut technically neither party involved were official members yet. In any case, that didn't matter right now. Gathering up the clothing from the floor, Kallie opened the door to find Lila with Connor, a glass of water in her hand. "Ugh..." Kallie groaned to herself upon seeing Lila there, but moved forward with her task any way. "Oh good, you're already up," she raised her eyebrows at Connor's unsightly condition on the floor. There was a rusty chair off in the corner of the room, which suspiciously looked as though it could've been used as an interrogation site before, judging by the dried blood stains on it, and Kallie dragged it over. The legs emitted a terrible screech against the floor but stopped near Connor's feet. "Look, I don't care what you did, or who you are," she paused briefly to bend down and lift the almost dead-limp body onto the chair with one hand, "But we gotta get you cleaned up. You can wear these for now," she roughly shoved the clothes into Connor's lap, "It was all I had that was clean. If you don't like them then tough shit." Kallie put her hand out to grab Connor by the chin and take a good look at her. There were a few scars and bruises but that nothing too worrisome. What she didn't like was the blunt-force trauma to the back of her head. There was a minute trickle of blood coming from the back of her head and trailing down to the base of her neck. "Ooh," Kallie sucked in air through her teeth, "Yep, they gotcha good," she gave her two light pats on the cheek and stood up, "Nothing Kit can't handle, he'll getchu patched up in no time. In the mean time I suppose you'll wanna get decent so, go on now. I gave you my clothes but I ain't your momma, I'm sure you can dress yourself, can't you?"

Nurturing was never Kallie's forte, but this was respectively caring...for her. She marched back to the door and stood at it's threshold, holding the door open just a crack, enough to stick her head out. "Where is that ass-hat anyway," she asked herself, completely forgetting that Kit was supposed to be right at her heels.

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"Would you quit with the-" Kit argued before noticing the unconscious figure being dragged back. He stood up too, already wandering that direction when Alejandra gave her orders.
"On it" he nodded, picking up his pace as he turned and ran to his trailer, grabbing his medical/duffel bag. Only then did he reunited with Kallie by the door. The dead were bad news, and the glass shattering probably was too, but he had to prioritize, he could freak out later.

"Are you fucking stupid?" Was all Kit could muster to the frankly idiotically bold comments from the two prospects before Kallie kicked into action. While he might not have gone as far as to pull a gun on them, he wasn't the least bit sympathetic. He side stepped the two as they left, shrugging.

"Crazy they left so fast, considering you just told them to move it. Really you were very polite." He commented, a subtle promise of 'I won't say anything if you don't'

He got to digging in his medical bag as Kallie went to talk to Connor, listening intently. Kallie's reaction wasn't good, he sucked in a breath also. He grabbed a bottle of medical alcohol and a flashlight before he approached the girl, offering a sympathetic smile.

"Hi, I'm Ass-hat, you can call me Kit. I'm going to be your doctor today." He introduced, kneeling beside her. "This is going to hurt, but I need to make sure your wound is clean." He explained. "What's your name? How well can you see? Can you spell World backwards for me?" He asked, somewhat rapid fire.

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Connor's chin tipped upwards at the female voice, pointing out how awkward this was, offering water, apologizing for the temperature, reassuring that the medic would be here soon, and asking whether or not Connor was a biker. It was a strange series of statements, all things considered, but not wholly outlandish. Pale hair, streaked with blue-greenish. Nose ring. Bright sneakers. Immaculate brows. Slim. Young..... Gods, had she ever been so young? Those brows and that hair meant she took some pride in her appearance, though those roots said she hadn't had the opportunity of late. Though...... the world had ended over a year ago, and those roots sure as hell weren't a year old. A few months, max. No opportunity lately then.

Are you a biker, too? A valid question, albeit oddly put.

"I ush......" Connor concentrated until things sharpened painfully. "I used to think so."

Hands unused to being gloveless grasped at the mug before bringing it to Connor's lips. Yep. Blonde Betty was young. Young and naïve, despite the punky style choices; giving a heavy, glass mug to a prisoner wasn't the wisest of moves. Memories of what Connor had managed to do with a full bottle of Jack flickered between her ears, and though the mug wouldn't be as effective, it would do in a pinch.

A second girl sauntered in, confident and spitting mad at the two men who flanked Teal Tess on either side. Brunette. Pale. Gun. This one was older than Pierced Patty, though just as careless, bending down from the perch of a friendly chair and tipping Connor's face upwards.

Easy peasy.

Grab the wrist and yank forward while smashing the mug onto the exposed temple, pop the wrist and slide the gun from the holster, play hostage-taker until she got her bike and headed out, pantsless but having learned a valuable lesson about other chapters of the Fallen Angels (RIP Bill). Only two things stopped Connor from immeasurably complicating everybody's lives: first, she wasn't operating at her best, and Connor wasn't positive she'd be as smooth and quick as would be needed. Second..... Spicy Susan had helped. Or tried to, anyway. Connor's morals precluded (potentially) killing an innocent person.

That was one more in the Potentially Decent Human camp. So far, this chapter was batting 4:3 in favor of Potentially Decent Humans; Tex, Hippie, Sex Pistol, and Gun Gal versus Prince Fail and Nipple Pincher 1 & 2. Too bad one of those three was way high up on the chain.

