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OVERCAST: Prater's Rebellion

"ARF sound like good people. They're not nearly as centralized as they make themselves out to be, though," Miranda says.

The reform woman nods when you request the denoted types of equipment, seeming understanding of what you've asked for. "Is it okay if I radio my higher-ups to see if they want to bargain? They're reasonable, I promise," she says. "They might not even want anything here if it means helping a potential ally. Though, we also got supplies back at the base that we could also offer up as well, in case we want to exchange it for any of the loot here. And, of course, I'd like to contact my superiors to see if I could give you my group's frequency."
 
"Sure, go ahead. We're going to continue rounding up whatever gear we can and dealing with our new captives," Prater says, being kind with Miranda. He had heard rumors of those who fought out in the Dirty Zone, how ruthless it was. In his mind he was almost positive that a demonstration of power but that he was also reasonable would stick well with these people. He also believed he already had the upper hand with his large numbers.

Leaving one of the militiamen to discuss further diplomacy with Miranda, Prater headed over to Building 3 where the captives sat, waiting for judgement. When he walked into the building, he would observe each of the three blindfolded captives. "Shadwell. Stand," Prater says, his voice unforgiving and full of anger. As he orders the NPA recruit to stand, he pulls out his revolver and empties the chamber, making sure five bullets were audibly dropped. He stashes the sixth bullet in his pocket as quietly as possible.

"We're going to play a game," Prater says, with that, he gestures to two militiamen to grab Rachel and bring her to another building where no one else was. When the group arrived in a vacant building, Prater ensures that her hands and feet are bound then puts the revolver to Rachel's head. "There's one bullet in this revolver. It's a .38 round. One shot through your skull will kill you instantly and prevent you from turning into one of the infected," he lifts it from her forehead. He instead points it into her stomach. "That's why I'll shoot you in a stomach. You'll slowly bleed to death and you'll be able to think about all your family and friends and how you'll never get to see them again. You'll be spared becoming one of those devils, though. I wouldn't curse that upon my worst enemy," Prater says through gritted teeth.

"Here's how this game works. I'll ask you a question. If I don't like the response, I'll spin the cylinder and pull the trigger. You either have many chances, or one chance. It'd be best to tell the truth the first time, though, because you don't know if you'll be able to speak again afterward. Are the instructions clear to my game?" Prater says, his voice emotionless as he explains the twisted game to her.
 
Miranda says goodbye, remaining behind to count up the equipment with your men. You walk over to visit the captives in Building 3, and have Pvt. Shadwell seized by Luke Holloway and Travis Florins and hauled off to Building 5. Building 5 is vacant, and also rather far from both the rendezvous point (where most of your men are loitering at the moment) and Building 3, so you should have some privacy. The captured gardeners are left in the company of a few other militiamen, who share some water with the old man and the young girl.

When you reach Building 5, you nearly end up slipping in a puddle of blood- it looks like a few soldiers got devoured by zombies in here. Your lackeys move any half-eaten corpses outside before tying Pvt. Shadwell to a chair so that she doesn't squirm around too much. Travis looks like he enjoys the whole sadistic bondage thing, while Luke Holloway is mostly interested in his shiny new Government carbine, standing off in the corner inattentively.

Shadwell goes pale (well, as pale as she can be) when you begin to tell her about what will be happening next. "What the fuck..." she mutters, shivering a little. "I mean... okay? Look, I don't know much, but sure. Don't hurt me."
 
"A b-battalion," she says. "I'm not sure how many... maybe, over three hundred at least. It's... it's not where I was stationed, though."
 
"I was from this one," she says. "More like... sub-outpost?" She sighs. "I can't believe everyone's fuckin' dead."
 
"All that shit is encrypted, and they hop frequencies constantly," she says.
 
"We'll revisit that subject. How many NPA soldiers are stationed at the Labor Camp south of Chauvez?"
 
She gulps. "I mean... well, they need to keep an eye on almost a thousand people. So maybe... ninety or a hundred guards? One in ten? I don't know, honest."
 
"Why didn't you tell me that the first time? Is there anything else I should know about the Labor Camp, Rachel?" Prater says with a condescending tone. He pushes the revolver into her stomach.
 
"Nrh- d-d-don't! I'm sorry," she gasps, briefly struggling in the chair, but she is too tightly bound to move around too much. "I said it's 'cause I don't know! Fuck! I just guessed!" She takes a few deep breaths, and calms down. "I don't know much about the labor camp. They don't tell us about that shit. All I know is that Homeland Security sends you there if you fuck up."
 
"Good Rachel." Prater relieves some of the pressure. "Where are NPA outposts in the southern part of Centralia?"
 
Pvt. Shadwell scowls, no doubt feeling treated like a dog. Still, she answers the next question. "Like... we got a Central Clean Sector and an Eastern Clean Sector. So southern CR is like... not actually controlled, unless you're talking about Amp Zones. Those aren't really outposts, more like... disconnected cities in the middle of a sea of DZ. Crawburg is one of them."
 
"We don't camp in the DZ, that's fucking retarded," she murmurs. "Only commandos go out there, and for god knows what reason. Probably trying to kill Warlord Tom."
 
"Watch your tone. I meant camps in the Clean Zone." Prater says, his voice stern, reminding her who has the gun without directly saying it.
 
Shadwell grits her teeth, nodding. "Okay, okay. Well, I mean... there's a camp at the crossroads between Noon, Tosaco, and Arkwright. Common knowledge at this point, I guess... but I mean, other than the big outposts that literally everyone knows exists, I don't know anything about camp-sized places."

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"I'm a radio operator, not a quartermaster. I wouldn't know about any of that stuff," Shadwell tells you.
 
She pauses for a moment, before shrugging and sniffling. "I.... I don't know, man. I just wanted someone to come save us. I didn't wanna get eaten. I'm fuckin' stupid, I shouldn't have broadcast all that stuff." She exhales through her nostrils. "I mean... well, I never killed anybody. Just let me go, please? You won't see me again, I'll... I'll just go somewhere else, wait for all this to blow over." She tries to smile uneasily.
 

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