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

[NanLia]

WISCONSIN
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Auguste hated travelling. More specifically, he hated travelling in this god-forsaken box truck that the club had procured for this very specific job. He hated the half seats of the second row, the edge hardly making it to the top of his thighs. He hated the cramped frigid quarters, and frozen wastelands they travelled and, most of all, he hated the near-constant ache in his legs from keeping them tucked behind the driver's seat. At six and a half feet, there was simply not enough room for him to exist in the space, let alone find comfort. At least not physical comfort.

Things had changed for him, over the past few months. The horde and the high school had done a number on him, he knew. He could sense it himself, a little more cautious when stepping into shit, an extra pause to consider other options than simply killing. Much of this had to do with the knowledge that he, and the other members of the club, had destroyed that community. Ignorant or otherwise, he was complicit. He’d help get kids killed. He’d helped ruin their safe homes. He’d helped in sending them to that prison.

Auguste would have loved to have claimed that this new moral higher thought process was due to his own development but after forty-two years of life, twenty-six of which had been dedicated to this very club, he had a very singular way of seeing the world. It was the club versus everyone else, and fuck the other guys. The change in his thought, the change in his perspective was entirely Lila’s fault. For better or worse. That girl had dug into him, had him on a fucking leash and he wouldn’t have it any other way, even if it meant he’d sleep more peacefully.

After their return from the high school, Auguste had enacted a change that surprised (and likely annoyed) some members of the club: he’d moved Lila into his trailer. He’d resisted the idea for so long that something in him just eventually broke and he came to the knowledge that he couldn’t continue as he had, not leaving her alone to the Probys and their fuckery. He was gone too often to do much but break teeth after getting back. At least this way, at least now, he could leave in peace knowing she carried his title. She was his and he’d murder any fuck who even looked at her wrong.

And for all of this Lila was still her bubbly happy self. Happy, he liked to think, because he’d finally put a ring on it … her words, not his.

Leading up to their destination he sat up straighter, focusing on the task at hand and not what he’d left behind to be in this miserable place.

Auguste would have chuckled at Fish’s warning but the second he opened the door cold air flooded the previously warm cabin. He gritted his teeth and popped open his door, stepping out with a stifled groan as he stretched his legs. Somehow this job felt too altruistic for the club: generators to the CDC? He hadn’t been privy to what they gained from it but he doubted it was drugs, alcohol or weapons.

He looked around the dark parking garage, closing his door softly, taking a moment to walk around to the front of the truck and survey the other parked vehicles. “Câlice,” He hissed, turning back to Fish. “I should have brought a warmer coat.”

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[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Chris Tremble

Head of Security

CDC

The CDC’s Head of Security guided the van in reverse towards the interior entrance. Other guards surrounded the van’s perimeter with their guns at ready as they whispered amongst themselves. The garage chains were released, shutting the entry doors and locking the bikers inside with no way out. A few lights flickered overhead, but the rest of the large garage remained dark with hopes of preserving energy for the upper levels. As Fish exited the vehicle, the head of security stepped forward to introduce himself.


With his arm extended and his hand firm, he moved in to shake Fish’s hand. “I’m Chris Tremble, head of security for Level 1 and 2 of this building. Thank you for making the trip. We really appreciate it,” he stated kindly with a soft smile. Chris walked around as the rest of the bikers left the van, his men peeking inside in awe of Mr. Han’s continuous charity towards their cause. “We’ll be quick so you can make your way back-“ Chris started before a sudden harsh rattle startled him and the rest of his crew. The garage doors shook uncontrollably against the loose chains that swung left, right - echoing through the empty garage. Guards raised their weapons and aimed them towards the doors, clicking off their safeties and sliding their fingers on the trigger. The flashlights strapped to their rifles clicked on and searched the premises. The doors rattled again.