Split-second decision made, Connor didn't act as her face was moved here and there, a pair of jeans dropping into her lap along with an encouragement to put them on. If something deadly and serious slid behind her eyes, nobody seemed to notice.

The brunette was all jitters and spitfire, pulling a piece on the two Asshats from outside, sitting down to speak and jerk Madison's head around a bit, then back up and on her feet to peek through the door at somebody named...... Kit who would, apparently, fix her right up. It was the first name Connor had gotten since she'd rolled up to this shitshow, and they were named after a baby goat.


Connor could feel the warm wet along where she'd gotten hit, along with the gradually widening stain along the back of her shirt. Scalp wounds always bled like a bitch, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Kit was apparently a guy, close to her own age. Pale. Raven-black hair. Black Irish or Welsh, maybe? It would explain the name, despite his lack of accent. He, too, slid up far too close for safety's sake, kneeling to get a better look at her injury and asking her a doctor's handful of relevant questions.

Looked like it was 5:3 in favor of Probably Okay Humans. Connor had little doubt that Weenie Wagger Esquire would double tap just about anybody if it proved personally or professionally advantageous enough, but these people were trying to help.

"You can call me Connor. I can see alright. Little blurry around the edges, but nothing too bad. And no. Not without a pen and paper. Not because of this," She said, gesturing with her free hand to her head.

"My mind just doesn't work that way. Go on ahead. Do what you gotta do."

Wary brown eyes looked up into the face of a (seemingly) well meaning, rumpled goth, flashlight in one hand, disinfectant in the other..... and her stomach twisted.

Despite the guns and bravado, these people were meat for the grinder.
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Hank Ward



The commotion was expected and Hank waited for it to die out before further instruction. Thanks to Beau and Fish, the club went silent. “Table. Now.” Hank ordered his men, strolling past the bar for the member’s only room. Inside was a large rectangular hand-crafted wooden table with their clubs named and patch carved into it. It was a beautiful piece of work Hank’s father had made when he created the club after the war. All club members had pitched in for it at the time and it has since been under Hank’s possession after his father's passing. It was one of the only original pieces of the club.

The table was surrounded by just enough chairs for each patched member. Prospects had their own seats on the side next to the wall - they were not allowed to sit at the table and express any of their thoughts or ideas, only listen. Hank had the biggest seat in the house at the north end of the table. He had the title and power of President that came with a gavel to turn decisions into law. The club however could not write new laws without a popular vote - the club held democratic rules and the majority ruled.

Hank sat first, that was always the rule and other members followed suit. Upon taking his chair, Hank watched his club become equals as they strapped into their seats for what would be the biggest ride of their life thus far. The President signaled a prospect to retrieve the maps from a nearby filing cabinet. Casey helped, spreading the map in the middle of the table for everyone to see. It was all marked with places the club had been, names of people they met along the way, titles of new societies and communities, and directions on how to navigate their world. It was very thorough and thought out all thanks to Fish.

Hank pressed his finger on the map, pointing out where the horde was approaching from - northeast. “This is where they’re coming from. Now this is where we’re going to lead them,” he stated, dragging his finger south of the map. Drawing the dead towards the south was the best course of action. It would hopefully prevent them from spreading further from their formation and keep the thousands together just enough to sway them from the clubhouse. “We’re going to get to them first before they even step foot in our soil. We’re not going to give them a chance of claiming this clubhouse.”

Looking up at everyone and reading their facial expressions, he could sense the tension and fear. The club had not dealt with anything of this caliber in a very long time and this mission could be the end of one of their own if not all - but Hank continued. “We’ll break up into groups and split this large horde into manageable segments. Casey and Wess will ride up first, leading them south of here. Once they reach this crossroad, Fish, Kallie, and Auguste will be ready to split the dead. Casey and Wess will go west, Fish will take his group southeast down this riverside." His hand was guiding the group through the map laid out before them. "There's a bridge here. Elvis, Monty, and Kit will meet Fish and his group to break up the dead one last time."

Casey looked at Hank's plan, noticing the group of walkers Elivs would lead passed the bridge would head straight towards another community that was marked on the map. "We can't lead them there, there's people on the other side of that bridge," he brought up, concerned that the club would damn those unfortunate people if they followed that trajectory. Hank looked at his VP and back at the map. "There's no other way," Hank said simply, sitting back in his chair with arms bent eyeing Casey. The VP looked furious but wasn't saying anything in return. He turned to the map with a blank stare knowing why this was happening. Hank then continued after that awkward exchange.

"Once the dead reach ten miles out from each checkpoint, you all get clear. Loop around and regroup back here. Lila, myself, and the rest of the Prospects will stay here as the last line of defense in case the plan doesn't work. Any objections?" he asked the group, knowing not a single soul would oppose after watching their VP back down to Hank. With that, he took the gavel into his right hand and smashed it on the written-into-law block that dismissed their meeting. Immediately Casey shifted to his feet, the chair making a nasty noise as it scraped the floor under him. He rushed out of the room and back to the bar where he waited for the other members to come out.

