Realistic or Modern 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 — at the end of the world

[Miaow]

&

SCENE ONE
The Convoy

Collab with Safton
​

The room was eerily quiet as Haewon perched on the edge of the remaining gurney, huffing softly as her legs swung. What the hell was taking them so long? She clutched onto the plush mattress, picking at a hole in the plastic covering. She hadn't expected the nurse's office to be so soundproofed, she couldn't hear a thing of their conversation from in there. She watched as Minnie lay on her back, her half-bandaged arms resting on her stomach as she slept.

She jumped as the door opened and Pandora returned, moving quickly to finish Minnie's bandages. She tried to take her arm as gently as she could but the movement woke Minnie anyway, her head turning to look at the door. Was Xander back yet?

As Pandora finished working on her arm, she gently brushed Minnie's fringe out of the way, squinting at the cut on her forehead.
"Ah, it's tiny," She assured Minnie with a smile, "Head injuries are just dramatic. I'm out of fun bandaids, though, you'll have to settle for a boring one."
She gently cleaned the dried blood from around the cut before sticking the bandaid over the top, though Minnie didn't seem too responsive.
"What's going on?" She finally asked, looking to the door in search of Xander.
Pandora hesitated. It wasn't her place to tell them.

Xander stalked back to the room that once served as the nurse's office, taking several deep breaths in an attempt to compose himself. He ignored the sound of the Samaritans behind him heading down the hall, radios squawking with vague mentions of the courtyard. Instead, he focused on getting his breathing and heart rate back under control, subduing the rage he had felt during the confrontation with Cabrera.

He knew what awaited him beyond the door, a talk with the girls that he wasn't looking forward to. They wouldn't understand and he wouldn't have any answers. He took a deep breath before grasping the door handle and stepping inside. He set his eyes on Minnie and Haewon with a small, weak smile.
"Hey, sorry about that. You guys okay?"

Minnie felt relief as he walked through the door. At least Cabrera had left him alone, let him come back to them. She nodded in response to his question, though it felt ingenuine, in the way that everybody answered 'how are you?' with the same response every time.
"As okay as we can be," Haewon muttered in response, "What did he want? You took ages."

Pandora saw this as her cue to leave.
"I'll go get you a blanket," She told Minnie before slipping out of the door, allowing them to have their conversation.

Xander gave Pandora a thankful nod as she slipped out of the room. Her mention of a blanket made him realize -- yet again -- that he was shirtless. It had seemed inconsequential moments ago, but now, in light of what was to come... Font felt strangely vulnerable without that familiar garment. It was absurd, of course. He knew he would be no more comfortable delivering this news in a goddamned parka.

But there was nothing for it.

Xander glanced around the room, spotting the small rolling chair that Mackenzie and Pandora sometimes made use of. It had once belonged to the school nurse. He grabbed it by the back, rolling it over to face the girls before dropping heavily into the seat and rubbing at his face with a deep sigh -- immediately regretting the motion as his knuckles flared with pain.

"I've got something to tell you girls. I... I just learned about it myself. It won't be easy to hear," Xander said, doing his best to keep his voice from cracking and holding Haewon and Minnie's eyeline. Haewon frowned as he spoke. God, she wished he would spit it out already. Maybe all of this was for Minnie's sake, he didn't want to rip the band-aid off too quickly after what had happened, but the tension just frustrated her. Whatever it was, she knew Cabrera was part of it. She could feel the anger rising already.
"Whatever it is, just say it."

Xander swallowed hard at Haewon's biting response, as justified as it was. He nodded slowly before speaking.
"Nari... is gone. She's okay, but the Samaritans have taken her back to their home. I don't know when or why. I-- I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice breaking as he glanced toward the tiled floor.
"The hell do you mean she's gone?" Haewon frowned.
"The fuck do they need her for?! They've got a drone, obviously they've got an engineer!" She snapped, gesturing angrily at the door as Minyoung remained quiet.
Xander flinched as if Haewon had struck him, her angry words managing to have a similar effect on him.
"I don't know, Haewon. They didn't give me the details," he said, his voice as low and calm as he could manage. "Just know that I'll do everything I can to get her back, okay?"
"Didn't you ask?!" She yelled, "How can you not know?!"
She hesitated, pausing in thought, before getting to her feet.
"We should've left when we had the fucking chance," She muttered, shooting Xander a look as she swung the door open. She slammed it behind her.

Minnie flinched. Silence filled the room. She swallowed, fidgeting with the bandage on her hand.
"He'll bring her back... right?" Surely, they just needed Nari to fix something, right? There was just something important that their own engineer couldn't figure out, so they needed Nari to do it. Nari was the smartest person she knew, after all, she could fix anything. Then, when she was done, she could come back... right?
Xander felt hollow, sitting there in the nurse's office. The door slamming behind Haewon might as well have been a gunshot for the way it rang through his ears even after Haewon left the room. He forced himself to look at Minnie, giving her his best attempt at a reassuring smile before sliding forward in the chair to offer her his hand.
"I'm sure she'll be back soon, lovebug. I'll see about talking to her on the radio later so I can find out more, okay?"
Minnie watched him shuffle closer, rolling onto her side and taking his hand. She frowned a little as he tried to reassure her.
"You don't have to lie," She murmured, "If you don't think Nari's coming back... you can say."
Xander squeezed Minnie's hand.
"I'm not lying. I just... I wish I knew more to tell you is all. The four of us will figure this all out, I promise. Just like we always do, right?"
Minnie managed a smile as he squeezed her hand, though she felt her eyes well with tears. She'd never been a four before. It was always her and Haewon, no one else... It didn't help she was exhausted, like a toddler needing a nap. She pulled her hand from his, wiping her eyes with both palms.
"I'm sorry for crying..." She muttered with a sniffle.
Xander's own smile widened.
"You don't ever need to apologize about that, baby girl," he said softly. "Never, okay?"
He turned and glanced at the door, his throat tight with guilt. Now if I could just get your sister to open up half as much...

NanLia Bullyboy Squad
​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

SCENE ONE
The Convoy

Collab with Miaow ​

Haewon's heart pounded against the wall of her chest as she stormed down the corridor, her hands shaking with rage. How could Xander not know why his wife had been taken? The question burned in her mind. Why?

She stormed down the corridor, fuelled by adrenaline, as she headed towards Cabrera's room, though she knew it wasn't his. That was Xander's room, he had stolen it. The room was familiar to her. She'd been in there to get something for Xander or to just talk, but it didn't feel the same with someone else sleeping in it.

She threw the door open, her eyes set on Cabrera.

"What the fuck did you do to Nari?!" She yelled.

Cabrera was just pulling on a black t-shirt with some cracked print of Indiana's local college football team. So his vision was obscured for a second when Heawon barged in, jumpstarting his heart.

The man rapidly let go of the shirt that covered the blood splatter on his torso. His hand instinctively shot for the gun left on the desk next to him. But it was just a jolt of muscle before he paused. Realizing there was no immediate threat.

Just a hurt girl.

"Close the door." His voice surprisingly calm despite anger shimmering below the surface.

Haewon glared at him as he spoke, feeling a moment of hesitation.
"After what your men did today, I'd rather it stayed open." She told him with the sternest voice she could put on. She was full of anger, her hands continuing to tremble as she clenched them by her sides, but she wasn't taking any chances. He'd shipped Nari away with no evidence that she was still okay, still alive.

Cabrera strode right at her and it could have looked like he was about to grab her but instead he slammed the door shut, returning the hard look to make a statement. What he says goes.

Haewon braced herself as he approached, holding her guard. Her fists tightened, ready to strike if she needed to... though he passed her. She swallowed as he glared back at her, not breaking eye contact with him. She took a shakey breath.
"Are you happy, now?"

He was silent. Expression stern, dark eyes slowly scanning girl's face. Normally he'd have more patience but after all that happened and after he let Font's behavior slide minutes earlier, knowing what he had to do next... Ignacio felt rage burn in his ribcage, claw at his muscles, threatening to drive him.

The anger continued to build within Haewon, the silence between them deafening. She hated the way he looked at her. She tensed, swinging at him, her fist pounding at his chest. Then again, then again, then again.
"Where the FUCK is Nari?!" She yelled, slamming her fists against him through his shirt.

Cabrera didn't waver, his poised torso taking the beating even though he flinched at first and made sure she didn't hit too low. But he allowed her emotional burst to last.

Haewon only grew angrier as he ignored her, giving her no reaction. She couldn't help but fantasize about killing him, pulling the knife out of her shoe and getting him in the jugular... But she was in her pyjamas, and her knife was in a corridor somewhere.
"You got my friend killed! You got my sister beaten! And you took her fucking mother away!" She screamed, slamming her fists into his chest and digging her knuckles into his skin... until she was too tired to go anymore. She took a clumsy step backwards, pressing her forehead into her hands. It felt like her eyes were bursting out of her skull as her head ached.
"You didn't save any of them... did you?" She snarled.

It speared right through Cabrera's chest. His body stiffened even more, if it was possible. His own fists balled up hard.

It took a few more heartbeats before he turned and marched towards the desk. He didn't say anything. About to put the holster and the bulletproof vest on him, as his usual accessories. He had shit to do and dealing with the things rattling in his head wasn't part of it.

Haewon watched him walk away, the frustration rising once more.
"What do you want with Nari?" She called after him as he turned his back on her.

Cabrera closed the buckle of the thigh rig with a soft click and once the straps were in place he slipped the pistol into holster. "She's safe." His voice still a little stern, posture rigid. "Nobody will touch her. And if Font does what I want."

He put the vest on, turning to face the girl as he velcroed it. "She'll reunite with you all and..." He hesitated. Glancing at the vest to fix the strap he went silent.

Haewon growled as he continued.
"You're avoiding the question!" She snapped, her knuckles white from clenching her fists. It was like trying to claw answers out of a politician.
"And what?"

Ignacio looked up to meet her eyes again. His gaze frank and his voice filled with something equally sincere. "And she'll bring more children with her."

MokaChan Togy Safton

BeyondDandy NanLia Miaow @The Cat Man SlaughterMelon ​

 

[Namazu]

SCENE THREE
The Fight​

Light and shadows flew by as Dr. Victor Braaten sprinted at full speed down the narrow hallway towards the cage, hiking boots squeaking against the dirty floor. It was the hallway that fighters were brought through, he surmised, by the ominous way it led through solitary cells before opening up to the fighting pit. It almost reminded him of the way baseball players enter onto the field, but in a far darker manner. Funny he should by chance be wearing a T-shirt with the Cleveland Indians’ logo on it while making this entrance onto the cursed "field".

One of the enforcers had ordered him down to help after listening to something on his walkie-talkie. Victor tried not to pay much attention to that noise, finding it hard to understand the squawking most times. But he heard the mayday loud and clear. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good if he was coming to the patient, and not the other way around. He had only attended one fight, when he first was brought to the prison, and he had no stomach for it. Ever since then he’d stayed in his med bay, ready to receive the injured as needed after the fact.

“Shit fuck shit fuck-” He cussed to himself, fumbling a moment to get the door open before flinging the doors wide open. He took exactly one step into the fighting pit before freezing there, hand still on the door, jaw opening in surprise.

The scene in front of him was pure chaos - even worse than he’d imagined. One man lay sprawled on the ground, his face a bloody unrecognizable mess, and the lieutenant was busy doing his best to put a second man in the same position. The amount of blood - new and old - splattered across the fighting cage floor was shocking.

Victor was never the type to feel queasy at the sight of blood, but at this moment he did feel a bit of a flip in his stomach at the sight.

“I’m not going in there-” He started to object as an enforcer came up behind him. “The fight isn’t over!” He also certainly did not want to be caught in the middle if this devolved into something worse - not the way the crowd was moving forward on the opposite side of the cage. The Samaritans looked pinned in - not a good place to be.

“Fuckin’ stay here and wait!” The enforcer spit back at him, shoving him back against the doors and out of the way. “Don’t get in the way.” Victor stumbled a bit and caught himself on the door, still wide-eyed at the scene in front of him. He didn’t want to wait too long and risk people dying, but then again… that body on the floor looked nearly mutilated, he rather doubted the man was even alive, let alone conscious.

Swallowing hard and gathering up his courage, he darted into the cage and knelt at North’s side, pressing fingers to the man’s neck, trying to feel a pulse. Given the state of his face, he presumed - and quietly prayed - that he was already dead. It would be a mercy.

Victor couldn’t feel a pulse, but it was hard to tell if that was because his own heart was beating so quickly, or if he was just too distracted - or if the man really was dead. He flinched suddenly when he felt warm, wet blood spray the side of his face from one of the lieutenant’s strikes to the second combatant’s face.

That was a sign to get out.

Scrambling to his feet, Victor darted out of the cage again, back to the entrance he came in from. There wasn’t much more he could do right now other than wait and see who lived.

Bullyboy Squad Aegis Safton NanLia ​

 

[Togy]

SCENE 2
Fight Or Flight​

The office was silent for some time as the two men awaited their dinner. King sat in his throne, filing his nails while his guest Gunderson sat across from him. King would look up periodically to make sure the soldier was still there but had nothing to say just yet. Fifteen minutes into the start of their meeting, a knock announced the entry of Chef Payne - a burly African American fellow who cooked like King’s grandmother.

“Chef Payne!” King announced, putting his filer away and uncrossing his legs to adjust to his desk. “What have you brought us today?”

“Fresh catfish sir, with a side of broccolini and buttered mashed potatoes. I hope you enjoy,” Payne responded, putting down the plates gently before King and his guest.

“Wonderful. Lawrence, please escort Chef Payne to the bar and have one of Temma’s girls take care of him.” Chef Payne blushed and bowed in appreciation as he left with Lawrence, closing the office door on their way out.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” He asked rhetorically as he tucked a cloth napkin into the collar of his suit. He looked at Gunderson. “Please, dig in. This is all for you.”

Jaime only stared at his food for a long moment, skeptical eyes darting towards King and around the room every few seconds. Was this a trick? He doubted they'd poison him now, and do so in such a weird, convoluted way, but he doubted they'd start treating him like an actual human being even more. He'd gotten the bare necesseties until then, but now that he was actually turning a profit he was seemingly afforded a dinner date with his boss.

He continued to stare in silence for another minute before ultimately deciding, fuck it, he'd deal with whatever bullshit came his way on a full stomach. He started with the mashed potatoes because he hadn't tasted butter-actual butter, not just yellow lard-since Seattle. He felt like he'd fallen for a hook somehow, and was waiting for the line and sinker to reel him in.

“Good, isn’t it?” King asked with a smile as he brushed off the food residue on the edge of his lips. He could sense tension radiating from his dinner mate and found it amusing. Little did Gunderson know this night would change the way he lived in Lincoln. Putting his silverware down he continued.

“I asked you here tonight for a special proposal. After seeing the way people looked at you for landing that helicopter, I got to thinking…” King paused for a second, his eyes deeply invested in their conversation. An ominous feeling clouded the room.

“It’s time for change in Lincoln. Weston is on his way out and I need someone to step into his shoes. I want to extend that privilege to you. You are a man of the people. The American soldier. People will eat that shit up. What do you think about that?”

Jamie didn’t respond then, on account of him being too busy choking on mashed potatoes. His spoon clattered to his plate as he hacked out bits of butter and potato, clasping his fists together and slamming them against his chest in a self-initiated Heimlich maneuver.

He coughed out the last bits of potato as he regained higher thought. He had to have misheard him. There was no possible way. “You-what?”

King chuckled at Gunderson’s theatrics. Though genuine, there lay eerie undertones - one could never truly guess what went on in King’s head. Silence followed Gunderson’s question. King moved his plate aside, catfish completely untouched. He nodded to the security guard at the door to take his plate. The guard went on to take Gunderson’s plate as well but King stopped him with a nod.

“There are people in this prison that look for a change in leadership. That stigma needs to die. Weston has….failed to calm the words that rat through these cells. I need a new face to calm the crowds. That’s where you come in. You succeeded in Lincoln’s most important mission yet. The man in the front lines brings back the chopper! You will be the gateway between me and the people. In return I’ll continue to keep your friend alive. Do I have to repeat myself?”

Jamie leaned back in his seat to take a deep, calming breath. He felt more adrenaline in that moment than at any other point at the hospital. This was…really fucking bad. He’d have to work even more closely with King for the foreseeable future, he’d probably be kept under even heavier watch, and if he didn’t just say yes, they’d kill Eugene and Huey and…

Fuck, what would they do to him?

“What about Weston?” Jamie blurted out, already knowing he’d follow in their footsteps if he fucked up now, “what’ll happen to him?”

Another gritty chuckle bellowed out of King. Even the guard started to laugh with the leader. Grabbing the handkerchief in his pocket he wipes the hilarity tears that escaped down his cheeks. “You’re one funny man, Gunderson. Weston will be-“

A sudden chirp followed by a mayday call came from the belt of the guard who jolted unexpectedly at the call. "Mayday, all enforcers, I need backup in the pit immediately, we have a potential-"

The message was cut off. King lipped his lower lip in frustration, quickly standing from his throne. He removed the napkin tucked on his collar, folded it and placed it on his desk. “Apologies Gunderson, looks like I have urgent matters to attend to.”

Fixing his suit and the strap he had tucked under his coat, he moved towards the door. “Please except Mr. Gunderson to his chambers as soon as he finishes his dinner. We’ll talk soon Gunderson. Think about what I said.” With that King left the room.

Slumping against the table the second the door shut, Jamie held his head in his hands. Oh, he was so screwed. So totally, colossally screwed. The guard approached his seat, and through his panicked reverie Jamie had just enough sense left to grab his plate. “C-could I just take this to go?”

BeyondDandy ​

 

[Namazu]

FLASHBACK
TW: Police violence, racism, mention of drug addiction, mention of PTSD.​

“POLICE! DOWN ON YOUR KNEES, HANDS UP!”

Armed, uniformed police had the motel door busted down before Weston could even formulate a thought as to what was happening. He swore the police lights came out of nowhere - did those fuckers only turn them on when they were in front of his motel door?

Multiple cops stormed the room, some going for Dave, some going for Weston, all movement a blur. Weston widened his eyes in fear - not for the guns pointed at him, but for the ones pointed at Dave. He could only imagine what this was doing to the man, looking down the barrel of a gun. Again.

“Dave, stay calm!” He kept his eyes trained on his lover even as he dropped to his knees, putting his hands behind his head and lacing his fingers together. This wasn’t the first time he’d been arrested, but this… this time was worse. Did they know? And now Dave was dragged into it… his heart was about ready to burst out of his chest, and it was all he could do to not panic.