“Weapons down! Jesus Christ guys, it’s the damn wind! Relax! This isn’t your first rodeo!” Chris ordered over Fish’s shoulder, chuckling as his own grip shifted from his gun holster to his belt stealthily - trying to act cool.. “I’m sorry about that, the weather here has been unpredictable in the last few days,” he explained as the doors continued to shake. “My men will unload your truck and we’ll have you guys ready to go in no-'' he started before the radio strapped to his vest interrupted him. A voice called through the static. Chris lifted his finger to shush the crowd, leaning his ear into the walkie. “Chris, we’ve got a problem,” the words broke through, raising concern for everyone. Chris smiled at the bikers, “Get these generators into inventory!” He commanded his crew before excusing himself, walking away from the truck through vinyl strips with his walkie glued to his lip.


Guards leaped into the van and started moving the generators off the vehicle as instructed. Two other gentlemen came through curtained walls with pallets on wheeled jacks. The generators were loaded on the pallets and wheeled off back through the curtains into what would appear to be a supply area. Chris came back through as the generators faded away. He huffed as he approached Fish and the rest of the Angels. “Bad news boys. There’s a storm coming,” Chris revealed. “You may just want to wait it out here with us. We can take you upstairs and get you guys settled in for the night. I don’t know how bad it is but driving back might be risky. My guy says there’s a lot of snow coming in, a blizzard perhaps. What do you guys say?”


—


The elevator was turned off so the crew had to take the stairs up to Level 2 of the building. Chris led the Angels up, unlocking the entrance door before escorting them inside. “You may want to close your eyes,” Chris suggested jokingly as a flash of light struck them like a sucker punch through the crack of the door. The entire second floor lit up like Christmas, a complete one-eighty from the parking garage conditions. The entry led into the building's kitchen. It looked as pristine as the ones in Chef Ramsay’s cooking shows. Two ladies manned their stations, wearing maroon chef coats with their names. One was Louise Holden, head chef. She was an older brunette, maybe in her forties. Her expression appeared ruthless as she cooked - very organized and focused. The other was Martha, sous chef. Martha was younger, late twenties. She had her black hair tied up in a bun and gave the men a smile as they came in through the doors. Both appeared to be very busy that morning as they prepared breakfast for everyone in the building.


“Good morning ladies,” Chris greeted as he led the Angels through. He winked at Martha as they. Neared the exit. “That’s my wife, Martha,” he explained. “The other lady is Chef Holden. She’s a total badass in the kitchen, but never really speaks, just cooks.” The crew broke out of the kitchen and into a long empty hallway. The floors were crystal white, very clean and polished. Chris guided the Angels towards the windows to see the storm that his men outside had buzzed about. “Woah, that doesn’t look good,” he admitted as a forceful white mist covered the skies. Snow clashed against the windows, shaking them. Chris looked down to see what was going on below and caught glimpses of his men escaping the conditions. “Alright, c’mon, let me show you the common area.”


After reaching the end of the hall, Chris opened up two large double doors. An immediate culture shock from the dark garage and empty hall. People, regular people, lingered through the open space - chatting, playing, working. The large room was filled to the brim with energy. To the left, Kids of all age sat at attention in school desks, taking instruction from a female teacher. To the right were lunch tables were people chatted, read and played cards as they waited for breakfast. To the center was a large lounge area. Large modern sofas, chairs and an entire catalog of university lounge furniture. As Chris and the Angels stepped deeper into the space, faces turned to greet them. Some people waved, others actually approached them to say hello and introduce themselves as the group made their way through. “This is our recreational area. Lunchroom and dining area over there on your right. Over there is the lounge. We’ve got a large television and a bunch of movies to choose from. We draw names from a bucket to see who gets to pick the movie we watch each day. Movie night is at seven o’clock every night. There’s a kids area is in the back. Steve built the younglings a jungle gym for when they’re not in class. He was in construction and is a freaking genius. Really good dude. You see the bookshelves on all the walls? This used to be a library, so there’s tons of content to read from if you’re an avid reader like myself. It’s like winning the lottery!” Chris said excitingly.


“C’mon. Down this hall are all of our dorms. We try to double up as much as we can and keep families together if possible. It’s worked well so far. Everyone here has a job and we all pitch in to make things work. Schedule is posted on Sundays each week with tasks. Mr. Han gave us this opportunity, so we’re going to make sure this place flourishes. I’m going to have you guys take the last room down this way, George here will escort you. I’ll finish up downstairs and be back to get you more situated.” Chris patted Fish on the shoulder and smiled at the rest of the Angels as he motioned Guard George to guide the men to their designated room.