Hank stayed in his seat watching kuttes leave the room empty. He called out for Wess to close the door and stay behind, however. "We're going to need every hand on deck for this one. Do you trust that girl? Elkin?" he asked the cowboy. "If you do, cut her loose. She's on your detail," he declared. Knowing the dangers that followed, Casey and Wess were the only two-man team. Having another rider out there would help. Secretly however this was a test for both Madison and Wess.

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Matt “Fish” Fischer



It came as a relief that Hank already seemed to have a plan, signaled by the fact they headed straight for the table. Not just any table, but The Table. Fish lingered by the door long enough to make sure everyone complied - prospects and drunkards alike - with the order to pile into the meeting room.

Fish took his usual seat at the table, leaning to one side as he rested his ankle on his knee and made himself comfortable, watching as The Map was brought out. He always felt a bit of pride swell in his chest when he saw that damn thing. It was his idea, and he put a lot of effort into making sure that thing was well documented with everything they ran across. Sometimes, when he was pulling guard duty at night, with nothing but the stars and darkness to stare at, he imagined it hanging in a museum somewhere in the far future. Maybe in that future, society rebuilt itself and such a map wouldn’t be needed anymore. A relic of a dangerous past, their names long forgotten.

Drawing his attention back to the present, Fish leaned forward and listened to Hank’s plan, watching his finger move this way and that across the map. Leading them away made sense. Dangerous, but it made sense - he didn’t want to give up their new home either. The group he wound up in sounded fine - he had no complaints working with Kallie and Auguste. Maybe Auguste wouldn’t be all that thrilled, but Fish wasn’t about to goof off on a diversion tactic like this. Though, he did have some concern about sticking Monty and Bruno together. Putting a man often overwhelmed by negativity and a man overwhelmed by alcohol together and expecting them to keep their only medic alive sounded like a… choice. Not a great choice. Just a choice.

As soon as Hank’s finger slid southeast, towards the bridge, which had a very clearly indicated community on the other side of it - you’re welcome, everyone, for jotting this down - Fish’s gaze snapped up to Hank’s face and he sat up straight. He looked just as ready to object as Casey did, but the VP beat him to the punch. Not that the VP’s resistance amounted to anything.

Fish’s expression went to stone, forming a scowl on his face that wasn’t normally there. He shot a quick look to the other patched members at the table, trying to gauge their reactions.

Fish was so, so close to objecting. A mere breath away from it. Then suddenly, the gavel came down, and a community was just sentenced to death. He couldn’t blame Casey for rushing out like that.

God, he was torn.

Fish gave Hank a steady gaze, searching his face for any sign of remorse, before he silently slipped out of the room.

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Casey Guidry

Vice President

CLUBHOUSE (collab w/ Namazu Namazu

Casey found himself out of character as he stared at the unopened beer in his hand. It’d been a while since he had a drink, but this was pushing him to want one. He was frustrated with the decision that was made in the meeting room and it could be read all over him - he couldn’t hide it. It was rare however to see him this way as he is normally very composed under pressure. Hank’s decision aggravated him, making him question of Madison’s howls about them were true. Had their club lost their way?

What happened in that room had been a reacquiring theme for the club. Hank no longer gave the members a choice, but forced them to cower under his decision. It was a democracy in some ways, members could voice their opinions but never truly did. Hank had gotten them out of Philadelphia safely, created a safe haven in Indiana and the club has since triumphed under his leadership. It was hard to question his antics, even when it cost other people their lives - Casey understood this.

Taking a second to calm down he snapped open the beer bottle, hearing it fizz. He inhaled deeply with his eyes closed as to smell the beer, but exhaled as he put it back down on the bar countertop. Opening his eyes he started to see his team exit the meeting room one at a time. He signaled to Fish with a head nod, wanting him to follow along around the bar and over to a private area.

“We’re not letting that horde across the bridge. That’s not happening, too many people will get hurt,” he revealed silently, looking over Fish’s shoulder to make sure no one else was listening yet.

Fish had dipped off to the side of the meeting room door after they adjourned, silently watching the reactions and moods of everyone as they left. He was always observing, always taking mental notes of everything, and this was definitely something worth taking measure of. Spotting Casey's nod, he followed Casey around the bar and away from prying ears.

He listened to Casey, arms crossed over his chest, with a scowl at the whole thing - but the veep's words put him at some ease. He nodded in agreement, stepping slightly to the side so he could watch his back as well.

"We can't do it. We're *not* doing it. You know it, Casey. Maybe some of the prospects would say yes just to kiss ass, but everyone else? Nah. No way. What the hell is Hank's problem? Is there something we're not being told here?"

Casey nodded in agreement, but with reluctance. The club was losing its way, but right now they needed nothing more than to be united. “Going against Hank at the table won’t do us any good right now. We’ll end up in a standstill with the votes and we don’t have time to waste,” he argued. Trying not to get into what Hank’s true intentions were, even though he knew. Instead he drew Fish’s attention back to the incoming horde as that was their main priority.