Weston winced, anger rising in his chest as one of the officers grabbed an otherwise-frozen Dave and threw him to the floor, face-first into the carpet for not moving fast enough. The sudden jolt and impact loosened his prosthetic. The cops didn’t seem to notice the fact Dave couldn’t get on his knees, and stay there, on his own. Weston closed his eyes and looked away before he did something stupid.

“On your feet!” The officer, a tall dark-skinned man built like a linebacker, grabbed Weston by the arm and hauled him to his feet, dragging him towards the door. Weston had gone through this song and dance before, but this put a lump in his throat that felt worse than all the other times.

“Weston Jones, you’re under arrest.” The rest of what the officer had to say while he was read his rights faded into the distance as he turned to get one last look at Dave. The poor man had a terrified, shocked look on his face as he heard those words.

“Weston? What the fuck is going on?” Dave stumbled as two officers picked him up, one on each arm. A third leaned down to pick up the ill-fitting prosthetic leg that had come off.

“Call Cliff!” Weston managed to call out to Dave before he was dragged out the door. He couldn’t help but put up a bit of a struggle as he was forced into the pothole-covered parking lot and towards the cruiser, continuously looking behind him to catch another sight of Dave. He was terrified of what would happen if Dave had one of his flashbacks. These pigs wouldn’t understand. They’d just kill him.

Just as Weston was being guided to the back of a cruiser and quickly patted down, the cop holding him leaned in close and lowered his voice.

“Watch your fucking step, you Nazi bastard.” The cop grabbed Weston by the hair and smacked the side of his head against the doorframe of the cruiser once before tossing him into the back and slamming the door shut. Weston cussed, seeing stars as his temple connected with the vehicle. Squinting with one eye shut from the pain, he looked up in time to see Dave tossed into the back of another cruiser. The cop that had been carrying his prosthetic leg, a woman with a curly blonde ponytail, chucked it at him before closing the door, as if it were trash. Seeing that hurt more than the blow to the head.

HOURS LATER…

Weston sat on the edge of the jail cot, head in his hands. His head throbbed, and it only felt worse if he laid down. Closing his eyes was too overwhelming. The images of everything that happened would come back, stronger than before… today’s events, last night’s, and months ago. The worst part was how sometimes those images mixed together.

He’d killed a man with his bare hands four months ago. This truth sat heavy in the pit of his stomach. He had strangled the man until he passed out, then bashed his skull in with a rock to make sure it was done. He’d been buried in a shallow grave in a ditch somewhere. Weston wasn’t even sure if he would be able to find that spot again, if pressed. It seemed he wouldn’t need to do that.

Weston opened his eyes and stared down at his hands. They were clean now, but he could still see that blood anyway. Blood and brain matter and teeth. His hands shook. His eyes blurred. He reached up and wiped tears out of his eyes. He really wanted to shoot up right now.

Nobody would tell him where Dave was.

SEVERAL MORE HOURS LATER…

Weston laid on the uncomfortably thin jail cot, staring up at the ceiling. His head throbbed less, but now his stomach and chest hurt. At times, he had to focus on his breathing just to make sure he didn’t stop doing it. He wanted to scream. He felt twitchy and sick. If he moved too fast, the room started to spin. The withdrawals were starting.

Still, nobody would tell him where Dave was.

SOMETIME THE NEXT DAY…

Weston sat on the cold floor of the jail cell, right up against the barred door, staring out into space. His whole body was in pain, and he felt feverish. All night he had begged the guards on duty to tell him where Dave was.

Finally, someone told him Dave had been released with just minor drug possession charges. That was a relief.

Weston eventually curled himself up in a corner of the tiny cell and sobbed. He didn’t know why, other than the pain was getting too intense and it was getting hard to think straight anymore. He kept seeing the dead man’s face in the dark corner of the cell, where the hallway light didn’t reach.

The dead man kept laughing.

​

 

[Namazu]

FLASHBACK - ROUGHLY THREE WEEKS PRIOR​

It didn't take much cajoling to get the scavengers to hand over any medical books they found out there, whether they be textbooks, field guides, or common household-how-to's. Who else was going to make use of them besides the new prison doctor? Victor was convinced half the prison population couldn't read above a third grade level anyways.

There weren't many books, but he was building a small collection, and he was quite proud of it. Someone had managed to get ahold of a textbook about surgery, which included chapters about amputations. It looked like a well-used med school textbook, the way the pages were dog-eared and scribbled full of notes and highlighting. He swore he saw some tear stains on some of the pages too. Ah, med school. He didn't miss it. He tried not to think about how most of his former classmates were likely dead now.

Victor was very, very thankful for this book when it became clear Sergeant Hughes' leg could not be saved and needed to be removed. Victor was also thankful Hughes was not his maiden flight into the world of amputations. By this point he'd removed a foot and two arms. Hopefully Hughes would never ask about the foot and arm number one.

Hughes hadn't died yet, thankfully, so that meant he'd have to start getting ready for step two: Physical therapy. Presuming the man ever came out of his coma.

Sitting in a chair next to Hughes' bed, one leg crossed over the other, his posture would make one think he'd be more comfortable in business casual or a nice suit instead of dark denim jeans and a worn football jersey. A book about physical therapy was propped up in his lap, and he was thoroughly engrossed in reading. One foot bobbed up and down, a nervous tic, as he slowly chewed on a bruised apple.

Hughes eye movements started, somewhere he could hear crunching. But it was dark, his senses were dulled. The man tried groan in a moment of panic, but it came out more like a gurgle and ended in a small contained coughing choke where his body didn't react. Still, his eyelids managed to flutter open. It was painfully bright, so he thought. Instinctually his arm attempted to raise to shield his eyes, but what actually happened was his left arm only managed to flop onto his abdomen, nowhere near the intended target or movement. Hughes eyes squinted at both the light and in confusion.

Victor swore he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, but that didn't make sense. The Staff Sergeant in bed was in a coma and-

"Oh fuck-" Victor sat bolt upright in his chair, slamming his book shut and chucking it, and the apple, onto the empty bed behind him. His coma patient was moving, making noise, and awake. Shoving his chair away as he stood, he leaned over to hit one of the adjustment buttons on the bed. They were lucky enough to have a few actual hospital-quality beds that could be adjusted here, and the power to move them. He adjusted the bed so that Hughes was slightly elevated, to make breathing easier.

"Sergeant Hughes, can you hear and understand me?" He leaned over Hughes so that he'd be in the patient's line of sight, to make things less confusing, and reached for Hughes' left hand.

"Can you squeeze your hand for me?"

The man in bed was vaguely aware that he was moving, based on the fact that different things were coming into view. His head felt heavy, and as he tried to just understand he was slowly realizing he couldn't remember anything. When a man's face came into view, and he spoke, Hughes attempted to focus on it. His face scrunched as he lifted his head only a little, likely similar to how a baby does, ending with him looking angry. He tried to speak, but it was mostly a garbled grunt that escaped his dry throat.

Still, his hand twitched into a soft grip as he tried to squeeze at the request. But it was quickly overwritten with panic, his head falling back to the bed and face contorting to one of fear. What was wrong with him? Who was he? Why couldn't he remember anything?

It was hard for Victor not to grin, even if the patient was still struggling. Victor had managed to keep a coma patient alive in this hellhole! It was nothing short of a miracle.

"Excellent job, Sergeant Hughes!" He squeezed back in response, gently, using his foot to drag his chair closer so he could sit again.

"You'll be okay, just relax. You're-" Victor didn't know what to say. You're not in a hospital, but a spartan medical room inside a prison run by inmates? You're just as much of a prisoner as he is? You're trapped in some version of hell? That wouldn't make for great news when just waking up. The last thing he needed was a patient eating a bullet the second he can get his hands working again.

"You're going to be okay." He lied, sort of. "You got hurt. You were in a coma. Does anything hurt?" He did his best not to look down, where Hughes was missing part of his left leg.

Blake's mind tried to comprehend the other man's words. Though he couldn't fathom why he was grinning. Still, he tried to focus again. 'Sergeant Hughes' the words were empty to him. Hughes tried to clear his throat, his leg was certainly giving off some sort of pain. And his head had started pounding the moment he'd lifted it.

"Hhhhhhud." He forced out, even hearing his own voice was alarming, but the lack of an actual word wasn't exactly comforting. He tried moving his arm again, and while he noticed more control it still flopped down soon after. His motor functions were still not at full power from whatever brain injury he'd sustained.

Victor realized this was going to be the worst game of charades he's ever played.

"Hud? Hurt? Something hurts?" He instinctively glanced down at Hughes' leg, moving from his chair again - it no doubt hurt, but he had to check the bandages just to make sure all this sudden activity hadn't caused other problems.

"Just lay back and relax, stay right there." He said, to a patient that was clearly not going anywhere, patting his chest lightly where two dog tags still hung. Victor lifted the bed sheet, careful to obscure Hughes' view of is own legs with the sheet. No point in scaring the man. Everything looked fine, no bleeding. Just phantom pains, probably. Hopefully.

"Sergeant Hughes, you're looking pretty good, given what all you've been through." He lowered the sheet again, moving over to check on the IV bag that hung next to the bed. It was at least a blessing the man hadn't tried to rip out his IVs yet. It was the only thing keeping him from starving or dying of dehydration. The bag was still three-quarters full.

"I'll stay here in case you need anything. You've got the whole hospital staff at your disposal." Not exactly a lie. Victor was the whole 'hospital' staff, save for some orderly that was employed with the prison when everything fell apart.

Informing anyone that their captive was awake would wait. Besides, by the time Victor looked back at Hughes, the man was already passed out again.

Crono ​

 

[Namazu]

FLASHBACK - ROUGHLY TWO WEEKS PRIOR​

The Medical Ward was relatively quiet, for a moment Hughes could hear only his own breathing as he stared at the tiles on his side of the Scrabble board that was sat on a table next to his bed. Hughes hadn't left the hospital bed since he'd awoken. One hand reached out to try and pick up one of them with a pinching motion, but his motor skills were still coming around so it took three attempts to grab it. A small huff of annoyance as he did, then his hand craned it over to the board to spell out Lion. "Your go." He'd said, looking up from the board at the other man briefly.

It had been a little over a week since he'd first woken up, or that's what the doctor told him at least. Blake didn't remember anything from before waking up, and only small snippets in the days after. Since then Doctor Braaten had been having him play any number of card and board games to try and start the process of healing, for both his brain and body. It was certainly a work in-progress.

Blake had asked any number of questions about where he was or why nobody had visited him, and while he noticed the Doctor had avoided the question he wasn't sure why. Briefly he wondered if it was because he actually had no family in his past life. Sure, Jamie had visited, and explained they were pals who knew each other from their military days. But he too avoided answering anything in detail. It was frustrating but as Victor told him, he needed to focus on healing so he didn't push it.

Victor nodded approvingly at Blake's word choice - and his ability to get the tiles down. Even if the Sergeant didn't feel like it, he was making noticeable improvement.

"Nice! Four points for you." Vic grabbed his pencil and jotted down the number on a scrap of paper they were using to keep track. He hadn't said anything about who was winning.

Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Victor furrowed his brow a moment in thought, glancing between board and tray of tiles. He seemed to be doing math in his head about which was the better move.

"You're making really good progress, by the way. And hey, this is more fun than Go Fish, right?"

Finally he picked up his tiles and arranged them on the board, piggybacking off the letter I in LIONS to spell out the word MINE.

"Hell yeah, six points." He jotted the number down.

"Hey, Go Fish was alright." Blake said with a smile. He had to re-learn the rules and how to play each of the games but it wasn't difficult at least. He stared at the word Victor placed, Mine. It brought emotions out for whatever reason but he couldn't place why so he ignored them and focused on the Doctor's count off of points. Hughes couldn't help but chuckle at Victor as the man wrote down the points with excitement. "If I didn't know any better you're just using me for entertainment rather than this actually being a therapy game."

As he started thinking on the next word, one formed and he had a brief moment of memory of some sort. Ocean. It was like he could hear the waves crashing. "I think I lived near an Ocean once..." The man said softly, speaking out loud as he stared at the letters. Finally he reached forwards to put them on the board, though it took much longer than it would have for Victor. "It's like I can hear the waves, or know what they sound like." He shrugged lightly, "But I can't remember the ocean itself." There was a soft sigh of frustration.

His brain was like looking at a night sky, pitch black and full of memories he knew were there but couldn't access. Occasionally one of the stars would blink, it's existence being known, but with no way to connect it to anything else. This was one of those moments.

"Would it be so wrong of me to admit it was a little bit of both?" Victor chuckled, poking his pencil at the air as he counted up points for OCEAN and wrote it down.

"This does actually help you, and I enjoy the company. I haven't yet found anyone else that will play Scrabble with me." Whether Blake actually enjoyed it, or was just doing it because of doctor's orders, was a whole other matter.

"My brothers never wanted to play with me when I was a kid." Victor picked up a few tiles and started laying them out, following the O in OCEAN.

"They were more interested in sports, fishing, hiking, that sort of thing. And by hiking I mean sneaking off to drink and make out with their girlfriends." One more tile to finish it off, and he had spelled out the word OCHRE.

"Before you complain, yes, that is an honest-to-God word. Kind of an orange color."

Victor took a breath, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap, tilting his head slightly.

"Ocean, huh? Can you recall anything about the land near it? Was it a sandy beach, or maybe someplace more rocky?"

"It's just the sound I can't..." Hughes rubbed gently at his head. "I just can't see it." Part of him wanted to keep trying but it was only causing a headache so the man set his eyes back on the board. "Ochre huh. I'll trust your word for it but if you're cheating, I'm apparently trained to kill so, you know." Hughes grinned at the man, the joke a little dark but without any memories of his actual training or anything of the sort it didn't feel that way.

Reaching out he once again took his time moving his tiles around until he spotted a word. Gecko. He started to place the letters, slowly but surely on the board. "My brother had a gecko actually, I had to take care of it when he left." He'd added onto the conversation of siblings. Mid way through placing the c tile he froze, realizing he'd just remembered. "I had a brother." It explained the extra tags around his neck. That's when the first dots connected, and Blake felt himself slammed by a memory.

"Danny." He gasped softly, his hand retreating to cover his own mouth as the water that had been slowly welling up in his eyes poured over without any reaction. "I killed my brother." He'd said with a pained voice, his head falling back against the bed he was laying in. Hughes turned his head away from the Doctor to look at the wall through blurry wet eyes, as he felt the pain of losing his older brother all over again along with the shame that went along with it.

Victor winced. The whole point of the game was not just to get Blake used to picking up and putting down small objects again, but a hope that words would jog his memory. Victor just hadn't anticipated such hard ones coming back so soon. He carefully slid the little table away from Blake's bedside, figuring the Sergeant was not going to be in any mood to play anytime soon. Instead, he scooted his chair closer and put a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Hey, its okay. We've all had to do things we're not proud of just to survive." Victor wasn't sure, but he was betting whatever happened, had to do with the dead rising again. At least, he hoped so. He went silent, keeping a hand on Blake's shoulder and staying quiet. The most he could do was just be here for him, at this point.

Crono ​

 

[Safton]

​

Scene One:
The Convoy

Collab Post w/ Miaow
​

Minnie tried to quickly wipe away the tears, as if fighting against how fast she was producing them. She swallowed, hesitantly taking his hand again as she nodded in response.

She was fast asleep again, holding onto Xander's hand like it was a teddy bear, when Pandora returned. She smiled at Xander, hugging an armful of blankets to her chest as she pushed the infirmary door open with her back. She set the blankets down on the end of Haewon's gurney, brushing the fluff from her pyjamas. "Where's Haewon gone?" She asked, keeping her voice low to avoid waking Minyoung.

Xander brushed his free hand idly along Minnie's hair, albeit softly -- not wanting to disturb the sleeping girl. Rest could only be good for her at this stage. He turned to Pandora, pursing his lips as she questioned Haewon's absence. "She's... getting some air," he said under his breath, mindful of Minnie's presence. "We got some bad news." Xander briefly considered withholding any further information from Pandora, but decided there was no good to be had from it. "Nari's gone... the Samaritans, they took her back with them to wherever they came from."

"Ah," Pandora responded, tidying things away in an attempt to be productive. She worked quietly, taking the supplies she had used to treat Minnie with and putting them in their rightful place. She paused as he told her what happened. "Yeah-- I heard Cabrera telling you," She responded, turning to face him and resting her back on the countertop. There were so many things she wanted to say. She hated that man... but it was Xander that was hurting, not her. She was sure the horrible things she wanted to say about Cabrera wouldn't exactly reassure him, either. "I hope he's telling the truth, that she'll be okay, Has he lied about anything else so far?"

Xander hesitated at Pandora's question. "He-- not exactly...?" He answered awkwardly, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "It's... complicated. I don't trust him -- or any of them -- if that's what you're asking." His voice dropped, cracking slightly as he glanced away. "Least of all with her."

Pandora let out a soft sigh, nodding in response. Her job was to make people feel better but, in that moment, she was hopeless. She ran a hand through her hair. "What the hell are we meant to do?"

Xander shook his head, turning to look back at Minnie. "I wish I knew..." he murmured, the words barely more than a whisper.

Pandora certainly didn't envy Xander. She couldn't imagine having to make the decisions he did. She wasn't sure how he was keeping it all together in that moment. She paused, unsure what to say next... "Do you want me to check your hands?" She asked, taking a step forward. She hadn't been there to see him receive those injuries, though she didn't have to ask how he got them. Just looking at them told her what he'd done, and she certainly didn't blame him for it.

Xander thought about waving off Pandora's offer, stating that his hands were fine... but stopped himself. The woman was determined and would see through the charade. "Um, sure. At least this one for now, anyway," he offered with an empty smile, holding up his free hand -- the other still trapped beneath Minnie. "Thanks."

Pandora headed over, gently taking his free hand in hers to examine it. In the time he had been sat with Minnie, it had begun to swell. "This will sting a little," She told him as she doused a cloth in disinfectant. She swabbed his bloody knuckles as carefully as she could, though she knew it would hurt no matter what she did. She set the cloth aside, doing as much of the examination as she could visually. "I'm gonna try and feel the bones in your hand, just tell me where it hurts," She instructed, glancing up at him with a reassuring smile before she began to feel the bones on the back of his hand, occasionally pressing down.

Xander had clenched his jaw tightly against the sting of the antiseptic, taking a deep breath but otherwise managing. Once Pandora took his hand to begin gently pressing on the bones within, Xander's composure cracked slightly. He winced, nodding with a slight grunt. "Yeah, that smarts a bit."