“This way,” said George. As the men started down the hallway away from the common areas. Residents peeked out of their rooms and watched the bikers. A young man started towards them nonchalantly and nodded as George passed him. He looked up at Auguste, licking his bottom lip and looking at the back of George’s head before quickly handing him a folded piece of paper the size of a gum wrapper. Without a second to waste he took off like a rocket down the hallway, running towards the common area. Guard George was oblivious and got the Angels to their rooms. The two rooms faced one another and were at the end of the hall. George pulled out his master keys and unlocked both doors. The rooms were identical and minimalistic. They each had two high bunk beds on opposite sides of the room. A waist high cabinet slid under the tall bed frame for clothing and sheets. A wooden desk faced the large curtained window at the end of the room and each bed had a small nightstand near the footboard. George looked at his watch and then at Fish. “We’ll retrieve you all for breakfast in about ten minutes. After breakfast we’re having our monthly Level 3 raffle! You guys are in for a treat!,” he said before leaving the men.

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[Namazu]

M.C.

Matt “Fish” Fischer

Secretary

CDC BUILDING

“Shit, man, shoulda done this in the fall or summer, not in the Goddamn winter.” Fish murmured in response to Auguste’s comment about a warmer coat. There was something about winters that felt more biting now. Before the dead, winters were still cold, and a hassle, but it could be escaped. There were warm homes and warm businesses and people working to keep the world running despite the weather. But nowadays? Winter made it feel like the planet died too.

The group of Fallen Angels playing delivery boys must have seemed intimidating to those at the CDC - and Fish was hoping to keep it that way. A nice, tall, thick barrier between Them and Us so that if shit hit the fan, none of them would feel guilt about fucking off out of Wisconsin and going back home. Fish had learned the hard way that caring too much about the other guy was a weighty thing to carry - and when you were ultimately responsible for killing families, women, children, innocents… it was something you needed to cope with. Fish was still figuring out how he was coping beyond retreating into a hard outer shell. In the meantime, he had primarily just clammed up, did his job in silence, and put some distance between himself and almost everyone else, except for Kit.

One look at the CDC’s head of security and the crowd that came to help out told Fish a lot about this place. The group was organized but nervous, the guy too clean cut and cheery. He got met with a handshake - which he returned - instead of a pat-down for weapons and cloaked threats. They looked… untested.

They looked like a group that hadn’t just rained death down upon unsuspecting people.

“Fish. I’m running this on our side.” He introduced himself to Chris as he motioned to the truck with his head, foregoing first and last names and roles - especially roles. If this guy wasn’t familiar with how a club ran, saying he was a secretary could give off the wrong impression. All the guy needed to know was that right now, he was in charge of his own. Fish offered Chris the faintest of smiles that didn’t reach his eyes as they shook on it.

Fish realized these CDC folks were being too-trusting fools, not patting them down and taking their weapons from them. It was about the time that Fish had his handgun out of its holster and aimed at the rattling garage door in a heartbeat. He made a mental note of who among the guards drew their weapons faster or slower than the others, who was armed with what, who seemed jumpy, who seemed trained, and who was ready to waste bullets on something that made noise before seeing what it was.

“It’s fine-” He started, his attention going to the radio on Chris’ vest as it crackled about a problem. Making eye contact with his own people that had climbed out, he motioned for them to step off to the side and let the CDC grunts do the heavy lifting. His handgun was slid back into its holster for now.

Once they were out of earshot, Fish pulled his black knit hat off and ran a hand through his hair, the few rings around his fingers feeling cold against his scalp. He’d caught a glimpse of himself earlier that day in the side mirror and swore he saw a bit more grey in his hair than he used to see before. He was dressed in layers, knowing he’d be tackling a lot of cold but ran the risk of getting sweaty and hot if he had to hustle against the living or the dead: dark denim jeans tucked into tall black boots, with a long dark leather trench coat over his black denim patched vest, which was over a black sweater with a hood. He unzipped a little at the neck, which showed some bright orange peeking out beneath the other layers. Between the mismatch of colors against darkness and jewelry and long coat, it was possibly hard to tell if Fish was a biker, a hobo, or a hippy - but that was typical Fish style. Probably not what the CDC was expecting, not from the guy in charge of the boots on the ground, but they could suck an egg if they didn’t like it.