“Find a way to get Beau and Kit on board. I’m sure it won’t be a problem, but keep Jenkins in the dark,” he asked of him. Putting Jenkins on the bridge was a way of Hank to ensure it happened. Jenkins was Hank’s right hand and Casey questioned if they could trust him for this move. Keeping him unaware was their best option.

“Once you reach the bridge push them wherever you think it best. I’ll trail back as soon as I can and help out.”

Casey took a look back over Fish’s shoulders and silenced as two prospects hurried by through the front doors. He looked up at Fish as though wanting to reveal something else’s about what was going on but instead did not. “Good luck out there, brother.” With that, he gave Fish a pat on the shoulder and headed towards the doors himself.

“Five minutes out!” He yelled out for everyone on the club to hear. It was game time.

Fish nodded, sticking his hands in his back pockets - at least putting on an appearance of being calm and okay with this shit to anyone who might look over.

"I can get Beau and Kit on board." He frowned some at the idea of keeping Jenkins, his own damn friend, in the dark... but Casey was right. He couldn't know about this. He'd apologize to Jenkins later. Something about how it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission applied here. He gave Casey a nod. As the veep broke off towards the front door, Fish slunk off towards the back rooms. He had to find Kallie and Kit to bring them up to speed, and he presumed they were still back with their captive.

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Kallie & Mason Weston

"Table. Now."

The hushed room some how managed to grow quieter. This meant business. Mason used his leg to push against the wall and break free from his lean. He unfolded his arms and rubbed the back of his neck as he helped Fish usher everyone else in with him tailing at the rear. Once inside, Wess closed the door behind him and took the last seat open at the patch-only table after Hank sat first, tossing Connor's bag underneath the solid wood table by his feet. Sitting hunched forward with his hands clasped together on the table's surface, his eyes followed the prospect that retrieved a series of maps at Hank's will. With Casey's help, the sound of shuffled pages meant Hank had a plan. Thank god. The studious gaze of Mason moved fluidly all over the maps. Several places he recognized, as well as several names -- some good, some bad. He followed Hank's finger as he proposed the idea of redirecting the hoarde down south. Seemed easy enough, it was like driving cattle. Only, the cattle want to eat you and instead of wrangling the stragglers that didn't follow you killed them. For a brief moment, Wess even pictured the plan in motion with him on his horse instead of his bike, like the cattle drives he did as a kid. It was a pleasant thought at least. Short lived, but pleasant. Who knows maybe a horse would entice the bastards even more to follow.... Nah. A bike was faster. Unless they were going on foot?

Wess returned his attention to the meeting when Hank gave them their appropriate groups. He sat back and listened for Kallie's play in all this so that he could fill her in when he had the chance. "We can't lead them there," Casey spoke up and piqued Mason's attention. He was right. Wess didn't realize it until it was pointed out but there was a whole other community down south. Good, honest people, that have never done anything to get on their bad side. Wess swallowed a lump in his throat and sat back. He raised a hand to rub his chin, his index finger finding its way up over his lips. This was....an issue.

Mason remained silent, and looked at the rest of the patched members from under his brows, then from Casey to Hank. The mebers had their feeling's written on their faces, but no one dared to say otherwise. As sad as it seemed, deep down, maybe everyone did feel it was the best option. Or the only option. No one wants to admit it but its eat or be eaten out here, literally. There was a brief moment of tension between the high ranks that the rest of the table could feel, but Hank continued on with the plan anyway.

"Are there any objections?" He finished. The question seemed more like a proposed challenge.

After that display? Not likely... Everyone had something to say, but not one seized the opportunity.

The hard pang of the gavel shook his chest like the executioner's axe coming down on the innocent souls that had no idea what was about to come their way. The sharp slam made Mason flinch as soon as it hit his ear drums. Thin lipped and brows furrowed, Wess stood up and crossed the floor in wide strides to get out of that room. 'Fuckin' coward,' Wess kicked himself in the ass for staying silent. When he heard Hank call out his name and ask him to stay behind, he felt his stomach sink so deep he swore it was going to fall out of his butt. Did he somehow read his mind? Nonetheless, Mason obeyed and turned around to reapproach the Pres, mustering up the flattest poker face he could give. Hank questioned him about Connor, to which the younger member responded by pulling out some of the items in her bag like the patch, the photo of Uncle Bill, and the map that recorded her journey all the way from Elkin. "To be honest, sir," he layed out the items on the table in no particular order, "I reckon shes tellin' the truth," he stated surely with a curt nod. With that, Hank bestowed the responsibility of having her under his wing, or more like under the careful eye of himself and Casey. Wess gave a silent nod, clearly unenthused about the idea but went along with it anyway. He regathered the items and dropped them back in the bag before giving a polite, "Sir," to disengage the conversation and be on his way. There was a lot to take in, and a lot to prepare for...

Exiting the member-only room as quick as possible, Mason pushed the bar doors open to take a breath outside, the heel of his boots scraping the dirt as they came to a halt. Reaching into the inside of his jacket he produced a single cigarette. Wess, in his younger years, used to have a bad smoking habit and tried to kick it years ago. But, every now and then, when stress or worry get the best of him, he can't help but pick up the habit to sooth his nerves. The flick of his silver flip lighter ignited the small flame that lit the end of his little coping device.