Pandora concentrated as she felt down his hand, glancing up at him as he spoke up. She hummed as she thought. "Okay... Obviously, I can't x-ray it, but I'd say you've got a fracture in this bone here," She told him, pointing to the bone running down the edge of his hand, connecting to his smallest finger. "It's called a boxer's fracture, funnily enough," She told him with a small smile, turning her back to search through a drawer. "Your best bet is to ice it to try and reduce some of that swelling, then I'll bandage it," She instructed, grabbing an icepack from their cooler. She turned to hand it to him, pausing as he saw his other hand was too busy being a teddy bear to hold the icepack down. She chuckled a little, setting it on his lap so he could rest his hand on top. She then hesitated, glancing at him awkwardly. "Do... you want me to go find you a shirt?"

Xander tucked his hand against his lap and the icepack within, biting his lip at the sensation of mixed relief and pain that followed from the contact. He looked up at Pandora as she mentioned grabbing a shirt for him and he flushed slightly, once again all too aware of how vulnerable he felt in the wake of... everything. "Uh, yeah. That'd be great. Thanks," he said with a sheepish albeit genuine smile, giving her a small nod.

Bullyboy Squad NanLia Crono MokaChan Togy BeyondDandy SlaughterMelon @The Cat Man​

 

[Miaow]

&

SCENE ONE
The Convoy

Collab with Safton
​

Haewon breathed deeply as she finished her umpteenth lap of that floor, fidgeting with her hands. She couldn't figure out where to put them. She was in her pyjamas, she didn't have any pockets to hide them in. She didn't want to cross her arms and constrict her chest. She was doing some stupid deep breathing exercises her auntie had taught her.

Maybe, instead of punching your classmate, you can take a deep breath, instead...

What a dumb idea. While she was busy breathing, her classmate was busy getting the first hit in. She huffed as her brain went in circles. Breathe deeply-- No, that was dumb, this is dumb and I'm fucking mad about it-- Just breathe deeply.

She found herself outside the infirmary door. She'd heard someone leave while she was doing laps. Maybe it was just Minnie in there. Maybe she could get some sleep without having to talk to him. She opened the door.

Ah, fuck!

There he was, still shirtless, holding her sister's hand with an icepack on the other. She was actually going to have to talk about it. She swallowed, shutting the door behind her.
"She got you trapped?" She asked, keeping her voice low. She managed a smile, a knowing smile. Maybe she could lighten the mood a little.
"We uh... we shared a bed when we were kids, so... I know the feeling," She muttered, awkwardly running her hand through her hair.

Oh god, this didn't feel like it was working. Was Xander pissed at her? He kind of had the right to be... but she was pissed at him, too! Maybe her problem was that he wasn't pissed. The guy that almost fucked him in the ass had stolen his girlfriend, and all he did was sit there. What the fuck was that about? Get mad! Do to Cabrera what he had done to that asshole of an enforcer. Break his face until his skull is the consistency of chunky oatmeal, and leave him to choke on his own blood and brain matter.

She swallowed, crossing her arms as she averted her gaze. No, crossing her arms felt weird, stand-offish, even. She uncrossed them, hooking them onto the waistband of her pyjama bottoms instead. Was that weirder? Whatever, it didn't even matter that much.
"I'm... um... I'm sorry for what I said," She muttered, like a teenager in trouble with a teacher. Hell, he was a teacher, he'd probably seen a hundred kids do this.

Xander had been surprised by the speed with which Pandora returned as he heard the door to the infirmary open... only to spot Haewon. In the moments that followed she had somehow managed to radiate an aura of concentrated unease as she approached, though he was thankful that he was at least able to get a smile and some words out of the girl. Normally even managing that much was a Heraclean task once the teen was annoyed with him and Nari.

...Nari.

Xander fought the wave of regret that threatened to wash over him, instead returning Haewon's smile.
"It's okay, Haewon," he said softly. The nicknames were a definitive "Minnie-only" thing as he had learned early on. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm pissed off, too, you know," he admitted, swallowing hard as he held her gaze.

Haewon frowned a little. He was just so... fine with everything. When she yelled, people normally yelled back. She continued to avoid eye contact with him, her arms crossed. What the hell was she meant to say now? She was ready to defend herself... but now she didn't have to.

She jumped up onto her gurney, her back hunched as she looked at her feet, her hands handing limply from on top of her knees. She let out a soft sigh, fidgeting with her trouser leg.
"It's my job to protect her," She muttered, glancing up at Minnie, "but I fucked it up. I was the one who brought her here, and she got attached to you and Nari, and now she's hurt again."

She paused, resting her head in her hands.
"I should've known better. No one else has ever stayed long term. It's always just been us two. My dad left, I don't even know who her dad is. The cops would come, take a few pictures, then leave us with our shitty mother. Our aunt--" She paused as her stomach turned, bile rising in her throat. She swallowed, clenching her fist.
"Our aunt got bit... and we had to-- put her down, I guess," She muttered. That felt like a horrible way to put it, like shooting a sick dog. "No one has ever stayed. But she liked you and she liked Nari, and I let my guard down, and now Nari's gone, too, and she's hurt all over again."

Xander sat, genuinely stunned by the degree to which Haewon was sharing with him. The girl was normally tight-lipped about anything concerning her feelings or her past. The revelations that poured from her, however, were enough to make his heart shrivel and his throat tighten -- a far worse discomfort than the pain in his knuckles. He and Nari had only been privy to bits and pieces of the girls' background before now -- enough to know that it hadn't been particularly "stable".

Xander wanted nothing more than to reach out and give the girl a hug or some kind of physical comfort, but knew full well that she would reject it. So, after choking down the lump in his throat, he settled on what he could offer.
"Nari's coming back. I don't know when, but you, Minnie, me -- we'll all see her again. And no matter what happens, you're stuck with us. Neither of us will ever leave you two."

Haewon glanced up at him as he responded, frowning a little. He was taking his time. God, this was embarrassing, she'd let her guard down again. Why had she even said all of that? Maybe she was more concussed than she thought.

She paused as he responded, glancing up at him.
"That's what Ichika said," She muttered, the normal hint of disdain in her voice returning... then, her expression softened a little.
"Sorry--" She sighed, speaking under her breath, "It's just hard to believe."

Xander cocked his head at Haewon's initial, biting reply. He pursed his lips, allowing her a moment to walk back the comment before nodding slowly.
"I get it, Haewon. It's not... easy to trust, especially under the circumstances." Xander gave the girl a slow smile. "But Nari and I are in it for the long haul. And whatever we -- I -- need to do to prove it to you, I'll do my best to make it happen."

Haewon looked up at him, managing a bit of an awkward smile.
"Thanks..." She muttered, looking down at her feet once more.
"I guess we're like your replacement kids. Can't really raise a baby right now," She joked, tucking her hair behind her ear, exposing her injured eye further. The bruises were slowly beginning to take shape, the swollen red hue turning more blue.
"But you missed out on the cute kid phase. You've got two, shitty teenagers instead... I don't think I ever had a cute kid phase, anyway."

Xander let out a genuine, deep chuckle at Haewon's comment.
"Oh, please. Your little sis has half the school fawning over her at any given moment." He looked over at Minnie's sleeping form with a fond smile. In her short time at the settlement, the girl had managed to be a bright spark of life that many of the adults appreciated and were content to dote upon. Xander leaned back in the chair, returning his gaze to Haewon.
"And for record: I wouldn't trade you two for any number of adorable toddlers. There's a reason I taught high school and not Kindergarten," he remarked with a smirk.

"Wait until puberty's in full swing," She chuckled, throwing her legs onto the gurney and laying down, staring at the ceiling. She smiled a little. That made sense... And he'd chosen to "adopt" them, to let them live in his apartment, why wouldn't he want them? Somehow, it was still hard to believe.
"Thanks..." She murmured, pushing her hair out of her face.
"I was trying to get a toddler to sleep when I was six," She muttered, resting an arm above her head, as if exasperated, "Our neighbours used to hate us," She chuckled.

Xander smiled at the mental image of a young Haewon desperately pleading with her little sister to be quiet. It was a bittersweet shared memory, but one he eagerly latched onto. "She's lucky to have you, you know," he murmured softly.

Haewon looked over to him as he spoke, fidgeting with her hands. Her stomach turned.
"She shouldn't have had to depend on me," She said under her breath. She swallowed, desperately trying to think of something to lighten the mood again.
"I'm lucky to have her, too. She used to do my homework when I was too dumb to do it," She chuckled.

Xander frowned, seeing the uncertainty and anxiety settling over Haewon as she spoke.
"Sometimes we don't have a choice, Haewon. We just do the best we can for one another."
He cleared his throat, And his frown giving way to a smile.
"And for the record, you're smarter than you give yourself credit for -- especially in the ways that matter. You wouldn't have been able to keep the two of you alive out there if that wasn't the case," he said quietly.

Haewon glanced over at Minnie, fidgeting with her hands.
"She should've had a mom. A real one," She muttered with a frown.
"I wasn't book smart. I could've never been an engineer, but Nari teaches me to fix stuff without all the math parts," She mused with a small smile, "Minnie was pretty good at it, though. I was two years ahead of her and she still did my homework."

Xander continued to regard Haewon with a sympathetic smile. Nari had kept him apprised of the girls' progress regarding her tutoring sessions and had nothing but good things to say about the performance & work ethic of both. Xander had also pitched in with a few lessons in non-engineering tasks when and where he could and he had the same opinion... but he also knew full well that Haewon wouldn't respond to empty praise.

"Can I let you I let you in on a secret?" he asked.
"I wasn't some fantastic student in school, either. I was all right, but not as good as my mom would have liked," he remarked with a smirked. "I was always too busy focusing on sports for my own good. You know Nari is the one that helped me get this place running before everyone else arrived? I was barely hanging on by myself. Didn't know the first thing about how to get the water back on or solar power or any of that." Xander's tone became wistful as he swallowed the lump in his throat before pushing on.

"Meanwhile, she was convinced she was useless just because she doesn't like the idea of killing or because she doesn't know how to survive out there," he gestured toward the exterior of the school with his head in an all-encompassing gesture. "But together... we worked. The same is true for you, Haewon. We all have doubts or weaknesses. Just because you think you're not some kind of a savant doesn't mean you don't have value, especially to the people who care about you -- because chances are you're strongest in the ways they need you to be." Xander finished with a sigh, his lips drawn into a small smile.

Haewon looked over at him as he piped up, nodding as he asked permission to share something with her. She rested her hands on her stomach, seeming to contemplate what he was saying as her eyes drifted away from his.
"Wow... I wish you were one of my teachers," She laughed, pushing her fringe out of her face.

She had never been particularly good at gushy stuff. Most of the time, she simply didn't know how to respond. She fidgeted with her hands, avoiding eye contact once more. She had to say something other than that or she'd look like an asshole.
"Thanks..." She told him, glancing over at him, "It... it means a lot."

She flinched as the door swung open, almost jumping out of her skin. Pandora stood on the other side, a long-sleeved shirt hanging over her arm to keep it smooth.

"It's just from lost and found--" She explained, though her eyes soon met with Haewon.
"Ah! You're back," She smiled as she handed the shirt to Xander, "Can I check you over? You might have a concussion."

Haewon was hesitant. She wasn't really sure why. Pandora had given her plenty of check-ups, but in that moment, she just wanted to be left alone.

"I'll be quick," Pandora assured her, sensing the hesitation. Haewon eventually nodded in response, shuffling a little further up the bed.

Pandora kept her promise, working as quickly but carefully as she could. She felt gently around her eye socket, parted her swollen eyelids to examine her eye, felt around her ribs, shined a penlight in her eyes, asked her question after question... Then, she stood back, grabbed an icepack and handed it to Haewon.

"Okay. Your pupils are pretty sluggish which suggests a concussion. I'm pretty sure you've broken your nose, and the pain in your ribs suggests you might have a fracture. The best thing for it is rest. Definitely no heavy lifting, no excessive exercise. Just take it easy," She advised, "and ice that eye, it should help with the swelling, okay?"
Haewon nodded, to which Pandora smiled.
"Alright, if you guys are feeling okay, I'll leave you alone. Just come find me if you need anything, yeah?" She instructed them before taking her leave, carefully shutting the door behind her.

Xander did his best to remain silent, watching intently as Pandora checked over Haewon with the new shirt resting in his lap (he was hardly able to don it with Minnie holding onto one of his arms). Hearing the extent of Haewon's injuries was nothing short of heartbreaking. It felt like a failure. A failure on his part to protect her, to protect her sister. To protect Nari. His chest was tight as he averted his eyes, only managing to meet Pandora's eyes as she stood to leave the room.
"Thank you," he said quietly.

NanLia Bullyboy Squad
​

 

[Safton]

​

Scene Three:
The Fight​

A clusterfuck. That's what it was, or at least what it had turned into. Emmett had known right away that North was... off. The way the fighter was moving around the enclosure and responding to blows that he would have shrugged off on any other occasion was... troublesome. The King of the Cage was being dethroned. That wasn't a problem in and of itself. Wes didn't harbor any particular fondness toward the cage-fighter or anyone else inside the prison. Hell, if there was any bit of sentimentality inside him, maybe it would have been warmed by the idea of the stray getting back to his kid in one piece.

But the asshole just didn't stop.

Even after he'd won and North was a pathetic bloody pulp on the ground, Connor kept going. He didn't seem to hear the Second's call to halt the fight or didn't care. Kept trying to put a stamp on what he had done. Emmett felt his heart sink into his gut at the sight... and not because of the violence on display. No, Wes had seen and done far too much to ever be fazed by a bit of gore or the knowledge of what one man could to do another even before the dead started walking. His apprehension came because he knew this was at least partially his own fault. He'd told the stray to fight like his life depended on it. How was he to know Weston would get cold feet? A lot of these cage matches went until a body was being bagged and dragged out. Seeing Derek shout and storm the cage the man filled with outrage, had his jaw clenching. There would be hell to pay, even as Wes ordered his two closest enforcers into the cage to separate Connor and Derek.

Then the crowd had gotten involved.

Wesley had immediately felt the adrenaline surging through him, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck as the chants began and the energy filled the air like static before a lightning strike. He knew the warning signs of a riot well; he'd helped put down more than his fair share. In a weird twist of fate, several of his fellow enforcers had been part of those riots back in the day. Now he heard the Second's harried voice squawking on the radio, turning to look up at the cage entrance. A flash of metal as the man brandished a gun at several figures encroaching on him. "C'mon!" Emmett exclaimed tersely to his closest compatriots who ringed the exterior of the cage, cutting an imposing image in their riot gear -- a provision that Wes was happy for taking now.

He pushed his way through the throng of bodies with one arm, lifting his radio to his lips with the other to begin shouting desperate orders over the din that he couldn't be certain were even heard by those on the other end. A hard shove from behind nearly sent the walkie falling from his hands and he cursed, scrambling to snatch it up before it hit the ground. He reached the section where Weston stood in a standoff with some of the rioters, holding them at gunpoint. One of his enforcers lay in a heap -- unconscious or dead -- nearby. Wesley didn't hesitate, surging past the Second-in-Command and drawing the baton from the belt loop on his waist in one fluid motion. "Line up! Shoulder-to-shoulder! Force these fuckers back!" he hissed. The wide-eyed rioter didn't back up quickly enough for his liking and Wes feinted a downward strike at the man's head, forcing his arms up in a defensive posture before swinging downward at his leg, cracking him across the kneecap. The impact reveberated up through his arm, sending the former spectator sprawling to the cement as he clutched at his leg.

Bullyboy Squad Aegis Namazu BeyondDandy NanLia​

 

[Namazu]

SCENE THREE
The Fight​

As Wesley and his enforcers surged forward, Weston tilted his gun safely up towards the ceiling started to move backwards. The enforcers were the ones in riot gear, not him, so he was happy to let them get in front of the crowd. He shoved his walkie-talkie back into its holder at his side.

It was barely in the knick of time that the enforcers were moving in, too. Weston dodged to the side as a rock was thrown at his head. He felt the air against his ear as it whooshed past his head - a near miss from the projectile, but unfortunately, the wrong side to step to. Someone in the crowd holding a broken glass bottle managed to shove their arm between two enforcers who were still getting into position, taking a swipe at Weston’s stomach with the jagged glass. The sharp edge tore through Weston’s thin shirt and into his skin. It was not a very deep cut, certainly nothing deadly, but a wet red line immediately started to form across his torn shirt. Weston hissed in pain and cussed as he took several quick steps backwards, into the fighting cage, holding his free hand over the bleeding wound.

He didn’t need to aim his gun at the rioter who slashed him - one of the enforcers acted immediately, hitting the man who presumably attacked in the face with a baton. The man let out an angry, pained cry as his nose broke, and soon he was swallowed by the swell of bodies. No doubt they’d be able to easily identify that man later for punishment.

Weston glanced over his shoulder, watching Derek struggle with Connor and the prison doctor scrambling away. What a clusterfuck. And North was -

…. Where was North?

There was a bloodied spot on the ground where North had been laying, but no sign of the mutilated man. The doctor had run off by himself, empty handed. Connor and Derek were too focused on each other to notice anything.

That’s when Weston heard the scream. A woman’s voice, loud and shrill with terror, off to his right. Weston whipped his head around and raised King’s pistol before his brain could fully register what he was looking at.

North was up and moving, but now he was ramming against the bars of the fighting cage, bloody arms wrapped around a petite woman that had been pressed against the cage by the swell of the crowd. North, no longer really North and now just another biter, was trying to bare his teeth down into her skin. She struggled against the unnatural embrace even as the crowd was barely starting to notice the danger now in the pit and move away.

Weston noticed though, and that’s all that mattered. Leveling his aim at North’s head, Weston squeezed the trigger and took his shot. Blood sprayed across the bars of the cage and several in the crowd, and North’s body dropped like a sack. The gunshot reverberated throughout the room.

The crowd faltered then, shocked by the reality of a biter being within the otherwise-safe walls of the prison. That loss of momentum allowed the enforcers to restore some semblance of order, giving them an edge as they pushed the crowd back to a safer distance, a few steps at a time. Wheeling around to face the crowd, Weston glared at them all and raised his voice to a shout.

“No kings, huh? What would you prefer, a whole army of those things?” He pointed the pistol at North’s body, crumpled at the base of the cage. “In case you forgot, they’re still out there! And the only goddamn thing between you and one of those is us!” Weston pointed at himself with his bloodied hand to emphasize ‘us’, pausing a moment to take a breath, scanning the crowd. People were already backing down, complying with the enforcer’s movements and directions. The anger was clear on Weston's face, veins in his forehead and neck standing out as he pressed a bloody hand to his stomach again. It stung like a bitch and was far too close a call for comfort.