One puff. Two puffs. Exhale.

Just breathe.

"Uh oh." The familiar raspiness of his sister's voice snuck up behind him, "You're smoking again. Whats wrong?"

"I thought you were busy with little miss Annie Oakley back there," he blew out a white cloud and offered the remainder of the cigarette to his sister.

"Yeah," she shrugged and took his offer, "But Dr. Asshat came in and started doin' his thing and I just felt like I was in the way." After giving Connor some clothes Kit came in to give her a quick look over. Kallie stood to the side and quite frankly...grew bored. She gave Kit a one-two pat on the shoulder and a "I think you got it from here, big guy ," and walked out.

"Dr. Asshat?"

"Nevermind that. Whats going on? Looked like there was an important meeting I missed," Kallie jerked her head back toward the door while she scoped out the club dispersing and getting ready for their next move.

Wess was hesitant on explaining details. He knew his sister. As much as he loved her, and would put his life on the line for her, they didn't always share the same opinion on things. Wess had a moral compass. Kallie? Well, hers was questionable...to say the least. Mason didn't want to tell her the whole truth because he knew she wouldn't see the wrong in all this, and he didn't feel like arguing at the moment. He stared at her for a second, searching for the words to say, "You're grouped with Fish and Auguste, thats all I know." Wess raised a hand to signal the end of this discussion, "I've got baby sitting duty, I gotta get ready." Without allowing another moment to pass the cowboy turned on his heels and walked back into the clubhouse with the intention of being able to finally speak with Connor comfortably...and break the news to her.

"Thats bullshit and you know it!" Kallie called out to her brother's back as he grew further away. She always thought he was a terrible liar but this just proved her theory right. "Whatever, I'll ask them myself," she muttered, looking around for either of the two men in search of answers.

"Five minutes out!"

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Alejandra swiftly felt overwhelmed with the task assigned to her as voices were raised outside of the backroom and within it. Lila arrived and took over comforting the woman, Connor, as she discovered was her name whilst Kallie confronted then threatened the few prospects remaining in the room who were giving her a hard time. It was nearly too much for Ally to watch, partly because she couldn’t understand just how little respect the lower ranks had for their leaders and the sheer noise of it all. It made her uncomfortable in all kinds of ways and mainly due to the fact that she had no control over the situation. If the prospects came for her and wanted to treat her in the same capacity her words alone couldn’t stop them, certainly not if they were willing to stand up to a full member like Kallie. Casey’s presence was her only line to safety and she was not foolish enough to think otherwise.

She watched, in uncomfortable silence as Lila and Kallie went about dressing the groggy Connor, Lila taking care not to jostle or hurt her any further and Kallie … well evidently she was not much for nurturing. Given the environment she was raised in, it wasn’t a surprise.

Ally felt a little relief as Kit arrived to assess just how injured Connor was but it was Bullet that drew her back to reality. The gently but pointed nudge of the German Sheppard on her leg was enough of a reminder to take stock of what she was doing. She glanced down at her thumb, the nail bitten back and edges bleeding, she stuffed it into her fist, forcing her hands down at her side, her free hand coming to rest on the top of Bullet’s head.

She took a moment to slide open the backroom door and glance out, seeing the club members exiting the meeting room, speaking to one another quietly. She wondered what it was they had planned for the horde Hank had warned them about.




Auguste listened to the announcement made by the President without much surprise; he’d heard the warnings from the woman at the gate, he’d only hoped it would have been announced it a better way, or perhaps not to everyone all at once. At least not when his trusted officers didn’t know the plan on how they were going to deal with the issue. He hoped there was a way around this for them, that it wouldn’t leave them on the road for another several months searching for somewhere else to settle. He’d grown attached to this place, small and decrepit as it was, and didn’t like the idea of abandoning it.

He should have been surprised with how Jenkin’s reacted to the news, the man had been there with the Pres at the discovery of the horde and his leaping the counter and drinking straight from the bottle told him enough that this wasn’t the size of something they’d handled in the past. Beau, of all people, seemed to sober up swiftly and set Jenkins in his place, calling everyone’s attention back to Hank to order them to the table to sit.

Auguste lingered just long enough outside the meeting room to ensure Lila stayed in the back with Alley and the new woman; he wouldn’t have put it past her to try and run after hearing what was coming and the last thing he needed was having to stop her and deal with his duty to the club. She was a fireball, in the best and worst kind of way.

He took his seat between Fish and Beau, looking over the map as Hank laid out the plans, noting where he was expected to be and his tasks with whom, but he frowned sourly seeing the final marker that clearly indicated there was a community they’d scouted at some time where Hank intended the lead at least part of the horde. Auguste glanced between Casey and Hank as the VP argued about the community they were about to endanger. He knew he had no place to speak against the Pres, and truthfully neither did Casey, save that it was his father and those lines blended. Regardless, while he couldn’t raise his own concerns, he was at least satisfied that he wasn’t the only one that didn’t feel right about it.

As they were leaving the meeting room, he waited for Jenkins to speak with him. He nodded aside, leading the other man aside. He glanced up at the other members that seemed to split off to discuss their parts of the plan and he hoped this looked very much the same. Once they were out of earshot he spoke. “You saw the horde.” Jenkins looked like he wanted to run, and didn’t blame them. “Do you think we can split it?” There was plenty in this plan that could go wrong but he worried about those they left behind here, they'd be left defenceless if they failed to pull the horde aside.



Lila Adkins



Threats to have one’s dick fed through a meat grinder generally worked wonders on any man on the receiving end of the threat, but it brought a special little smile to Lila hearing the prospects getting it from Kallie. Hearing the way she kicked them around for being typical nasty douchebags earned Kallie some bonus points in Lila’s mind. The gal was abrasive as shit, but at least in the right ways. It was hard not to hear that exchange through the door, but Lila was going to act like she heard nothing - for Kallie’s sake.

Scooting away from Connor, Lila gave everyone who tumbled in after her in the flurry of activity room to do their assigned duties. Kallie was on defense and clothing, apparently. It would almost leave a person in a lurch the way the gritty woman marched in, dumped clothes on Connor, and marched right back out. It was a bit of a whirlwind, but not a surprise around here.

Wanting to stay out of the way so Kit could do his thing, Lila scooted back away from Connor and pressed herself into the corner of the small room. Not that Kit was intimidating in that way, just that she felt like the one person who could do some serious good in the camp deserved the space.

“Christ, Kit, I don’t even think I can spell world backwards without writing it down first.” She commented quietly, crossing her arms over her chest and sighing. She stood there for a moment while Kit did his thing, mulling the situation over. Would their newest visitor wind up a captive like her?

God, she hoped not. Then again, if she wasn’t the only one, maybe it would work in her favor…

Spotting Ally at the doorway, Lila slid over and lowered her voice to talk to the woman, offering Bullet a gentle ear-rub.

“What’s all the noise?” She peeked past Ally’s shoulder, watching as people - patched and prospect alike - filed out of the meeting room. Sights like that always made her stomach knot up. It meant something was going on, and chances are she wouldn’t like it. Every time a meeting had been called, regardless of where they held it, rough shit went down.

Catching a glimpse of Auguste as he left the room, she frowned. The look on his face was entirely unreadable to her. It was the same damn thing that Fish did - though Auguste was just better at it, and did it more often.

“Goddamned poker faces.” She muttered, turning her attention back to Ally. “Was it about the dead coming? Is there a plan?”

It dawned on her that Connor and the dead had to be somehow connected. Otherwise, it was just the worst timing ever, to be riding by and wind up here just as the dead were bearing down on them. She glanced down at Connor, frowning a bit.

“What a fucked up idea, beating you over the head right when shit’s about to hit us. I bet we could have used the help.” She commented, to nobody in particular.

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kit stryker


Kit was too engrossed in the task at hand to acknowledge Kallie past a short nod. "What do you mean you can't spell world backward? Did you try?" Kit asked, glancing behind him to look at Lila quizzically. He turned back to his work quickly; he'd have to check on Lila later. God forbid she had a concussion too. With Connor's permission, he parted her short hair, investigating the crimson gash. He poured some of the alcohol on it and took a look with his handy dandy untrustworthy flashlight. "It's nice to meet you, Connor. The good news is your skull isn't exposed" he grinned as if this was a very entertaining joke before going back to his medical bag and grabbing a few more supplies. He took a couple of paper towels and doused them with alcohol, carefully cleaning the wound. "Would ya mind holding this to the back of your head for about ten minutes?" He asked as he offered her another alcohol-doused paper towel. He moved to shine the flashlight in her eyes, making sure that her pupils were the same size as he continued.

"Looks like it's going to clot ok, if it doesn't, we'll move forward then. There's not a lot of skin to work with on your scalp," he explained. 'I don't want to risk staples getting into her skull, stitches won't hold it shut, so gorilla glue is going to have to do. Hopefully, it clots on its own.' he pondered. "Don't worry, you'll still look fine if I have to shave around the wound," he said with another joking grin. All things considered; he didn't care if Connor was pretty as long as her head didn't get infected. His thoughts trailed back to the incoming zombie horde. "Y'know we'd actually better get that covered now," he decided, skittering back to his bag to grab some gauze, a cheap razor, and medical tape. It would make a fine temporary bandage at least until he knew if he had to glue it. "I'll get you a hat if it really bothers you." he offered before quickly shaving around the wound and taping the gauze over it. he made sure to cover the gauze with tape as well, just in case any fluids would be slung toward the back of her head. He gave her a thumbs-up when he was done.