“Show’s over. Get out. All of you! Back to your rooms or your work spaces. Now!”

Bullyboy Squad Aegis NanLia BeyondDandy ​

 

[Aegis]

SCENE THREE
The Fight​

In the moments following the vicious finishing blow of the fight, things had flown completely off the rails and driven headfirst into pandemonium. People shouted at the top of their lungs in a throng of voices fighting one another to up things another ear-shattering decibel, guards scrambled out of the grasps of clawing and punching hands, and some of the big wigs Connor barely recognized seemed to rush onto the scene in an attempt to quell what was shaping up to be a riot. The Soldier ached from the fight, yet his pain was far from over. Another man rushed into the cage and whipped out something shiny silver, a gun. The whip of metal through the air and the flash of an arm moving were the last solid, cohesive images the man could scrounge from his brain before he felt the pop of steel on bone-- saliva launching itself from his mouth in a mixture of blood and agonized yelps.

Again.

Again.

Someone was holding his head beneath a waterfall of delirium and bashing his skull as every reverb of each blow rumbled through his mind like he was being slammed against a reef of metallic hatred-- the wave assaulting his eardrums with a hollow throbbing. Black and blank. Blank and black. His head was spinning as the blink and snap of his eyes fought to keep him centered in reality, but the man's barrage of blows sent him sinking into the dark of sleep.

At some point, his eyes craned open with the slow grind of effort, but all he saw was North's reanimated corpse take one to the skull and tumble down.

That sparked something in him, a memory.

Sometime in the past...​

They were on top of them in less than a minute; They were sprinting-- undulating, with the stomp of a thousand feet over those unfortunate enough to have tripped and been caught beneath the tidal wave of the dead. People seem to forget about the early days and how fast they were, but the mental image of hundreds of freshly turned residents burned itself into Connor's mind at that moment. Without waiting for the order, The Soldier traversed the turret toward the forest of figures swaying in the smokey air and began to fire-- the rip and crack of 7.62 echoing off the skyscrapers.

"Contact 12 o' clock-- dozens of them!"

That was the single message Connor heard before the ringing in his ears grew too loud to even think.

Bullets tore through bodies in a rush of red mist and scattered meat as undead swarmed through alleys and smashed against cars nearly overturning them with the sheer quantity of the dead trying to get in. When an office worker turned cannibal smashed into the driver's window and cracked it, that was when Connor should've started to worry more than he already was. Someone else in the car must've felt the same because the Humvee started to roll forward with reckless speed-- even smashing off the front of a family van, before they sped off down the street to avoid being buried in a pile of gnawing bodies.

They made good progress, but each extra meter saw them rocking and shaking with the obstacle of broken corpses beneath them. Only one other vehicle was behind them. Somewhere at the edge of Connor's vision, some of the dead mounted a still stationary Humvee and pulled the Gunner from his turret before cramming themselves down the hole like rabid animals.

The sight sent chills through him as the rounded a corner. Connor gnashed his teeth and stretched his mouth in yawns to try and pop his ears, but the damage was to his hearing and no amount of awkward ticks would fix it right away. The two vehicles sped through the ash and off into the unknown.

Bullyboy Squad NanLia BeyondDandy Safton Namazu​

 

[Namazu]

FLASHBACK
Several Years Before The World Ended...​

Weston pulled up to the single-wide mobile home, freshly placed on an empty patch of dirt that Cliff owned at the back of his property. Weston was driving one of Cliff’s pickup trucks today, and so it was only logical to wonder if the mobile home was Cliff’s too. The guy owned a lot, but to his credit, he was quick to share with the club when it was needed. He always said their kind needed to stick together.

Sharing was exactly what Weston was doing today - with his time, not his belongings. The guy who just moved in here was new - some friend of a friend, Weston wasn’t entirely listening when it was explained to him what the guy’s ties were. The important part was he was a vet like some of the others, a decent guy, and like so many others the world had chewed him up and spit him back out without a care in the world, and the government gave no shits.

Weston turned off the truck and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Cliff had warned him and given him the guy’s number - text the guy when you get there. Don’t knock. The sound makes him jumpy. The last thing Weston wanted to do was get greeted with a shotgun in the face. He tapped out a quick message - I’m here - and waited a moment, wondering just what the hell he was getting himself into. If this guy was a nutcase, he wasn’t volunteering for this again.

Come on in, door’s open, almost ready. Came the text reply back. Alright, that was normal enough. Weston climbed out of the vehicle and headed in.

“David?” Weston cracked the door open an inch, calling out - still not wanting to get greeted at the wrong end of a gun if this got weird.

“C’mon on. Just putting on my leg.” A tired, somewhat gruff voice responded from the other side of the door. Weston was not entirely certain he heard that right, though he did step into the small mobile home. It was very plain, in decent condition if not a little on the older side - and very, very bare of furnishings. He didn’t realize just how bare it was until he was fully inside and closed the door. The tiny living room was on the left end of the structure, where a man with dark, short-buzzed hair was sitting on a clearly second (or third or fourth) hand light green couch that sagged in the middle, across from an old television with rabbit ears and a VCR hooked up to it with a mess of cables. As described, he was busy strapping on a prosthetic leg. Weston blinked, then glanced down and away as if he’d just walked in on someone getting dressed.

“Call me Dave, by the way. Weston, yeah? Cliff said you were coming by. Thanks for driving me. I appreciate it.” The guy had all the straps in place, adjusted and ready, and was now rolling down his pants leg. Cliff had told Weston the guy had been wounded, but he would have appreciated a little bit more detail.

“Yeah! Yeah, no problem. I gotta go into town anyway.” This was a total lie. The VA clinic was in Clarksburg, since the Monongalia County Clinic couldn’t fit in another patient for at least a year and probably couldn’t find their own ass with their hands anyway, and this meant a solid drive of a little more than two hours each way. There was literally nothing Weston needed from town.

“Oh, good. Well, sorry for the hassle either way.” Dave grabbed his wallet, phone, and keys from the coffee table - a piece of scrap plywood on top of cement blocks - shoved them all in his pockets, and slowly rose from the couch with the help of a cane. It looked difficult, and Weston almost asked if he wanted help, but then Dave was on his feet.

“Aight, let's get this show on the road.” Dave offered Weston a tired smile and hobbled towards the door.

~*~

Weston was not used to entertaining strangers, but he felt obligated to at least try and make conversation. It was going to be a long drive, otherwise. They started out with the easy stuff - who knew who in the club, how, and for how long. Dave’s dad was buddies with Cliff from back in the day, before a stroke took him out for good. He moved around with his mother a lot after that, mostly in big cities - New York, Boston, Chicago, even Nashville for a while. Eventually he enlisted. Dave didn’t brag about any of it, though it sounded like he had enjoyed living in a big city and missed it. The guy was already far more worldly than Weston, who had never stepped foot outside of West Virginia. Weston could tell time in the military was going to be a hands-off topic. The guy has an appointment with a shrink, Cliff had told him. War had fucked him up pretty badly. From what Weston had been told, Dave was driving a vehicle that hit one of those IEDs. Blew the whole thing to bits, killing everyone else inside. Dave lost a leg, hearing in one ear - and if you asked Cliff, probably his sanity.

“Do you like action movies?” It was always Weston’s fallback conversation topic. Action movies. The worse the plot or dumber the story idea, the better. Dave shook his head.

“Gunfire.” It was such a simple, obvious answer, Weston cringed at himself. How could he be so fucking stupid?

“Sorry…” Weston was thankful he needed to pay attention to his left side so he could merge with traffic, grimacing at himself. Dave glanced over at him, and actually laughed.

“It's okay, you don’t need to make that face on my account. You didn’t know. I actually like westerns. Especially the old classics.” Dave rubbed at his arm. He’d been nervously twitching and wiggling the whole time, anxious over this appointment. Weston couldn’t blame him, he’d be terrified himself.

“Like the old black and white stuff?” Weston had never heard of anyone who actually liked that stuff, specifically.

“Yeah, that too. Sure, it's weird watching in black and white now, and sometimes the acting seems corny, but I like it. I used to have a real nice collection of those movies on tapes.” Dave leaned his head back against the headrest, looking out the passenger window.

“Used to?”

“Yeah. My ex-wife threw them into a bonfire. Bitch.”

“Jesus.”

~*~

The two hour and twenty minute drive was not as bad as Weston dreaded it would be. They talked nearly the whole time - movies, sports, food, travel, bikes, fishing, shitty exes, and the club. Somewhere around the one hour mark Dave stopped nervously fidgeting.

Weston dropped Dave off at the clinic, promised he’d be back in this spot in an hour, and waited until he made sure the guy got inside the door. Now what the hell was he going to do with himself? He had nearly an hour’s worth of time to kill.

Driving slow like a tourist, Weston cruised through downtown Clarksburg, eyeballing the signs, waiting for inspiration to strike. He couldn’t drink - he needed to be in a shape to drive back, since Dave couldn’t. What the hell else was there to do up here? When he saw the blue-and-white storefront sign, it suddenly dawned on him.

Fred’s Used Books and Videos. It looked like it used to be a Blockbuster store years ago, before that chain went under. They even kept the blue sign, painting over part of it just enough to avoid a lawsuit. Parallel parking in the street two shops down, Weston got out and headed into the store.

Thirty-five minutes later, Weston walked out with two plastic bags’ worth of video tapes.

~*~

Weston spent the last twenty minutes or so of his adventure sitting in the clinic parking lot, just waiting. Once he saw Dave exit, he pulled up to the front entrance so the guy wouldn’t need to walk far.

“Hey.” Weston greeted him as Dave opened the door and hoisted himself inside.

“Hey. Let's head out.” Dave’s eyes were red, like he’d been crying. Weston wasn’t going to pry. He just nodded, waited for Dave to buckle up, and pulled out of the lot. They sat in silence on the ride back; Weston was fully aware the guy probably didn’t want to talk much after a session with a shrink. He’d never been to one himself, but he figured someone poking around your emotions and shit would make for a hard day. Dave wiped at his face a few times, but otherwise kept it all in.

By the time they pulled up to Dave’s mobile home, it was nearly time for dinner. Weston was itching to head home and eat, and Dave looked like he needed some alone time.

“Hey, before you go - I got you something.” Weston leaned back, grabbing the bags from the floor of the truck behind Dave’s seat. Dave blinked at him, unsure of what to even expect, until Weston offered up the two bags.

“VHS tapes. All westerns. I think one of them might actually be a comedy, but it was western-ish? I dunno. Anyway - you need to rebuild your collection, yeah?” He grinned, waggling the bag a little, urging Dave to take it.

“Are you sure?” Dave froze in his seat, seatbelt half-way off.

“Hell yeah. One condition.” Weston’s grin grew a bit bigger. “Tomorrow night I’m coming by with food and we’re gonna watch the comedy one. Honest to God I think I ain’t ever actually watched a western, so I need to see why they’re so good. Do you want burgers, or pizza?”

Dave snorted a laugh, sliding the seatbelt back into its holder and opening the truck door. “Burgers. No pickles on mine. How’s 6:30 sound?”

~*~

Weston and Dave made a ritual of it. Every Thursday, at 6:30 PM, rain, snow, or shine, Weston showed up to Dave’s house with food in hand. When they ran out of westerns to watch, he started showing up with other movies. Comedies, dramas, sci-fi, even a few historical pieces. Never action movies. Somewhere along the line he showed up with a DVD player too. Dave was never without a ride to appointments, either - even if they had to go all the way to goddamn Clarksburg.

​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

THE END OF
Chapter One of First Light​

Toni inhaled the oppressive air of the strip club. The bitter sting of cigarette smoke on his tongue. A whiff of liquor in his nose. The atmosphere was soaked and oozing with carnal desires.

Bottles, devils, music, levels
Spirits, help me, feelings, settle
Fuck'me, please don't
Fuck'me, they know
Fuck'me, I know, fuck'me
Lets go

The heavy bass beat against his exposed chest. Naked canvas of his skin covered in gang tattoos fully displayed for the eyes of the patrons. But they didn't pay attention as Vega strode shirtless past their tables. All eyes were glued to the gyrating dancers moving like serpents against their poles. The curves of bare flesh tantalizing. Highlighted by the colorful spotlights they undulated in time to the music.

Toni didn't ogle the girls. Instead his gaze fixed on the VIP section that he swaggered towards. Heat rose in his veins with a single idea consuming his mind.

I might just lose it and bounce, like fuck
Everyone in this town
I'm just playing and showing them out, like
A match I'm burning it down

Vega stepped into the dim space. Huffing the scent of perfume and sex. He heard the muffled moans and laughter coming from the private booths and stopped in front of one of them. He tugged the curtain and it parted before him like the legs of his favorite hooker.

The smoke and low lighting gave everything a hazy, surreal appearance. It matched the relaxed, blank look in Lawrance's face. High or drunk on whatever shit he was riding on at the time, King's favorite enforcer lounged on the black leather. Waiting for a stripper, he paid no mind to Toni's presence.

The curtain rustled closed.

Vega's moves were fluid and his steps soundless on the plush floor. Anticipation raced through him, prickling his nerves.

With a deft flick of his wrist he snapped the butterfly knife open. Silver polish gleamed in the dull light.

Lawrence froze.

He tried to get up but Toni's free hand darted forth and smacked against the raising male's mouth. The Latino forced the head back down and thrust the blade straight under the sternum with a satisfying squelch of flesh and grate of bone giving way. Blood rapidly welled up around the wound. A thick, viscous flow that spattered crimson around Toni's grip.

Shuddering from the sick excitement, the killer leaned in and twisted the blade inside Lawrence's heart. The defiant sneer on his lips and a husky whisper. "No more Kings."

BeyondDandy Namazu Togy @The Cat Man NanLia Safton Aegis Miaow MokaChan Crono SlaughterMelon ​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

Spoiler

 

[Aegis]

Week Three of the Two Month Period...
(With expert writing from Namazu )​

It had been a whopping twenty minutes since Connor had been released from the infirmary, and The Soldier’s first instinct was to go find Tanner. God, it had been a long time since he had seen that kid. The feeling of sickness in his gut like somehow he had been failing Tanner by not being there for him climbed up his throat like bile– the sensation being somewhat foreign. They had been attached by the hip since the start of this, and prior to that life-altering event he had never wanted kids.

Frankly, the thought scared the fuck out of him.

How was he supposed to be a role model for someone that long? Someone who was going to know him until the end of his days? Someone who would take the impressions they got from Connor and deliver them upon children of their own one day? The thought of being so beholden and responsible to someone chilled his blood even now, but he had a duty to Tanner. Like it or not, Connor loved that kid like his own. The Soldier began to realize how a real parent might feel about all this; he had done awful things for the child or even in general, but those things he would take to the grave. Tanner would only see the best of what Connor had to offer– if he could help it. Hopefully, the kid didn’t see that fight.

Regardless, his reunion with the kid would have to wait as a few Samaritans snagged him from his cot in the infirmary and brought him to a room that resembled the one he was in when he was first interrogated– the chill of the metal chair sparking like electricity up his spine. Where were they? He had been waiting for the better part of fifteen minutes.

When the fighting pit and seats were empty, with just a few lights on to illuminate a path through the room, the pit became an eerie liminal space. Cold cement and dirty tile, blood stains on the floor that will never scrub out, an odd echo to the room… Weston never thought much about the idea of ghosts, but if ever there were a place to be haunted, this was it. It was chilling, the way people gathered here to cheer on murder. Was it any worse than what the Romans did with their gladiatorial combat? Gladiators were criminals, slaves, and prisoners of war with nothing to lose. So too were many who had fought in this cage. Or was it more like the pictures he’d seen in school textbooks about the Holocaust, where innocents were slaughtered at an industrial level? He’d grown up with people who either didn’t believe that had happened, or worse, celebrated it. Now, sitting here alone in his VIP seat, staring down at what he knew was Andrew’s bloodstain on the floor, right next to Connor’s and North’s, he very, very much believed it did happen. Mankind was capable of that. He had no doubt now.

Maybe it was self-punishment that kept carrying Weston back here when he needed to think - or maybe it was a case that some days, he needed to stare at the bloodstains again in order to make decisions. Rubbing a hand over his face, Weston pushed himself up out of his chair and headed out. He had a soldier to talk to.

Several minutes later, the door to Connor’s interrogation room finally opened. Weston slipped in, carrying a bag of chips and two beers. The chips were possibly stale and the beer was not-quite-cold, but sometimes beggars can’t be choosers. He sat the snacks down on the unoccupied chair and remained standing.

“How’re you feeling?” Weston asked, pulling a Leatherman out of his pocket and flipping through its attachments until he got to the small bottle opener. He popped a cap off one of the beers and offered it out to Connor.

“You look like shit, but you did manage to live through fighting with North and Derek. That’s a hell of a feat.” Once Connor took his bottle, Weston would pop the cap on his beer and take a drink. Both beers were the same brand, something common and commercial. Nothing fancy.

Connor’s attention snapped to the sound of the handle turning as Weston let himself into the room. Now, The Soldier didn’t have any particular dislike for the man, but it was undeniable that the promise of ease that he had given him was far more than what he had ever received– that being recurring migraines and two week infirmary stay. He could only begin to imagine what he would have to do to pay that back.

Yet, the man seemed to be carrying an olive branch in the form of chips, Lays Original, and some kind of beer that the label had long since worn from the bottle. The Samaritan popped the beer in front of him and gave him very little choice, so Connor took it. Sloshing it around a bit, The Soldier hesitated, “I want to see my boy.”

Weston took another drink of his beer. At Lincoln, it didn’t matter what time of day it was for the privileged. Any time was beer o’clock. “Of course. He’s outside right now playing - someone found him a soccer ball, and he’s been kicking it around daily now. He’s a good kid. I just, uh, wanted to apologize first.”
He cleared his throat, looking down at the bottle in his hand. He couldn’t admit to the fact he, as second in command, had literally no idea what was going to happen… but that was the truth of it.

“King made the call to have you fight to prove yourself. North went off the rails on you though, and that was bullshit of him. Unplanned. The guy always had a few screws loose, but I talked to Doc… it's not your fault, y’know. That North died. He had a brain injury or something.” Weston motioned vaguely up to his own head as he explained. “The guy was told not to fight, because one more blow would kill him. Idiot did it anyway. You probably could have bitchslapped him and he’d be done for.” He looked back up at Connor, frowning some.

“I just thought you should know that.” He shrugged. “You okay to walk?”