"Okey-dokey, the blurred vision and unconsciousness bother me, you might have a concussion. I'd ask about feelings of confusion, but I'd be more worried if you weren't confused right now. Do you remember both names I introduced myself with?" He asked, staring into her eyes with a gaze like eroded steel. "I'm going to assume you'll be under my supervision for a minute with that concussion risk, I need you to let me know if there's any dizziness, severe headaches, slurred speech, numbness or inability to move your limbs or vomiting." He explained. "Do not lie flat on your back, keep it clean, and absolutely do not let any of the dead near you." He finished before mumbling under his breath, "last thing we need is to discover a new kind of infection or flesh-eating bacteria.". With instructions given, he grinned and offered two thumbs up before gathering his gear. "I reckon I'll be right back, Alley, do you mind keeping an eye on Miss Connor?" He asked with as little emotion as he could muster, but the worry and stress was audible still. "I'd like to figure out what's going on, I'll keep you posted," he explained, hoping his offer would allow him to step out for a minute. He glanced at Lila with a forced smile. "No offense Lila, I just figure two people are better than one" He lied. Truthfully, he trusted Lila about as far as he could throw her, which was absolutely not at all because she would probably stab him. With that settled he slid out the door and looked around for Fish, out of all people he preferred to get his information from him, but whoever was available would work too. He did purposefully avoid Casey and Hank, far too on edge to deal with authority figures throwing their weight around.

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Matt “Fish” Fischer



“There you are - come here.” Fish had intercepted Kit as the medic emerged from the hall leading to the back room that was now serving as a prison cell. Grabbing Kit’s arm in a slightly less-than-gentle manner, Fish pulled him off into the out-of-order bathroom. Since none of the plumbing worked in here, they’d been using it as a storage space, and the amount of boxes of things piled up everywhere muffled their voices well enough. He closed the door behind them, the room illuminated by only a buzzing fluorescent light above them. Fish paused for a moment, making sure he didn’t hear any sounds outside the door. Nobody needed to eavesdrop on this conversation.

“I don’t have a lot of time so you need to listen to me very carefully, got it? We’re going to lure the horde away. Three groups of us are going to head out, splitting up the horde and moving them away from the clubhouse. We have to start getting into position now. Casey and Wess are going to take that girl they just beat out first and head south. They’re going to meet me, Auggie, and Kallie at the crossroads. We’ll split the horde in two - Casey’s team will take off one way, and my team will keep going towards that big bridge. I’ll meet you, Monty, and Jenkins at the bridge.”

Fish paused for a moment, leaning with his head near the door, listening. Definitely nobody needed to hear this part of the conversation. Fish lowered his voice and leaned a little closer to Kit.

“Hank wants your team to lead the horde across the bridge. We can’t. Its fuckin’ wrong and Casey agrees. There’s another community that way, and they don’t have the means to deal with a group that big. So, fuck Hank’s plan. I’ll talk to Monty too but I need you guys to absolutely not lead that horde across the bridge. Bring it anywhere else you can, whatever’s best, whatever you guys can make work. Not home, but not anyone else’s backyard, got it?” Fish was staring squarely at Kit this whole time, but then averted his gaze at what he had to add afterwards.

“Don’t tell Jenkins this plan. Casey’s orders. We can’t risk him fucking it up. Understood?”

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Madison "Connor" Jones
The Hunter

Pistol Jane took her leave without waiting for a reply, and Dog-Friend stood and watched for only a minute before wordlessly turning her back and opening the door to look at whatever was out front.

Connor clenched her teeth as the alcohol sloshed over the back of her head, the echoing throb turning into a screech of pain, lancing right through to her bones. She sucked in air through clenched teeth and let out a low, growled 'fuck' on the exhale, though the inflicted sensation wrested Connor all the way back to herself, each tiny movement aggravating angry nerves and flaring electric blue in the dark space behind her eyelids.

Doc....... Kit........ Yeah, that was going to be a hard one to say with a straight face..... Doc shone a flashlight into her face until green pollywoggles wavered in her vision, then began....... began treating her, like she was a person and not bait or lunch or a valuable commodity. He moved with high-style speed, making her press a couple of paper towels to the wound, shaving around it careful-as-you-please, and giving her an honest-to-god bandage before giving her care instructions like this was a goddamn emergency clinic, and slipping out past the Dog Whisperer before Connor could do anything but blink.

Miss Connor?

The fuck kind of people called a prisoner Miss?

Madison got to her feet before putting on her jeans with all the straightforward dignity of someone who knew who they were and had long since left embarrassment in the dust. She gave Punky Brewster a long, level look before replying, her voice calm and flat.

"Depends why they did it. I rolled up to warn you all about the horde. Your VP demanded I hand over my bike and my person. I wasn't about to become a prisoner willingly, so," She spread her hands in the universal signal for 'voila'.

"I'd have bet money that I was gonna be bait. Buy people time. Slave or long pig were the other obvious options. Thanks for the pants. I don't get it, but thanks."

Why would a Doc spend both time and resources on either a dead woman or a trafficked good? Why put himself within easy reach of a presumed hostile over and over and over? Was the VP's supposed iron control and obedience way, way, way less than he presumed? That'd explain how the VP was so easy-breezy beautiful with the notion of claiming a prisoner and her belongings off their front stoop and why the rank and file were a mixed bag, ranging from unquestioningly obedient to undeniably helpful. Tone and expectation of behavior in any rigid hierarchy were usually set from the top-down, and Numbskull McGee back there had shown remarkably few scruples (or intellect or both). Doubly so once she'd been proven right. Aaaaand yet, these people? These people were just folks.

The growing incongruity between leader and led was enough to make Connor's head hurt. Hurt more.

Madison expected to wake up mid-coitus, chained to something sturdy, or not at all. It was a monumentally bad idea to go out of one's way to make enemies and leave those enemies alive and unbound.

They were very bad at this.

Or, Imbecilius Rex was very bad at this, and everybody else was just..... coping.

Even so, the gazes surrounding her had none of the anguish or despair or fear of genuine slaves, and they held none of the telltale signs of butchery, or they hid it uncomfortably well. Connor had seen enough Grade A monsters in her time that she'd gotten decent at spotting them up close, and in this brave new world, most of them didn't bother hiding themselves like they used to. There was no longer a need for subtlety in the savage or perverse. What was Leadership's play in having people like this around? Assholes begat assholes, but none of the people who'd spoken to her had counted, except for King Nothing.

Even from here, the cop could see natural light, streaming in to the front room and this one. An overabundance of sunlight through lightly-covered windows (at best) began to tip High Priest Moron towards blistering ignorance more than plain, selfish malice.

Only an idiot would decide to take a prisoner but leave them unbound. Only a massive idiot would keep a group of people in a building with plenty of ways for zombies to see in. Only the heir apparent to the throne of the Kingdom of Idiots would do both those things while a horde of hungry dead were shambling this way.

What the fuck was his play?

Madison glimpsed something past Dog-Owner in the other room, and it made hard ice knock against the inside of her skin, a harsh wind blowing through the cockles of her road-rash heart. For the first time in a long time, Madison felt fear clench around her throat.

They had a kid.

Why keep a kid here, while the dead lurched merrily forward? A child should have been long gone, even in the brief time Connor herself had been out for the count. So why? Dark eyes drifted towards the youngish girl hovering in the corner without any super-visible weapons, then towards where Diet Nevermore and Pistol Whip had gone.

Madison could think of at least two reasons, neither of which were good.

The girl bent down low and plucked the mug from the dusty floor, downing half of it in swallow after swallow but keeping the remainder in her hand in the very likely event she'd need the mug to defend herself. Leaving this place of Forsaken Angels in her rearview mirror was still the goal, but one thing was becoming increasingly apparent.

"You...... you people don't have any idea what you're doing."

The words weren't accusatory or insulting in tone, said in much the same way that a passer-by might comment upon someone's height or untied shoes, and they were directed at the only one still paying her any attention whatsoever.

What the hell. Might as well try.

"I'm going to need my boots, my padding, and my leathers."

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cristiano ronaldo

the joker


It all happened so fast.

One moment Cris held his daughter tightly in his arms, eyes wide with surprise and a sense of unease as he witnessed the commotion unfolding before him. Hank's arrival disrupted the usual laid-back atmosphere of the clubhouse, filling the air with tension and anxiety. Cris could feel his little one nestling against his chest, clutching to his body, mirroring his emotions.

Next moment his daughter was in somebody else's care and he listened to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor in the business room. It was the first time he was present at a patched members meeting, which for him only highlighted the gravity of the situation.

Cris's gaze darted around the room, taking in the members who took their seats around the wooden table. His fellow Prospects on the sidelines. Their eyes fixed on their leader as Hank's finger traced the path of the approaching horde on the map. His words cut through the silence like a blade. Cris felt a knot form in his stomach as the weight of the plan set in.

He exchanged a knowing glance with his friends. Some of their expressions reflected the conflicted feelings they were forced to face in that unforgiving world. The weight of their impending mission hung heavy in the air, and Cris was glad he didn't have to be a part of it. He wanted to stay close to his daughter for this. He would not let anything happen to her. He couldn't.

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Bruno Jenkins


Jenkins felt a trickle of sweat snake down his temple as Auguste motioned him aside. He scanned the room, members scattered, discussing their roles. Fuck if it mattered. They were all undead snack already.

He didn't miss the doubt seeping through the cracks in man's tone. "What do I think?" He felt the prickling sensation of anxiety crawling under his skin and he feverishly scratched his stubbled jaw. "Sure we can split them. Might as well try to teach them synchronized swimming while we're at it!" He threw his hands up before calming down.

His gaze glided right as he brought back the sight of the ocean of decay in his racing mind. Made him feel sick. The booze he had on an empty stomach bit his throat with bile. He swallowed with a grimace on his lips. "Maybe." He met Auguste's gaze, also wondering what would happen if they failed. "Not like we got a fucking choice." They do that or it gets real ugly real fast.

He left Daddy with nothing better and headed for his trailer. He was sweaty, felt clammy and uncomfortable. So even though it wouldn't get much better he swiftly stripped the vest and wet t-shirt, rubbing moist skin before pulling on a fresh shirt. If he was going to die might as well die looking good. On his way out Jenkins glanced at the mirror and made a face at the reflection of his ruined hairstyle. At least he was hiding that abomination under helmet.

Sitting on his red, dust-covered lady moments later the Enforcer watched the other members gather. "Nobody said we live forever." He mused with a mirthless chuckle. "Let's ride into that motherfucking storm!" He called with fake excitement, gesturing in the vague direction of the horde. Shivering at the idea of dying in those cold, greedy arms and rotting teeth.

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