Connor’s countenance lightened considerably at the willingness of Weston to let him see Tanner. He swung his arm up and put back a sip of the beer before he stared at the man before him deep in the eyes. The Soldier didn’t blink– not for a long time, as Weston explained and apologized. That apology seemingly doused some simmering flames buried deep in Connor’s soul. It was a full thirty seconds after The Second stopped speaking that The Soldier blinked again and breathed deep as if to speak, “Maybe. Maybe he would’ve died anyway, but I went and brutalized him. It’s not as if I feel particularly guilty. North got what was coming to him for how he approached the fight and how Wes wanted it to be done.”

Connor rolled the beer bottle between his palms for a second as he let the bottom of the glass linger on the metal table for a moment before taking another, longer sip.
“I don’t know about all this ‘proving yourself’ business showed about me. However, I’ll thank you kindly for watching over Tanner in the meantime, so– apology accepted.”

Nodding, glad that Connor was at least not outwardly out for blood, Weston grabbed the bag of chips and motioned for Connor to follow him. “Nah, sometimes, an apology is needed anyway. And it wasn’t a hassle, Tanner’s a good kid. There’s not a whole lot of other kids here, but he’s been getting along well with the others. He’s been working, too. Washing dishes at the bar, and he’s had a few chances to go up on the wall to help with guard duty. Not alone, of course, just some of the guys have been showing him the ropes. He was interested, so….” Weston trailed off and shrugged a shoulder, moving to grab the door. He held it open so Connor could follow him.

“He asks about you a lot. We keep telling him he’ll see you soon, you just need time to get better. I forbade anyone from telling him about the fight.”

Connor got up to walk with Weston and nodded in agreement or acknowledgment of what he was saying, “Thanks for that. I don’t want him to know what I did, or at least how I went about it.”

Truly, Connor had shown that of himself could make the Devil quiver, but the well went deeper– he just needed to dip into things he’d rather not. Weston seemed a good type: crude and hard but with a heart of gold underneath. At least, that’s how he was presenting himself. The Soldier wasn’t going to get suckered into trusting him that easily, but for now he would take the bribe and the company.
“So, he wanted to guard up on the walls, huh? He’s always been like that. Very aggressive when it comes to defending what is his. Good for out there, but with others…”

Connor let the thought trail off before fully finishing it.

“You have kids?’

Weston shook his head at Connor’s question, leading him down a series of hallways towards a back entrance that was on the other side of the prison.

“Nah, ain’t ever had any of my own. Just before I wound up in prison, my sister told me she was gonna have a kid. I never saw her again after that. I don’t think either of them made it.” He went quiet for a moment, giving a nod to a pair of enforcers that passed them in a hallway, on their way to do whatever it was enforcers did during downtime around here. They gave Connor a curious look, but gave him no troubles.

“Maybe it was for the best? Imagine trying to take care of a baby like this. I dunno how anyone could. Still…” He trailed off and shrugged. It was a hard topic. Thankfully, they’d reached the exit - a pair of double-doors opened with the push of a long horizontal bar. Weston pushed the door open, squinting slightly against the bright afternoon sun. Just past the doors was an open grassy field, comfortably protected on three sides by buildings. A fence stretched across the fourth side, making this a rather safe enclosed space for residents. It appeared to be a popular place, with mismatched lawn chairs and tables scattered along the edges, kids toys, and some sports and lawn games strewn across the busy yard. Someone had even affixed a basketball hoop to the far building across from the doorway.

The place was empty right now except for Tanner, who was busy kicking a soccer ball against the opposite wall. He seemed pretty focused on making sure he didn’t miss the ball as it came flying back at him, enough that he didn’t hear the door open several paces behind him.

Connor nodded along to Weston’s answer– his breath freezing as he spoke of his sister, “Oh, I see. My condolences. Why… were you in prison?”

He hoped he hadn’t crossed a line by asking, but it felt like if he let this mood he had found his captor bleeding slip away then he wouldn’t easily have another chance to at the very least humanize himself. The question hung in the air for a bit. Connor wasn’t keen on stepping past it so quickly nor was he looking to comment on whether the death of Weston’s sister was a blessing or a curse– though he certainly had an opinion on it. Before long, the door to the yard was before them and open.

It was certainly something like an oasis of peace slapped in the middle of the desert that was the prison. Although, perhaps it was more of a Band-Aid plastered over the festering, infected wound that was the oppression present in daily life here. Connor stopped at the door and watched Tanner kick the ball without so much as another move into the courtyard. At once, he was choked with a whirlwind of emotions that sucked the breath from his lungs, but something in him told him that he needed to hang back and capture that moment like a camera snatching a memory. He hadn’t seen Tanner be by himself– not once. They had been attached by the hip since Connor had rescued him. It’s not like he could just leave him alone, right? If The Soldier wasn’t with The Boy, then Tanner was asleep, and Connor was doing something that he shouldn’t see.

Weston hung back, staying just inside the door, giving Connor room to have his moment. He was somewhat surprised the man didn’t call the kid’s name or move to him right away, but clearly he was relieved that the kid was doing well. Though… doing well was perhaps an over-statement. The kid was a little too eager to get out there and ‘hunt the dead’. A little too eager to pick up weapons and help the adults. A little too eager for violence. Weston had seen plenty of those types in his life. Hell, he was one of those types as a kid, just with different prey. It made him wince and hold his breath just thinking about it.

He hadn’t ignored Connor’s question, he was just rolling it around in his head, trying to figure out how to answer, and hoping maybe the soldier would not care once he saw Tanner. That might not be the case, the way the man lingered here. Taking a breath, he stepped forward and stood next to Connor.

“Life sentence for murder.” Weston answered quietly, glancing at Connor, then staring out into the distance. He crossed his arms over his chest. The night of that incident was often on constant replay in his head, the dead man’s face burned into his retinas, though he rarely talked about it. Especially the details.

“Listen. He’s a good kid. Make sure he stays that way, yeah? Let him be a kid as long as he needs to be.”

Connor paused for a moment as Weston set his truth upon the conversation, but other than that it seemed the answer didn’t really bother him. The Soldier rolled his tongue across his cheek for a moment and mimicked his counterpart’s crossed arms, “I won’t judge you for that. I don’t know you. Besides, this world has turned us all into murderers.”

The man shot his friend with a sideward glance that revealed a hollowness in his eyes for just a moment as though he was showing off a tattoo or some wound he had taken. A wound– sure, one dug straight into his heart. It vanished just as quickly when he looked back to his surrogate son, “I’m… doing my best. He– It’s just…”

Connor clearly had something to say on the matter that tore at the happiness in his expression, “He needs to be strong in this world. A kid, sure. He needs that time, but god if he doesn’t need strength more than anything. It’s bad out there, ya know? Real bad. Nothing really left to scavenge unless you go deep in places nobody but the dead have been in, and not a person to be found who isn’t just as desperate as you. Desperation turns good people into monsters. So, what I am saying is: there’s nothing left out there but monsters and the dead– millions of them like blots of decaying skin on the Earth. That’s the world he has been left with, and what he needs is strength above anything else. It scares me to death to think that one day I’ll be gone and I’ll have failed to teach him something he needed to know to live.”
Having said his piece on the matter, Connor stepped forward once more to call out to Tanner, “Hey kiddo, having fun?”

Tanner shook at the sound of Connor’s voice so hard that he missed a kick and the ball flew from the wall all the way back along the ground and into The Soldier’s legs. The boy dared not turn around lest it be some kind of trick, “Connor?”

“Yeah?”

Without another word being said, Tanner whipped around and barrelled toward his father figure with excitement sending him forward in a stumble. He quickly snatched Connor around the back and buried his face in his chest as the din of tears seeped into his voice, “C-Connor, they wouldn’t let me see you!”

“I know, bud. I know. Me either.”

Connor wrapped his arms back around the boy who seemed to be trying to crush him, and petted his hair as he stared into the sky. He needed time to be a kid, but he needed to be alive to have those moments.

​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

Cabrera's short visit in Lincoln shortly into the skip

Collab with Namazu ​

The rustling of the stream drew him towards the cracked open door. Ignacio gently nudged it open and breathed in the humid air. Scent of shampoo hung heavy in the air. The sight of the Second in command behind fogged glass made him pause and admire. Stirring excitement in his belly.

Cabrera slipped his t-shirt off. Watching the other like a wild cat behind tall grass.

Weston hadn't been in the shower too long, just enough to get the small bathroom steamy. He'd barely got the shampoo on his hair when he saw the shadowed form through the fogged glass. He slid the shower door open a crack, and grinned.

"Close the door. You're letting out all the warm air." He eyed Cabrera, shirtless as usual, before ducking fully back into the shower again.

"Still pretending your shower's busted? People are going to eventually notice." He called out.

Ignacio's lips stretched into a smile that made it to his eyes but his gaze was a little darker. He wasn't there just to shower. Or just to fuck. A lot had happened and he was there to get a god damn break.

Cabrera shut the door and stripped off completely before walking up to step in the tight space. "Notice what?" He goaded on.

Weston scooted aside and made room for him to join, turning to the side. Warm water sprayed over his shoulder and chest as he leaned in, running a warm, wet hand down Cabrera's chest.

"That you keep coming into my place to use my shower. And that you smell like my shampoo. And you keep using my goddamn towels." He grinned, not at all annoyed. "You're either the most irritating guest, or it's something else, right?"

Ignacio stepped in and into Weston's personal space. Water hit his skin, a few tones darker than the other man. His lean, gun-calloused fingers closed on the other man's hips and he pulled them closer.

"The towel's not the only thing I'm using." He took advantage of his hold on man's sides to turn him in a swift motion and he pinned Weston's front to cold tiles. Water washed down the other man's back and Ignacio leaned in against him. "And it's none of their goddamn business."

There was nothing more that Weston would have liked right now than to keep going. It was a welcome distraction - not just the act itself, but not having to be the tough guy in charge - even if just for a short time. But something had been nagging at him, and now with the way Cabrera had said those words - not the only thing I'm using - he just had to ask it. He had to clear the air.

"Ignacio, hold on-" He grabbed Cabrera's hand, peeling it off his hip as he pushed himself off the cold wall. The only time he ever used the man's first name was when they were alone like this.

Turning to face Ignacio, Weston furrowed his brow and put his hands on the man's shoulders, studying his face.

"I need to ask you a question, and I need a no-bullshit answer."

Cabrera's forehead crested when his domineering hold was rejected and he took a small step back to give the burly man some space to turn. The way Weston spoke his name and touched his arms made his pulse speed up.

He licked his lips before his mouth curved into a smirk. "The answer is yes. You can." Usually Cabrera didn't do it like that. Not without some wrestling for power. But he didn't mind. He suspected Weston would eventually ask for it.

Weston grinned back a bit, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Again, he wished that's all this was about. He put that particular answer in his mental pocket for later. If there was going to be a later.

"When that engineer lady was sent here. Nari? I talked to her." He ran his thumbs along Ignacio's skin. Not everywhere was calloused.

"You didn't tell me anything about what was going on at that school. I was concerned. So I asked, and I'm really not fucking impressed with the answer." He somehow managed to draw his brows even further together.

The previous excitement shadowed with guilt in Cabrera's dark eyes. Jaw tense.

"I know. I fucked up." He shook his head, mentally replaying the images from his High School stay. Along with what he did to a very capable enforcer after the man attempted to hurt the girl.

"But he had it coming." Ignacio focused his gaze back on Weston's. "Don't think I did it for entertainment."

Weston immediately pushed Cabrera away from him, into the door panel of the shower, and then took his hands off the man. All he could picture was what Nari said about Ignacio allegedly raping the local leader, and it made his stomach turn. It turned at the fact it happened, at the fact he let the man who did it get close to him, and at the way Cabrera spoke of it.

"Get the fuck out." He glowered at Cabrera as he reached behind him, shoving the shower door wide open.

His back hit the glass and it shuddered. Ignacio's eyebrows knitted in angry confusion. "What?"

He almost slipped on the slick floor when the door opened but he grabbed the man's arm to snatch his balance.

"You shot my friend like a fucking dog." He bounced back, shoving Weston against the wall. "And you have a problem with this?!"

"Hey, I already said I felt like shit about it, and I still do! Don't you think I regret it?" He shot back as he hit the wall, keeping both hands up at chest level in case Cabrera tried anything. This was not exactly the position he wanted to be in if this was going to take a violent turn.

"At least I'm not fucking gloating about it, talking about how he deserved it or some shit. And I am definitely not the fucking sick bastard that threatened to do the same to his wife! Of course I have a problem with it! I have fucked up a lot in my life, but at least I never raped anyone!"

Cabrera's squared shoulders were tense and his jaw set. Chest moved quicker with hastened breaths. Raw fire in his eyes. After everything that happened Weston was going to give him shit like that?!

His hand fisted and he slammed it to the tile right next to the Second in command's head after the man uttered the words sick bastard.

The pain in his hand was a welcomed distraction. He needed to ground himself. He couldn't let this— ...wife? Raped?

His lips parted. But he had no words, taken aback for a moment as he processed. Finally catching up what the other meant from the start.

Weston flinched as the fist slammed into the wall right next to his head. It might not have hurt him at all physically, but there was still an impact. An emotional one. One he was trying very, very hard to ignore.

"Oh, and now you want to punch me for calling you out on it? Is that how you get off? Is it not as good because I've been doing this willingly the whole time? What the fuck, Cabrera. I was starting to trust you. Clearly I'm the fucking moron here."

Ignacio didn't realize. How much he grew to care for what Jones thought of him. How much he let his guard down around the man. That's why it all pierced right through his chest. He didn't even try to shield it.

"No, I'm the fucking idiot." He boosted his body back with the fist against the wall, getting out of the shower. Emotion clear in his voice. "Woman tells you shit and you just take it? I didn't rape no one!"

Ignoring he was dripping wet, Ignacio picked up his boxers and pulled them on. "I just told him to submit to see if he sacrifices for the community. Didn't actually touch him, it was a stupid test."

Confused, Weston stuck his head under the water - now mostly cold - and quickly got what was left of the shampoo out of his hair. He shut the water off, knobs squeaking in protest, and followed Cabrera out of the shower as he wrapped a towel around his waist.

"What?" He was relieved, yes, but still on edge. "I didn't just - I don't know, Ignacio. What the hell was I supposed to think? Whatever went down didn't go to plan, and you weren't talking to me about it."

Cabrera snatched his pants and gave him a pointed look. "Really? You wanted me to blabber about how my men go against me over radio?"

He grunted, attempting to put the denim on wet skin. "There was an accident, a girl died. Then I was testing their leader in the bedroom without touching him when-." The task made him wriggle ridiculously and still he mostly failed to put the pants on.

"-one fucker wanted to rape the other girls, and another one got his ass kicked in his place, then Marie turned up with bruised neck and then yes. He was about to admit to what he did. Against King's rules. "I let the locals fight to death and—" He lost balance on one leg and clattered to the counter on the side like a floundering fish.

Sighing heavily, Weston stepped forward to grab Cabrera's arm, to help steady him. The man was obviously angry and flustered, and this wasn't helping.

"Hey-" He started, voice a lot calmer now. He took a breath, studying Cabrera's face, looking for any sign of falsehoods. He didn't see any.

"Sorry. Yeah, you're right, not the kind of shit you want to share on the radio..." He trailed off, letting go of Cabrera so he could go take a seat on the edge of the bed, still in just the towel.

"What did you do to test him?"

Cabrera looked into the other man's eyes, his soul stripped before Weston. He had a damn rough couple of days...

Now calmer too he managed to pull his pants on. "Nothing. I made him think I'll fuck him. Was gonna tell him to just pull his pants down but he started undressing. Fucking slow so I helped to get it over with. Once he was on the bed I got behind him and told him the good news. That I'm just checking what he's made of."

He walked to pick up his shirt and utility belt. "Was gonna talk business but then more shit went down." His movements were rigid, expression betraying how tired he was despite that burning tightness in his chest that still didn't find a way to lash out.

That mental image made Weston frown. He picked a spot on the floor to stare at while he mulled it over.

"And you couldn't think of any other way to test the guy? What if word of that gets back to King?"

Cabrera straighted up and looked at the other with a patronizing glint in his eyes. He hung the belt on one shoulder and threw the shirt over it. "We intimidate, threaten and kill men who reject us and you're disturbed by *this*?" He shook his head and turned, approaching the door. "Apparently that's who I am after all. Just a sick bastard."

He reached for the handle, adding. "King wouldn't give a fuck about shit like that. Grow up."

Pushing himself up off the bed, Jones approached Cabrera from behind quickly, reaching out to put a hand on the door. Leaning on it, he kept it shut so the other couldn't leave quite yet.

"I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. What's wrong with me being concerned about this? Or disturbed by it?"

Ignacio stopped and let go of the handle. He looked over. His gaze hard and scrutinizing as he scanned man's expression. Briefly pausing on the other's lips. But his focus set on Weston's eyes.

"You got the wrong job then, that's what's wrong." He grabbed the handle.

"Don't whine about me doing mine right." He growled, about to try and yank the door open despite the weight pressing against it.

Not wanting to have his door ripped to pieces, Weston took a step back and let up. Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave Cabrera a frown. Somehow, there was both a lot he could say to that, and at the same time absolutely nothing he could offer in response. Conflicted, he turned and walked away in silence, heading back to his tiny bathroom. It still felt like he had shampoo in his hair, and he needed to go take a cold shower.

Cabrera swung the door open and loudly snapped. "Thanks for the shower."

He slammed the door shut behind him and still with unlaced boots and shirtless, he strutted towards the whorehouse.

 

[Namazu]

LINCOLN​

Catching the scavenger just outside the chow hall, Weston unfolded a piece of paper and gave it one last glance over before offering it out to the scavenger. It was a piece of lined notebook paper torn out, requests printed out in Weston’s messy-but-readable handwriting with a blue ink pen. Most items were spelled correctly, at least.

The scavenger gave the list a brief look-over, nodding at the typical litany of requests. One of them made her raise an eyebrow. She put her thumb under it and turned the paper towards Weston.

“What’s this?” She asked, confused.

“... Hell if I know, some nerd shit. It’s a helmet. I have no idea what it looks like. There’s a visor on it, I think? It probably looks like something a pilot would wear. I honestly have no idea, ain’t ever seen the movies.” Weston laughed a bit, shaking his head. “Two of ‘em. Stuff for kids, y’know?”

The scavenger snorted a laugh. “You’ve never seen Star Wars? Jesus Christ, Jones. Anyway, I’ll see what I can do.” She then pointed at something else on the list. “This other one’s yours, yeah?”

“Yeah. Keep that one on the down-low though. It’s a surprise for someone. Got it?” Weston questioned. The scavenger nodded, folding up the paper and tucking it into her jacket pocket.

“You got it. We’ll roll out in about ten minutes. Gear’s packed, we just got a few guys finishing lunch.” The scavenger motioned towards the chow hall, where she had just exited. Weston nodded, leaving her to head out for the next run.

Things at Lincoln were… tense, to say the least. Someone had spray-painted “NO MORE KINGS” on the chow hall double-doors at some point during the night. Nobody saw anything. The neon-green paint used was coming off easily enough as Weston briefly watched a worker scrub it away. They had less luck a week ago with the similar epithet spray painted in the hallway that led from the wing that held King and Weston’s quarters towards the fight pit. “NO MORE KINGS” showed up, along with a very crude depiction of a body that very vaguely resembled King being hung from a tree. That one was particularly troubling in context, and by the time the workers got the red paint off, it had stripped the coloring off the tile wall beneath it. The whole thing was being repainted white to try and cover it up.

Hopefully King didn’t see or hear about the graffiti outside two days ago, on the back exterior wall of the main building, depicting him getting shot in the head. Weston heard about that one before it was scrubbed clean off the bricks.

Rubbing the back of his neck, tense with stress, Weston grabbed the large duffle bag off the floor that the scavenger had just left with him. It was full of books for the kids. There was too much work to go around for everyone, so Weston was going to make himself useful and bring them down to the building they’d been using as a makeshift school area. Not that there was all that much teaching going on, but it was a place to park the kids where they could be supervised when not busy doing chores with their parents. Presuming they still had parents, which wasn’t always the case.

It also gave Weston an excuse to patrol around the buildings more, make his presence seen and known. He had no idea if it was keeping things from running off the rails around here, but it couldn’t hurt.

The makeshift “schoolhouse” was a small building next to the main building, in what had once held a few community rooms. Classrooms, meeting rooms, and the like used to be run out of this building, for use by the state to claim they were rehabilitating their prisoners. Sadly, the programs the prison ran were worse than what they were now offering the kids.

Weston took the few concrete steps leading up to the front door of the schoolhouse two at a time, pushing open the door. It was oddly quiet inside - normally kids were always making noise in here as there was always at least one group being unruly or doing a lot of talking. Instead, it was damn near silent.

Duffle bag of books in hand, Weston headed down the hallway, peering into the small window of each room he passed. The first two rooms were business as usual - an empty room for storage, and a room with the youngest kids who were down for a nap. Their librarian-turned-teacher, a middle-aged woman they’d picked up somewhere along the way, was too busy reading a paperback to notice.

Weston passed a pair of bathrooms and rounded the corner, slowing his walk. The door to the room where the teenagers would normally be was left halfway open. Hand on the doorknob, he opened it the rest of the way and peeked in.

Nobody was inside. Not even the teacher. Weston stepped inside further. Desks were arranged in three rows, facing a desk and chalkboard at the front. Books were open on several desks. A few pencils had rolled to the floor. The chairs were pushed out, as if everyone had just stood up and walked out.

Approaching the teacher’s desk, he spotted a teal-colored mug with a tea bag inside. He gripped the side, testing the temperature. The mug was still slightly warm.

“Fuck.” Weston dropped the duffle bag there next to the desk and jogged out, down to the other classroom. He very quietly opened the door, catching the librarian’s attention, and motioned for her to step out. Frowning, she quietly crept around sleeping children and stepped out into the hall.

“Yes?” She gave Weston a quizzical, slightly afraid look.

“The kids in the other room - where’d they go? It’s empty.” Weston motioned down the hall.

“Oh, I’m not sure, but I saw someone walk past an hour or two ago. I was too busy to get a good look.” The woman shrugged a little, furrowing her brow. “I just thought the kids were getting out to go do chores early or something.”

Weston sighed heavily, looking down the hall one way, then the other. He knew the working schedules of just about every group of people in this damn prison. It was part of keeping an orderly, regimented, and controlled populace. Nobody had any plans to take the kids out of class early.

“Anything you can tell me about the person you saw walk by? Male, female, young, old, hair color?” Weston did his best to keep his tone even. Surely there was an easy explanation. A surprise field trip by the teacher, maybe?

“Male, that’s about all I could tell you. Short hair. Really, I didn’t get a look at his face or anything.” The librarian shook her head, then lowered her voice a bit more.

“Do I need to be worried?”

Weston shook his head. “No, it’s fine. You can go back in.” He motioned towards the door. She nodded quickly, slipping back inside her classroom as quietly as possible.

Weston pulled the walkie-talkie from his hip as he walked towards the front door, fiddling with the dial and lifting it to his face.

“Guards, section south, did anyone see a group of teenagers exit the schoolhouse?” He took his thumb off the button and stepped outside, waiting.

“Negative, none sighted.” Came the reply. Weston stared down as he rubbed his neck again… and then noticed the footprints in the fresh mud. Ignoring his own set leading up to the schoolhouse from one direction, there were several of them leading away from the schoolhouse in the other direction. Weston found one print - a deep-treaded boot - and stood near it. It was roughly the side of his own shoe print, and deeper than the rest. Something from an adult, likely male. He crouched down, narrowing his eyes at the print as he lightly ran his fingers over it.

He swore those prints came from military boots.

Weston stood, following the tracks a few hundred yards until they faded into the grass. The closer he got to his destination, the more a lump formed in his throat, knowing where he was going but hoping this wasn’t the case. As it turns out, he was right.

The tracks led up to the grassy area surrounding the cement pad just inside the main entrance to the prison. Scavengers usually parked their vehicles here just before heading out. The next scav truck out was sitting here, engine cold, with a few scavengers making final preparations to head out.

“Have any of you seen a group of teenagers come by here?” Weston asked, though each of the scavengers shook their heads. Weston scowled. How do you just make eight goddamn kids disappear into thin air without a trace?

The tracks couldn’t be made out anymore once they led into the grass, but it was likely they climbed into a vehicle. Question was - who took them, where, and why?

Weston moved away from the truck, following the chain link fence until he could duck behind a building for some privacy. There was yet more graffiti back here. He glanced at it, then ignored it. He turned his walkie-talkie to a specific channel, then lifted it.

“Cabrera, come in.” Weston waited.

And waited.

“Cabrera, come in, it's Weston. We have a possible situation. Pick up.” Weston waited.

And waited.

“Cabrera, pick up your goddamn fucking radio.” Irritation was clear in Weston’s voice. Nothing and nobody answered back. Weston moved further down the building, away from windows.

“Ignacio. I need you to talk to me.” Still more silence.

Weston nearly threw the radio against the brick wall in anger, but didn’t. He needed that thing. It was the only way he had to talk to Cabrera. It was also useful. Instead, he kicked the wall hard enough to make his whole leg hurt, cursed loudly, and took off sprinting back to the main building.

Kids were missing, nobody had seen a thing, and Cabrera wasn’t picking up. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

Bullyboy Squad NanLia Safton Togy BeyondDandy Aegis Crono ​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

NORTHVIEW
​

Cabrera stepped outside, into the brilliant sunshine. The warmth of the early morning light enveloped him like a friendly embrace. He traded his militant look for a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt that looked bright against his darker complexion. His bulletproof vest was left back in his quarters but the pistol was still securely tucked in the holster over his thigh.

Everybody who took the short Samaritan training a few weeks ago and was eligible, was carrying some sort of weapon. By now the community accepted their fate and some of the locals welcomed the Samaritan protection and supplies. Sure the invaders expected profits but so far Cabrera kept investing. Using his men to help build outside structures, expand the fence and bring useful materials from the more distant areas. A few weeks ago he even tagged along with one of the convoys to visit Lincoln and grab some stuff from there.

The man strolled towards the field. Inhaling the fresh scent of lush, verdant grass, still damp from the morning dew. It was tempting to just unlace his boots and take them off. To feel the softness. The little pleasures that he missed since the world ended and rediscovered while living among these people. Like the cheerful singing coming from the tree crowns. The dog whistle of a robin blended with the warble of a blackbird, all soothed by the gentle cooing of a mourning dove. He wouldn't know the names himself but the elderly man, Stan, who used to keep watch on the roof, told him about them.

The world could be so beautiful.

Graaaargh Grrrgh Grrrghnnn

The guttural moans and soft rattle of the chain coming from the secured batting cage didn't ruin the ambiance for the raider. He passed it without looking at the peeling skin and dead eyes of the undead. Everybody was used to the sight by then but it was still a stark contrast compared to the peaceful scenery. A reminder of who was in charge of the campus now and what would happen if someone disrespected the authority yet again.

Ignacio slowly approached the animal's run, looking at the goats and rabbits nibbling on the grass. His mouth stretched into a gentle smile.

"Good morning." His soft gaze paused on the girl sitting with the large rabbit in her lap. He took a big step over the net of the pen and crouched near Minnie.

"What is that?" He gestured at the plant the girl was feeding the animal with.

MokaChan Togy Safton

BeyondDandy NanLia Miaow @The Cat Man SlaughterMelon Crono ​

 

[Safton]

​

Scene One:
The Convoy

Collab Post w/ Miaow & Bullyboy Squad

Flashback to the Infirmary
​

The distant sounds of violence faded to the backdrop of the small hours nightlife. Greg moved through the dark corridor with a steady gait. His crutches the only sound in the quiet interior as they knocked against the linoleum floor. His eyes easily adjusted to the low light, its ghostly glow glinting off the abandoned lockers he was passing.

Usually loud and careless, Greg was surprisingly good at being silent. The door to the infirmary creaked open and his pupils bloomed with the even darker interior unfolding in front of him. Curtains drawn to give the father and the girls a sense of cozy intimacy and safety.

Buster's tall, broad figure loomed almost menacingly in the doorframe before he stepped inside and closed the door without disturbing the girls. He approached Xander, scanning the man's face.

Xander turned to face the door as it swung open with the slightest of telltale squeaks, squinting his eyes in the darkness despite the fact that his sight has already adjusted. He had managed to finagle his hand back from Minnie when the girl adjusted to a new position in her sleep -- and not a moment too soon considering it had been falling asleep in her clutches. Luckily those hands wouldn't be needing to do anymore punching at the moment as he made out Buster's form as he approached silently... and perhaps a bit awkwardly. Though Buster and "awkward" seemed to go hand-in-hand.

Xander arched an eyebrow at the man, but realized that the expression was almost certainly lost in the darkness. Instead he cleared his throat and addressed him quietly. "What's happened out there?"

Buster propped to his crutches more out of lazy habit than actual need. He was working out a lot those days and McKenzie was suspecting the cast would be off in a month. He was healing fast for such a terrible fracture. "A show." His gaze swung to the kids, then to the empty chair. He hobbled over and left one crutch behind to grab the thing and put it by the bottom of Minnie's bed, carefully sitting down with his leg outstretched. "You had a show of your own?" He asked, gesturing at the man's fucked up hand.

Xander pursed his lips at Buster's question, not needing to follow his eyes to know where he was looking. "Had to be done," Xander said quietly, his voice steady as his gaze fell back on the sleeping sisters. It was a simple remark, but said multitudes.

Buster stared, watching Xander's expression. "Sweet Cheeks is gone." He said like he was stating a fact.

Xander cocked his head at Buster, not needing any explanation as to just who Sweet Cheeks was. Rather, he was confused at how Buster knew about Nari. Had he seen her being taken? Had Cabrera made an announcement? Anything was possible, of course. He knew he should have "made his rounds" by now: checked in on the School's other residents. Been a leader. He felt like he had been locked away in his own world for the last several hours... and yet had no wish of leaving it to face the trials outside. Not yet. "How did you...?" Xander asked his voice trailing off.

Buster put the crutch down across his legs like a weapon, they were stripped off of any other for now. "Got friendly with our new neighbors." He looked down at Minnie and added calmly. "Don't worry, bossman. I'm gonna go keep an eye on her."

Xander narrowed his eyes at Buster, considering his next words. He could ask the man what he was thinking. He could tell him to rethink his next course of action -- whatever it was -- for all their sakes. He could tell him to be careful and play it cool. But he didn't do any of that; instead, Font saw in Greg's eyes some inkling of what the man was thinking... or at least what he hoped he was thinking. And it gave him hope. Hope he desperately needed right now; hope he was willing to grasp like a drowning man grasping a lifeline. "Do what you need to do," Xander murmured under his breath, glancing at Buster out of the corner of his eye before nodding once, almost imperceptibly.

Buster glanced over and their eyes met. The little moonlight that seeped through the crack in the curtains glinted in his gaze with resolve and danger. Like a big cat creeping in the night. Focused. Dead set on one goal. Ready to kill and steal the babies. But he wouldn't hurt these people. Greg was their cat. He gave a nod back, and with it, a promise. The next day another vehicle was to transport someone to Lincoln, the base of the Samaritans. Buster was catching that ride.

The room fell silent, the only noise the dripping of water from Haewon's icepack and the steady breathing from the girls as they slept. The air was thick with Buster's determination. It was clear he would do anything to reach his goal. Minnie took a sharp breath in as her eyes shot open, waking with a yelp. She attempted to sit up, to get a better look at whatever intruder had followed her from her dream, but her head felt like it was spinning. She wobbled as she laid back down, searching the room in a daze. She pressed her hand on her stomach, trying to subdue the heavy feeling of dread trapped inside her ribs.

Xander had leaned back in his seat, his eyelids finally beginning to droop as fatigue betrayed him. The build-up and subsequent crash of adrenaline in his system had not been kind. Just as he began to linger in that state between wakefulness and consciousness, he heard Minnie's strained sound of alarm. He jolted upright in his chair, his eyes darting first to the girl and then around the room before understanding dawned on her as he took in Minnie's demeanor. Xander gave her a sympathetic smile. "You okay, lovebug?" he asked in a soft murmur.

Minnie flinched as Xander spoke up, confusion in her eyes. She was in the infirmary. She was certain she'd been at home. Now, she was in the nurse's office. She rubbed her eye with her good hand as she settled on her bed, her eyes glazed over, as if still half asleep. "Did I wake you up..?" She asked drowsily.

Xander shook his head with an easy smile. "No," he said. It wasn't, technically, a lie. "Are you feeling okay? Do you need me to call Pandora?" he asked, his tone gentle.

Greg watched the kid, scanning her face and body language for a few moments during their exchange. Then he got up. Using the single crutch with ease he snatched one of the blankets that were brought and he stopped beside the girl to put the thing over her lithe form.

Minnie shivered as she shook her head. "I'm okay," She told him, trying her best to avoid bringing Pandora back in. She flinched as she felt the blanket touch her shoulders, looking up to see Buster standing over her. She clutched to the blanket, pulling it closer to her face. "Thank you," She paused, as if the cogs were turning in her brain. "What if that man comes back?"

Buster hummed like he was considering it. "You don't have to worry about him anymore, kid. He's gone." He hobbled back to his chair. "And I ain't going anywhere." He settled back down. "Sleep. I'm gonna have a surprise for you tomorrow." He told the girl with a cheeky smile full of teeth.

Minnie always found Buster's smile contagious, she couldn't help but smile back at him, despite the situation they found themselves in. She pulled her legs into her chest to keep herself warm. "Is he gone gone? Never coming back?"

Buster thought to the sight in the batting cage. To the consequences of the fight and what it brought to light. Then he gave a curt nod. "Yup. Now sleep." He glanced to Xander. "You too, bossman." He leaned back as comfortably as he could. "I got you."

Minnie nodded, wincing as she tried to get comfortable. Now the adrenaline had worn off, her whole body ached, and her arms throbbed with each pulse of her heart. Part of her wanted to ask if they were sure they were out of pain medication. Was there a chance there could be a box of expired paracetamol at the back of a cupboard somewhere? She swallowed, pulling the blanket over her face so only her eyes and the top of her head poked out from beneath it. "My arms hurt..." She muttered to Xander, her voice muffled by the fabric.

Xander bit his lower lip at Minnie's soft complaint. He wished nothing more than to be able to take her pain away. For a moment -- a brief moment -- he considered going to the Samaritans and asking for more pain medication then and there. No doubt they had some... but he knew that would potentially invite as many problems as it would solve. So he took a deep breath, putting on a brave face and taking her hand. "I know, Min. I just need you to hang in there a bit longer, okay? Try to get some sleep like Buster said," Xander offer with a smile. "Everything will be better in the morning. I promise."

Minnie poked her hand out of the side of the blanket, resting it in his. She let out a soft sigh, breathing through the pain as she shut her eyes... But sleeping felt bad. If she'd been asleep when that man had come in, Haewon could've been hurt... She swallowed... Buster was there, Xander and Haewon were there, and that man was gone. Gone gone. She squeezed Xander's hand, before resigning herself to sleep.

Xander watched Minnie as she seemingly considered her options before deciding to acquiesce to his and Buster's suggestion of sleep. He nodded with approval as he saw her eyes close. It took a moment before he remembered that Buster had given him the same command. After a moment, he sighed before leaning back, slowly, into his seat in order to close his eyes and drifting off into a troubled, fitful slumber.

NanLia Crono MokaChan Togy BeyondDandy SlaughterMelon​

 

[Miaow]

SCENE ONE
The Convoy​

Minnie's cheerful demeanor had somewhat returned in the two months since the incident, especially now she was back to work. She'd spent a long time lying in bed, whether it were a gurney in the nurse's office, or a mattress on Xander's bedroom floor. She couldn't walk too far without collapsing in the first week or so. Now, she was back in the gardens.

She'd heard the convoy bringing the animals in, the goats were particularly vocal on their journey over, but she wasn't allowed outside for long when they first arrived, and she certainly wasn't allowed to work. She still had a bit of a black eye, then, though that had completely healed now. Her hair was growing out, though there was still a chunk at the front that was obviously shorter than the rest. Gene had done her best to style it in a way to hide it, though Minnie was against having her hair cut short. Instead, she would simply wait until it grew out.

Gene let her spend time with the animals as long as she finished her duties, first. She had to feed them, clean their pen, take her wheelbarrow to the muck heap, and make sure their water was topped up. Then, she could do what she wanted with them. She often sat with the male rabbits when Xander and Haewon were busy. Though most of the point of having rabbits was to breed them for meat, they still separated the males and females so their population didn't get out of control. Most of the rabbits there would be eventually slaughtered, but a lucky few were used for breeding only, and those were the ones she spent her time with. She didn't want to get attached to any of the ones she'd be having for dinner later on.

She sat in the male's pen that morning, one of the bigger breeding males in her lap. It was hot and, though the new residents found the wounds on her arms offputting, it was far too warm to cover them like she normally would. She wore a short-sleeved shirt, exposing the now mostly healed gashes down both of her arms, though many of them had already scarred over after her stitches were removed. She hated having them on show, but she also hated sweating through a long-sleeved shirt, so it felt like the lesser of two evils.

She froze as footsteps approached, as if afraid to look. She had gotten good at figuring out who was coming from just their footsteps. The Samaritans typically had heavier steps in their big boots and all the accessories hanging on their belts and strapped to their legs made jangling noises. Haewon and Gene were quieter, they didn't carry all that stuff around, and Haewon preferred to keep her weapons concealed. She knew it was a Samaritan coming her way.

She glanced up at Cabrera as he spoke. She watched him closely as he crouched beside her. No matter what he'd done to benefit them, despite him bringing her painkillers when she was hurt and punishing the man that had hurt her, he would always be the man that took Nari away. He seemed nice, especially to her, but she still doubted whether it was genuine.

"It's alfalfa," She explained, massaging behind the rabbit's ears, "It's the purple stuff in the garden. We dry it out, first."

Safton Bullyboy Squad NanLia​

 

[Aegis]

The same night as Connor's fight...
(With quality writing from Crono )​

The world was a delirious slideshow. Each moment was taken in as a blinding blur before being clipped by the shuddering of Connor’s vision before his eyes rolled back into darkness. It was pictures– places. People said things here and there, but none of them were kind. They didn’t care much about whether or not Connor lived or died, yet some sense of obligation– perhaps their job, pushed them along each step of the way.

Sleep. Even if Connor could be awake, he wanted to sleep.

The Soldier wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the fight. However, the only thing he knew for sure was that he hadn’t slept so much in his life. Aching, mind-numbing pain shot through his skull every time he opened his eyes and drove him deeper into an abyss of endless restlessness and nightmares.

Bullets. Bloodshed. Teeth tearing at his friends. The sensation of his sweat-soaked Kevlar digging into his chin. Sometimes he thought about a world where he never made it to Tanner; a world where he was one of the shambling corpses walking through the graveyard that is Indianapolis– One shambling soul in thousands of grabbing limbs.

That was how Connor awoke when his body decided he could finally withstand the agony of conscious thought again: with a scream. Connor shot up in the cot he had been in for god-knows how long, and let out the kind of soul-shattering wail all-too-common in this world. Sweat leaked from under his ratty hair and he whipped his head around only to realize that it caused his brain to rattle, so he slumped back onto the cot. He was in some kind of infirmary– that much was apparent to him. IVs stuck his arm and hung to bags of what looked like saline, medicine that was worth more than an arm and a leg in the world they lived in now. The place seemed clean enough, the white tile and cheap posters from the time this was like a prison infirmary, the clean gauze wrapping his head, and the low humming of some kind of machine hidden behind a curtain off to his side.

Uncertain as to where anyone was, he called out, “...Hello? Doc… somebody?”

The act of talking was more painful on his throat and mind than he anticipated as his mind flashed blank like it short circuited, “..SITREP?”

The first word that appeared in the static of his thoughts.

Hughes had been resting his eyes in the hospital bed when he heard the man call out. One of the new patients wheeled in just hours ago. “Sitrep.” He frowned slightly.. None of the staff were around, and Victor had been called away not long ago.

“They’re all gone for the moment. You’re in the medical wing of the prison.” Hughes said from the bed over, unsure if the man was even coherent enough to take in information. “You military?” The Marine asked curiously.

Connor’s eyes rolled for a moment as the words seemed to bounce off an empty shell of a person, but as they settled on a light the blinding draw seemed to ground him somewhat. Military? Yeah, he was.

“Army National Guard. Was with… the…”

Who was he with again? Everything in his head was buzzing, yet the hum of the light anchored him to the conversation, “C-co, Crossroad Blues. Indiana.”

There. Nailed it. Connor was coming back down to Earth from whatever hellish landscape the beating had thrown him toward. Slowly, Connor shifted on the paper-like sheets they had laid on the cot and turned his body to face the voice.

“Medical Wing. What happened?”

With a huff Hughes moved his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, getting his bearings for a moment as he stared at the stump, it was still jarring to see part of his leg missing. The marine grunted as he reached over and grabbed the crutches left by his bed. The Doctor had all but ordered him not to be doing this on his own for the time being, but Victor could yell at him later if he wanted. After steadying himself on the crutches he moved over to the nearby wheelchair and eased himself down as best he could, which involved a bit of falling. Then wheeled himself over to the bed of the other man, peeling back the curtain as he did.


“You’d know better than me, soldier.” Hughes stated flatly. “But there was talk of a riot breaking out in The Pit.” The older man tilted his head to the side some, “And you look like someone who’s been in the ring.” It was common for the fighters to show up in varying states in the medical wing. He’d gotten used to seeing them at this point.

“Staff Sergeant Blake Hughes, Marine Corps.” He introduced himself. Unsure if knowing who Hughes was would make him more comfortable or the opposite. “Why in the hell are you in a place like this?” He felt himself having to ask, hoping that Connor wasn’t a Samaritan.

When Hughes identified himself to Connor, that seemed to snap the Guardsman’s full attention to him. Remember your customs and courtesies, Riley. It hit him from somewhere in the back of his subconscious, “Specialist Connor Riley, Sergeant. And–Oh, Yeah… they threw me into the ring. Some kind of show for them, or a test. I don’t know.”

He blinked his eyes and the last of the fog seemed to clear from them, “They dragged me and the kid in here at gunpoint– robbed us. Bunch of parasites shacked up in here, Sergeant. What about you?”

The marine sighed softly as Connor explained, he didn't know which answer would have been worse. Hughes locked the wheelchair's wheels and leaned back with one hand rubbing softly at the top of his head for a moment as he considered the question, "My men and I were at the wrong place, wrong time." He hadn't had a need or reason to tell the story since it happened and was finding it a little difficult to grasp the words.
"They killed some of my men, would have killed me too if it weren't for a smart heli pilot who could think on his feet. There was no firefight, it was a lineup and execution, and not the quick and painless kind." Hughes fists had clenched by the end and he took a breath.

"And I was whole before they showed up.." Hughes spoke, glancing at the stump on his leg. While he'd healed in the two months he still had some scars and burns on his head and neck. "Believe it or not you're lucky to have made it in like you did." He told him, a hand gesturing at his face in a motion for despite the fact that he'd just been shoved into the ring to fight for his life.

“I know the feeling. It was like that in Indianapolis.”

He couldn’t help letting his eyes fall to The Sergeant’s stump leg, but no disgust or revulsion occupied his face. Connor’s face shaded in introspection for a moment before he looked back up to The Sergeant and laughed, “I’m not so sure about lucky, but fortunate to be alive, Sergeant.”

The Soldier attempted to sit up, and nearly made it if not for the sudden pulsing deep in his head that sent him back down on the cot. For a moment, it seemed like the conversation was over as Connor gripped at his either side of head as if trying to keep it from exploding inside-out. Seconds passed like this until he finally stopped shaking from the pain and turned to face Hughes once more.

Hughes gave the man a stern look when he'd laughed, "Lucky, fortunate, whatever you'd like to call it. I don't think you're aware of what kind of animals they have walking around here. I've seen my fair share of death both before and after the world went to hell. But nothing like what they did to my men."

Briefly he considered not sharing the details but if helped Connor grasp his situation better then so be it. "They hooked a chain through my Corporal’s jaw, attached the other end to the back of their truck and dragged him through the streets, all while he was still alive."

The laugh hadn’t been meant to offend by any means. After all, it was more from a sense of nervous disagreement than anything else, but now Connor had shut up and his attention was snapped firmly on Hughes' explanation. It didn’t require much further detail for the image of the gruesome scene to take root in The Soldier’s mind. Thinking about it, it must have been one hellish sight.

“R-right. Sorry. I wasn’t trying to downplay that at all. What they did is fucked up– as if The Pit wasn’t enough to convince me of how evil they are on its own.”

Connor gulped a bit as he thought of a way to search for that same common ground earlier, “Listen, back when I was in Indianapolis I saw things like that. We did things like that. ‘Operation: Archangel’ was supposed to be purely humanitarian in getting VIPs out of the city, but it turned into something so much more horrible and desperate that it still surprises me that so many of those people listened to what we said just because we were soldiers. I’ve been on both ends. I saw the Zs rip my friends apart– looters too. In turn, we tore them apart. I empathize.”

Hughes almost wished he and his men had been looters or drawn first blood. Some actual reason for the Samaritan's to do what they'd done. Hughes let out a sigh, "We've all done shit we regret at this point. I'm not here to judge you on it. If we had stayed in Seattle I might have been in your shoes. But I took my men and left before it got that bad.”

The marine shrugged his shoulders. “Places like Indianapolis and Seattle? They don't last in a world like this because people who were at the top before, still thought that nothing had changed and they would remain at the top."

"So, who’s this kid, and where is he now?" Hughes asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He already had a good idea of the situation Connor was in but he wanted the man to be more coherent and not throw too much at him at one time.

Connor nodded and let the sullen atmosphere hang over the two for a few silent moments before he spoke again, “He’s… like my son. Tanner is his name, and I don’t know where they took him. They separated us the second we came in here.”

Hughes cracked one of his knuckles while Connor explained about the kid. His face softened a bit more, “He should be fine then.” The marine said but couldn’t be certain. “He’s probably the same as me. Leverage, to keep you in check if you survived the fight. Probably separated you to show you that they can.” The situation was different, but not so much so.

“Look, I’m no expert on this place. I’ve basically been stuck in this room since I got here. But I’ll tell you one thing Connor. If you see a chance to take your kid and get out, you do it. And I don’t mean any kind of half-assed chance. I mean a clear shot that can guarantee the two of you get away, and far.” Hughes shifted slightly in the wheelchair, his eyes wandering to the other side of the room. “But for now you should just hunker down, get a lay of the land, heal up.”

Connor scowled a bit at the reinforcement of his already formulating feeling that Tanner was a hostage meant to keep Connor in line. However, the fact that Hughes was willing to suggest escape heartened him to know that at the very least one person hadn’t been crushed by life here, yet. The Soldier resettled his face into something as far away from disappointment as he could manage at the moment, “Okay, I’ll do that. Do you know anything that may help us get out? I know you said you’ve been stuck here, but anything helps.”

Connor checked over his shoulder to make sure none of the Samaritans were listening or about to enter.

Hughes considered the question, he and Jamie had spoken multiple times about whatever information he could get from his time in the prison. But the marine hesitated to simply say it all given the other man's state and everything he had learned and been through since arriving. “We’ll get to that.” He stated simply, “You should just rest for now. That head of yours got cracked real good. Best advice I can give is to make friends.”

Hughes didn’t know the man, so who knew how much of this he’d consider in depth. “And if something comes up with you or your kid, you can come to me and if there’s a way I can help, I will.” It was true that he had basically no power, but he was friendly enough with Victor. And Jamie was out there and knew the place better than him, so he could rely on them to some extent for a favor.

It was odd to be trying to offer help to someone when you yourself have almost nothing to give. But speaking with Connor only reminded him of the marines that had served under him, and he’d have done anything for them.

​

 

[Aegis]

Part One
The First Week of the skip...​

Temma huffed as she slipped out of her and Derek's home after hastily dressing herself, their afternoon lunch interrupted by a medical staff member who had come to collect her. She stuffed the netting of her wig up beneath it, not having the time to glue it down correctly. She had forgotten her appointment today, or rather Tanner's appointment. Truthfully, she hadn't forgotten but actually been distracted. After the fight -executions- and Derek getting into the ring himself, she'd been distracted with picking up the shattered pieces of her reality and taping them back together. She had been attempting to track down Weston to speak to him about Val, helping Derek heal, physically and mentally and keeping her girls and boys in order for her paying customers. After the incident with Val she'd lost plenty of patronage and she certainly didn't blame them.

Her heels clicked down the hall as she hurried between people, cursing at them to move out of her way or get run over, only just managing to reach the security area outside the family cells just as Tanner was being released into the common area. Breathlessly she smiled, dropping down to be at the same height as him. "Hello again, Tanner. Are you ready for your appointment?" She offered her hand for him to take. "Just normal doctor's stuff today, a check up and some vitamin shots."

Tanner nodded to her as she came to collect him. It seems that he never had much time to be on his own or explore. After all, he had been rushing around at the whims of the few other kids– most of which he didn’t get along with, Temma, or the wall guards who had seemed to take a liking to him when he informed them of how many Zoms he had killed when they were teasing him about it. He had done a few shifts there now, and he liked it– a lot. Tanner knew that Connor wouldn’t mind though because he was keeping them both safe.

“I’m ready. Isn’t Connor supposed to be with the Doctor? When can I see him?”

The boy frowned as he asked the same question he asked whenever he saw anyone of importance in the prison. It was clear that the outstanding reaction was either annoyed or drew sympathy from the one asked. Surprisingly, Mr. Weston had been very kind to him about it. He was nicer than he looked!

Temma smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile as Tanner confirmed he was ready and immediately asked after Connor. Typically his parents would have brought him to his appointments, and, if Connor had been on his best behavior he might have been given the allowance to do so. She did not know the details of just how Connor had ended up inside the cage and fighting for his life, if Derek knew he hadn't shared anything beyond it had been an order from King himself.

She stood and started to lead him along towards the medical wing at a leisurely pace, she doubted he had any interactions with people he 'knew'. "Well, Connor would have come if he could." She started, not sure of just how truthful she should be with what she knew. "But he's been tasked with an important mission." She smiled, glancing back at the boy to make sure he was paying attention. "He's away, for a little while, but he'll be back and I'll make sure that he comes to visit you. I promise, he's not in any danger and you don't have to worry about him. He did leave a message, though, he wanted to let you know that he's proud of how well you've done here so far." Temma hated herself for the blatant lies she was telling the kid but she honestly felt the truth would be far far worse.

So, that was a lie. Tanner froze in step at once nearly allowing Temma to round the next corner without him before he called out to her, “That's a lie!”

He shouted. So far, the boy hadn’t shown a hint of disobedience, but now he was shaking with the violent vitriol of someone who had been deeply offended and was about to explode like a time bomb. Tanner’s neck bulged as veins pierced his pale skin erupting with the fuming red of rage, “DON’T LIE TO ME ABOUT CONNOR! MR. WESTON TOLD ME HE WAS VERY HURT AND NEEDED TIME TO HEAL! YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO LOOK OUT FOR ME!”

His voice cracked with the sheer force of his emotions as he hung his head and puffed his shoulders as if trying to contain an inner explosion, “YOU PROMISED CONNOR, SO WHY ARE YOU LYING TO ME?”

Tanner’s eyes were wild. They roared with the untamed cruelty of a world beyond the walls– something Temma had likely seen in some of her clients. It was beyond strange to view. Normally, Tanner was nearly disarming with how cute and obedient he was, but looking at him now it was as though the first person to approach would meet an end twin to the one Connor had performed in the ring.

Temma turned as Tanner paused, eyebrows raised as his voice elevated and he started sounding off. She cursed Weston for avoiding her, now more so than ever. She let the boy get it out, raising her arms to cross them over her chest as she waited for him to finish - there wasn't ever any point in shouting over someone to make them listen.

"Are you quite done?" She didn't wait for an answer before she continued. "I am not privy to what Mr. Weston might have or had not said to you. I do know that Connor is currently resting, after being asked to do something for us that was important - I don't know what that task was, so don't bother asking me. I did not lie when I said that he was away and couldn't visit you. I did not lie when I said that he was safe and that you don't have to worry about him and I did not lie when I said he was proud of you."

She watched him, waiting for any further outbursts before she spoke again. "Now, if you're good and settled, we can continue on to your appointment."

Tanner stood for a few moments as though the heat of his anger was a shield between him and the rest of the world. However, the outburst had drawn the attention of a few bystanders who looked on in equal measures of shock and horror at such an expression on a child’s face. A few of the enforcers laughed, though, as if he was becoming an object of interest to them after his escapades on the walls. He breathed. He breathed in deep and regularly just like Connor had taught him, “The other kids keep talking about how good of a fighter he is. They keep talking about how their parents lost money on ‘The Pit’. What is that? What does it mean?”

He didn’t offer any other acknowledgement to the other things she had said, and even as he caught up to her the sharp, snake-like edge to his eyes never disappeared when he looked at her. Perhaps, it never would. It was clear that in a single moment something had changed between them irreparably.

Temma resumed their previous pace, though she made no effort to offer her hand to Tanner once more. She listened, internally howling at the big-mouthed children he was clearly associating himself with and vowing to figure out who their parents were to give them a piece of her mind. “The Pit is a boxing ring that my husband runs shows for.” There wasn’t any use in lying to him further, or omitting truths, though she’d keep some of the darker realities to herself. “Often times people from our community bet on who the winners might be.” She paused, letting him reflect and start to build his own assumptions. “The night you arrived there were three fights, I only watched the first before I was called in to take you to the nurse, then we ate in the cafeteria. It’s possible Connor was fighting, if your friends said their parents lost money on him.”

Temma paused as an enforcer started to approach her and Tanner, at first thinking that maybe he was checking in after the boys outburst, making sure she didn’t need assistance, but by his mannerisms and they way he continued to look around himself it was clear he was concerned about something. “Can I help you?”

The enforcer glanced at Tanner nearby before nodding, almost nervously. “Yes ma’am.” He spoke softly. “You asked to be informed when Jones is free.”

Temma sighed, tisking to herself but nodded. “Yes, of course, please.”

“He’s gone up to the guard tower, just now.” The enforcer looked uncomfortable sharing the information and Temma waved a hand dismissing him without thanks. She turned to Tanner. “Slight change of plans …” She looked around the open common area, searching for a suitable place for Tanner to stay while she hunted Wesondone down when she spotted Chole. “I’m going to ask you to visit my friend for a little bit while I chase someone down, then we’ll head over for your appointment.”

Temma started towards the bar, expecting Tanner to follow. As she came through the doors Chole called out “We’re closed.” But that didn’t stop the Drag Queen from approaching the bar.

“Chole, I don’t have time to explain.” She said, turning back to Tanner and waving him up towards the bar. “Tanner, this is Chole, Chole, this is Tanner. I need you to keep an eye on him for a few minutes and I’ll be back.” Before Chole could argue she was already turning on heel and jogging out of the bar, shouting back. “Thank you Chole! I’ll owe you one!”

Chole stood speechless, watching the Madame take off leaving her with a kid. She remained silent, watching the door, expecting the drag queen to come directly back and announce that it was all a joke but when that didn’t happen her eyes drifted to the equally confused kid.

“Uhm, hi.” Chole offered a weak smile. “Wanna take a seat?”

Tanner was indeed confused– following along on sheer virtue of not knowing where they were in the prison exactly. However, he was greeted with yet another woman before Temma made her swift exit. So, that’s it? Caught in a lie and then abandons him because it’s tough to handle. If Tanner had learned anything since coming here, it had been that Connor was the best thing that ever happened to him. The other kids thought he was weird– not that he minded because they weren’t gonna be able to live if something happened here. Other adults just ignored him like he was a sick puppy in the street, and now one of the two other people he thought he could trust just left him with…
The boy’s eyes cut straight across Chloe with a fierceness that showed he didn’t trust her by sheer virtue of her connection to Temma, whom his opinion of was dropping by the minute.

“So, are you a liar too?”

A very loaded question as he took the suggested seat.

Chole stared at the boy sitting at her bar stool, eyebrows raised in surprise at the question. “I’m not really sure how to answer that.” She laughed nervously, setting aside the bottles she was filling before returning her focus on Tanner. “I’m guessing you caught Temma in a lie.” She leaned on the bar top, planting her elbows and resting her chin in the palm of her hand. “Don’t feel too bad about it, she lies alot. I mean, she’s a drag queen so really she’s the definition of a liar, right? A man, wearing women’s clothing?”

She smirked, hoping to lighten the mood. “So what brings you in today? Tough day at work? The misses giving you problems at home?”

Tanner chewed at his lip for a second as he interlaced his fingers and clasped them like he was trying to crush coal into diamond, but alas he couldn’t stay mad for long now that Temma had gone. The kid sighed and looked up at the rather nonchalant woman before she dropped that last bomb on him. Wild confusion swept his face as though the information that Temma was – in fact, a biological man boggled the boy, but it seemed to break the hard front he had been putting up.
Tanner smirked a bit as she joked about his imaginary troubles, “No, not really. Just… haven’t seen the man who may as well be my dad in a while. I want to see him.”

The boy let that sink in a bit as he began to kick his feet from atop the stool and let them swing in an awkward social tick.

Chole smiled as Tanner answered, seeming to lighten up, whatever dark cloud that had been possessing him evaporated. "Ah, well. I might have just the drink for that." She turned to reach beneath the bar and set a highball glass in front of him. She scooped ice into the glass, filled it with bubbly clear liquid, then tipped a series of bottles over the glass, the clear liquid changing colors to red, the murky green until finally a vibrant blue. She set the final bottle back into its place and slid the glass towards him. "Before you ask, there's no alcohol in it."

She returned to her previous position, leaning on the bar. "So tell me about your pseudo-dad."

“Mmmm.”

Tanner croaked a bit as she sat the drink before him. It was clear she was really good at her job based on the way she went about doing whatever it is she just did, but something in Tanner told him that he maybe shouldn’t trust the drink some random person gave him around here. Then, as if a switch had been flicked in his mind he broke into a massive smile the moment she asked about his surrogate father, “OH! Yeah, okay. I can do that. Connor is amazing! He– uh, rescued me from my dead parents back when the Zoms started coming around. They were trying to kill me, so while I was sad at first– I got why he did it. They were Zoms.”

While he seemed strangely okay with that fact, it seemed that the reality of seeing his parents die still darkened his mood somewhat as he snagged the drink without any reservation and began drinking it with all the desperation of hoping it would’ve been alcoholic– something he probably saw on a show sometime before Zero Day. Setting the sweet beverage back down, he continued, “Connor has taken care of me ever since. I’m sure it was hard, but now I can help him. He’s… done a lot for me.”

Chole felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach as the name of the boy's surrogate father was uttered. Connor. It wasn’t a name she was going to forget any time soon, not after what she’d witnessed, the sheer brutality of the fight between him and North. Not to mention the chaos that ensued afterwards, sending her into panic attacks whilst trying to hide from the growing crowd. She’d never been in a prison riot before, thankfully, and she wasn’t sure that that night could be called one, but it was closer than she ever wanted to be.

Her face faltered for a millisecond, before restoring the placating smile as Tanner rattled on Connor’s heroic exploits outside of the prison. She was used to her clientele telling her some terrible things in the past and she steeled herself for just a little bit more, from the face of someone who shouldn’t have seen any of it. “Wow Tanner, that’s … alot.” She wasn’t quite sure how to address the loss of his parents, as he didn’t seem entirely connected to the trauma himself. She didn’t doubt for a second that this was a coping mechanism for the youth. “I’m glad he was there to help you out, and take care of you. You must really love him.”
Tanner felt the feeling of the room shift as he mentioned Connor, but kept it to himself for now. The boy swung his legs happily and tapped on the glass the drink was in, “I do. Although, I don’t think we’ve ever said that to one another. It’s… never come up, I guess. If you’re not fighting out there, you’re sleeping. It’s just how it is.”

Again, Tanner said something very horrible without considering it to be so, “Life out there is… very hard. Things are always waiting around every corner to get you, but Connor was there to shelter me from that– he guided me through that. He’s– he’s my hero, my idol.”

His eyes seemed to beam as though they’d collected the light of every star inside of them the way they sparkled as he talked of the man, “Things are… easier in here. I get treated very well, and I have more food and time than I know what to do with. Guarding is easy. Killing Zoms is easy. I can do that, but it feels like… everything is gonna cost me something. Like, when you wanted to buy a soda before the Zoms, but it's not gonna be money I’m giving, you know?”

Tanner kicked his heels against the stool and stopped the jubilated swaying of his legs, “Because of that, I think I’d rather be outside with Connor again. I can see now why he never wanted to interact with other people after… Well, someone died. She was the first person Connor had ever given a chance to because we were all stuck. I had hoped people like her would be here, but all the other kids think I am weird. The adults just look at me like I am a sick puppy or something, but Connor never did that— he knows I can handle it.”

The ice had begun to melt now and all the condensation of the drink began to spill into a ring around the bottom of his glass and across the tops of his fingers, but he did not move his hand.

Chole felt her heart breaking as Tanner spoke, a mix of distant remembrance of his past alongside the idolization of the fighter she’d witnessed beat North into pulp. The split in her soul only splintered further as he announced that he’d rather be out fighting for his life among the dead than in here, with them. He was far more perceptive than she’d first given him credit for and she didn’t doubt that plenty of other adults had made the same mistake.

“Well,” She sighed, trying and failing to come up with a response to what the kid had just professed. It wasn’t long ago she’d also witnessed another kid, not older than himself, get hung then shot for simply existing. “First, I’m sorry you’re not happy here.” She reached out cautiously, slipping a hand over his as he toyed with the glass. “It’s hard to be in here, hard to get used to dealing with people again.”

She smiled sadly. “You’re not wrong, there is lots here, plenty of food and water and shelter but it does come at a cost. You might not be even aware that they’re asking for anything. You said you’re helping them kill the dead? That’s how you're paying for the things you have, but one day they might ask for more. They might ask you to do something you don’t want to do. I don’t have an answer for you, or if you should do what they ask or not, you’ll have to make the best decision for yourself, but I do want you to know you’re not alone in this. We’ve all been there and had to make the same decision.” She shrugged, impotently. “All I can offer is an ear if you need to talk to someone who won’t judge you and maybe offer advice if you need it.”

Tanner’s brow furrowed as she grabbed his hand. It’s not as though the boy was unfamiliar with physical affection, but he just wasn’t expecting it from someone who may as well be a perfect stranger. The boy looked up to the woman and with a bit of nervousness to his voice he answered, “Yeah, I don’t know either. It’s gonna be hard. I think I would like to come back, though. Temma is probably upset with me, and I don’t really want to talk to her anymore right now.”

The boy swallowed, hard. He was about to test Chloe on what she was made of, “So… did Connor fight in ‘The Pit’? Other people are telling me about it, but I don’t understand beyond what Temma told me.”

Chole hesitated briefly as Tanner asked about the pit and Connor fighting. She wasn't sure how to answer and thankfully didn't need to as Temma blew through the doors back in, just as quickly as she had left.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry! I'm back. Thank you so much Chole for taking care of Tanner. I owe you one!" Temma straightened her wig, catching her breath from running back. "Alright Tanner, let's get you to your appointment so you can get on with your day, yea?"

Chole smiled appreciatively to Temma and her apologies but turned her attention back to Tanner, speaking softly. "He did. And I hope you do come back to visit. If you're old enough to be working for them, then you're old enough to come here after work and relax." She ignored the pointed glare from the brothel Madame. "See you later, Tanner."

​

 

[NanLia]

&

FLASHBACK
First week of the skip​

Temma burst from the bar doors, nearly bowling over a pedestrian in the process as she continued to half-speed walk, half-sprinting in stiletto heels towards the security area of the prison. She'd been hunting down Weston ever since the fight night, ever since the night Val had gone to King and ratted out the second's actions. For what purpose? Temma hadn't a clue! What did Val gain from it besides the notoriety and the loss of her first-class customers?

So far as Temma had seen, either she'd done it for her own amusement or King had backed out of whatever deal she'd made because the very next day she was back within her workforce, now without the clientele she'd had previously. None of the officers wanted anything to do with her (or any of the rest of her staff) and while Temma was doing her best to amend her relationships and clientele, she made no effort to try and repair Val's reputation. The only people who wanted Val's company were from the lowest working class and most of those inquirers had been previously rejected.

Temma found the stairwell that led to the guard tower, looking up level after level with extreme disappointment. Steeling herself she started her climb and a few minutes later, with no less perspiration and far less breath, she made it to the top of what she thought was the tower, only to discover a ladder to a roof hatch.

She gave an aggravated growl and started her climb, flipping the hatch open noisily and surprising the man on watch. Heaving for breaths, Temma stepped onto the tower and paused, taking a minute to catch her breath, adjust her wig, and center herself. She turned to Weston, who was simply staring at her and smiled. "You are a tough man to find, Mr. Jones. And while I appreciate you not wanting to have anything to do with myself or my staff, I'd also appreciate it if you could give me a few minutes of your time."

Of all the places in the prison to get some alone time - which was surprisingly few and far between even with its size - the guard tower was Weston's favorite. He had a great view of the sky and surrounding area up here, and few people ever came to bother him. It was his Thinking Room, as far as he was concerned - at least, one of two, and this one was the more positive space to be in. The other place he mulled over his actions a lot was the fight pit when it was empty. That was for when he was in a different mood.

By the time Temma made it up to the top of the tower, he was leaning against the cement and metal wall opposite the stairs, arms crossed over his chest, and he couldn't help but grin.

"God, Temma, I sure as shit hope you never have to try and sneak up on anyone. I heard you clamoring up here since the first rung." He drawled quietly, the lighthearted words not quite matching the frown he gave her. He glanced down. "Did you climb up here in fuckin' heels?" He shook his head.

"Well, got me cornered. Ain't like I'm gonna shove you off. So... my time's yours. Just don't waste it, yeah?"

Temma rolled her eyes, moving to lean against the rail of the guard tower, testing Weston’s statement regarding pushing her off. “Well, if I knew it was going to be a leg day, I would have worn better shoes.” She countered, more annoyed that Weston always seemed to be able to put everyone around him at ease. “To start, Tanner knows Connor was fighting in the Pit, blame the kids in the family ward with big mouths. The kid caught my ass in a lie and he’s got a pair of lungs. Next appointment he has, you better let Connor take him, no matter what condition he’s in or what he looks like, he won’t be listening to me for much longer.”

She inhaled deeply, fighting the urge to retreat and give up on this next part, despite having been following the man's shadow for days. “About Val,” She started and could see the subtle shift in his facial features, knowing this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me or not, but I didn’t know. About King, about what she was doing. I’d like to think that I know what my girls and boys are about and she shocked the hell out of me.”

Temma shook her head. “I should have known, should have seen it. And I’m sorry for it. That was never the deal for our clients, you were supposed to be able to trust us and that’s on me.”

Weston gave a brief nod at Temma's request for Connor and the kid. An easy one, he didn't want to feel like he was asking people to be a babysitter for much longer.

As soon as Temma mentioned Val, he sighed and let his shoulders sag, clearly irritated at even hearing the name. "Christ, that's what you came up here for?"

He looked pissed, but not at Temma. Rubbing a hand down his face and tugging at his beard, he shook his head. "And why would I believe that? Do you know what kind of god-damned headache her yappy bullshit has caused me? And does that bitch even realize what she's doing by runnin' her stupid fuckin' mouth? Everything would have been perfectly-goddamn-fine if she'd just kept quiet. I had shit handled, and now King thinks I don't." He huffed, running a hand through his hair, now even more pissed and worked up.

"Why'd she even do it? Is there an end game here? Like what's the fuckin' point, does she just want to see me killed, or what?"

Weston’s anger was expected, in fact, Temma expected far more than he’d expressed. “I don’t know what she was in it for, best I can tell because she wanted to fuck with you because she’s worse off from where she was.” She shrugged, looking past Weston to the world outside, one she hadn’t seen in years and one she didn’t want to see any time soon.

“It’s that, or King had something on her, and she was saving her own ass. Not that it makes it any better. She hasn’t said shit to me or any of the other girls. None of her old clients want her back - for obvious reasons - and the only people who do want her and the ones she’s rejected in the past. I can’t imagine she’s going to have much fun with them. She’s earned it, whatever it is.”

She looked back at the second. “I just wanted to clear the air between us; I don’t expect you to trust me, I have no fantasies that we’re going to see you back again. I just needed you to know that what she did, she did on her own. I might be a whorehouse madam but I still have a conscious; I don’t want to see people get hurt, certainly not the ones that make this place just a little bit more bearable.”

Weston pressed his lips together and glowered off at some point in the distance, uncrossing and re-crossing his arms, uncertain what to do with all his irritation. Finally, he drew his gaze back to Temma.

"Why keep her employed at all? Clearly, she ain't worth shit to you, or anyone, anymore. Not unless King wants her for himself - in which case he's sure as shit welcome to." Planting his hands on the metal railing behind him, he stretched his arms out and rolled a shoulder.

"Only reason I didn't just kill the bitch myself is because I respect you too much. It ain't for her. But if I were you? She'd be out on her ass. That would make things more bearable for everyone."

Temma frowned at Weston’s question, something she had asked herself more than once since that night but at least now she had an answer for it. “Because I’m afraid of King, and what he might do if I sent his dog out into the cold.” She shrugged. “After that night … well no one is safe, we never were. It was all a figment of our imaginations.”

If King could hang out his second over what a hooker had told him, there were endless possibilities of what he could or would do, to herself. “If you want her gone from there, I’ll do it. Just say the word.”

Rocking his jaw back and forth, he mulled it over. Normally Weston had that grumpy, resting-bitch-face look about him that didn't match how easy he was to get along with - but this time, countenance and mood were in perfect lockstep.

"Get rid of her, but send her to me first. My room, tonight. Can you do that?"

She nodded stiffly. "Done." While she didn't like the idea of what may happen to Val, she wasn't about to prevent the woman from reaping what she'd sewn. "I need to get back, left Tanner with Chole. Here's hoping it's going better than it did with me."

Temma flipped back open the hatch to the ladder below grimacing at the prospect of descending with the heels on, she glanced back at Wes and narrowed her eyes. "You tell anyone you heard my fat ass wheezing its way up here, I'll kill you myself."

Now that finally made Weston chuckle a bit. "If anyone asks, you climbed up here faster than me. Flew up here on wings. I ain't heard shit, and neither did you, yeah?"

Namazu ​

 

[NanLia]

LINCOLN
​

At some point, someone Nari didn’t recognize had come to collect her from the cell. It wasn’t Weston and whoever it was hadn’t identified themselves beyond telling her that Weston had sent him and to follow him. She didn’t know what choice she had in the matter and gathered up the blanket, and the bottle of water and finally scooped up the offered granola snack Wes left behind and followed the man out of the cell.

She’d never stepped foot in a prison in her life, before. She’d never seen images of what the inside of a prison looked like and she certainly would not have imagined what she was seeing as she shuffled down the halls behind the enforcer (of which she learned his title much later.) There were few people around which told her it was either early in the morning or very late at night, something she could no longer tell now that she’d been indoors without windows for so long.

Eventually, he led her to another security area where she passed through to what he called the Family Cells, and inside this wing, she found children, some alone, some with guardians and parents. She felt a little bit of ease being near them; certainly, if they had families and children inside the prison it couldn’t be that bad … right?

Her cell was small but private, at least, a simple cot and blankets covering the bars for some semblance of privacy. She was too exhausted to complain and curled up on the cot and passed out immediately.

The following day Nari was introduced to what would become her daily routine. She was woken up by the enforcer, coming to collect her, taken to the cafeteria where she was fed … something resembling food, and then brought to what she believed was a maintenance office, little more than a closet, that had two tables and two stools and piles upon piles of electronics.

“What am I doing here?” She’d asked, she almost hadn’t but then worried that if she just sat in the room and did nothing she’d anger someone.

“Fix these things.” He’d waved at the various items around the room. “Don’t leave here. I’ll be back to take you to lunch.” And he left. He left her in the awkward silence of the device-filled room.

She swiftly learned that no one monitored what work she was completing. On her first day, she started to tell the enforcer, but he cut her off and said it was above his pay grade. Following this, she had expected someone to eventually check in on her, but it never happened, at least not during the hours she was there.

Her afternoons were free, and for the first week, she spend them sitting in her cell alone. In her second week, she grew more accustomed to the sights and sounds of where she was and the loneliness that came with it. She found herself wandering, though not far from her cell until one afternoon she saw daylight! The first since she’d been inside, someone had opened a random door and gone outside! It was too good to avoid, and she’d risk getting just a few daylight hours so she hurried down the hall and pushed open the door to find an open yard. Plenty of people were outside, and no one stopped her so she stepped out into the light and immediately tripped over a man being wheeled around in a chair.

She was horrified by her behavior and apologized profusely for letting herself get distracted enough to forget where she was or what she was doing. She attempted to escape back to her cell but he wouldn’t allow it.

Now, weeks later, she was headed back out to the yard after lunch for her afternoon ‘walk’ with her new friend.

She pushed the heavy metal door open and stepped out into the warm light, happy that the colder days were gone and better days ahead. Even on the rainy cold days, Nari had made a point of going outside, just so she didn’t have to feel like she was trapped here. She swiftly caught sight of Blake and Victor and approached, giving a slight bow. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hughes, Doctor Braaten, I hope your day has been good so far.”

Crono Namazu​