“Keep your eyes peeled till we get out of here. We won’t know what we need to know until we need it so don’t slack.” Fish looked beyond Kit’s shoulder and studied the guards as he whispered, pretending to be picking a stray hair off his hat before putting it back on, then adjusting his holster as he spoke - making it look from the outside observer that they were having a casual, tired huddle.

“Armed means something worth guarding.” He rubbed a hand down his face, raising his eyes as Chris re-emerged from behind the plastic strips that sectioned off another part of the garage. He gave those gathered around him quick looks to gauge how they were doing before putting on an impassive neutral face again as Chris returned.

The news that a storm was coming put a frown on his face, and he huffed out a lungful of air. He couldn’t look too uncaring or too excited about the idea or that would raise red flags either way. He just had to properly aw-shucks it and gracefully accept their hospitality. Even if he’d rather go sleep in a snowbank.

“We got a long drive ahead of us, and doing even part of that in a blizzard is risky business. We’ll stay.” He glanced up at Auguste first, being the Sgt. at Arms and all, then the others, to gauge their reactions.

Fish followed Chris up the stairs and inside, stealthily taking a moment to make sure his weapons were still neatly concealed under his layers. The guy wasn’t joking about closing his eyes either - when the door opened, Fish had to squint against the sudden flood of light. Wasteful light; no wonder they needed generators, but damn if that didn’t hurt for a moment. It felt bizarre for this entry to lead straight into a kitchen - straight into access to supplies possibly - but he said nothing. Fish offered the ladies in the kitchen a polite nod and a respectful ‘ma’am’ to them both.

The clean, sterile white of the hallways was off-putting. It reminded Fish of hospitals and treatment centers far too much, and it sent a shiver up his spine.

If the hallway wasn’t bad enough, the common room actually made Fish flinch. Subtly, his hand reached down for Kit’s sleeve, giving it a tug as he glanced at the younger man. Some silent communication passed between the two with a shared look only.

Fish’s attention hopped from person to person, activity to activity, taking stock of what he saw. It was brighter and definitely more family-friendly than their own clubhouse, but it immediately made him wonder if that’s what that school had been like, before they got there. Before they ruined everything. He wondered if Chris knew the Fallen Angels were destroyers of communities, not saviors. He likely didn’t, not by the way he was giving them a tour of the place like they were welcoming friendly guests. Fish didn’t wave back, didn’t return any greetings beyond giving a few subtle nods to people who actually stepped up to them. The wall between Them and Us had to stand tall and sturdy. It had to.

They were friendly and normal and by God Fish wanted to run because distance was the only thing that gave these people a chance in hell of surviving.

Fish’s skin crawled as Chris patted him on the shoulder and left them in the care of some other poor schmuck. Dead man walking, he thought, as Chris left to go return to his post.

The sight of the young man passing Auguste a note raised alarm bells in his mind, but Fish did not react to the sight. If the man didn’t want their tour guide to see this, there was a reason for it, and he was not going to rock the boat right here, right now. By the time they were left alone in a room, with the door closed, Fish finally exhaled heavily. He popped the door open a crack to peek outside, made sure nobody was lingering, then silently closed it again. He motioned for the gathered Fallen Angels to huddle close so he could lower his voice.

"Do not get too comfortable. Keep your eyes open and your weapons on you. Take stock of anything you can. Number of people, floorplan, exits, defenses, supplies, weak spots, hard targets, trained personnel versus regular civvies, weapons, health concerns, personality problems, anything. Someone find out what a fucking Level 3 Raffle is, but don’t participate in it. Orders to not touch anything stands, and that includes their way of doing things. Chris, don’t flirt with anyone, and definitely do not fuck any of them.” Fish folded his arms over his chest, glancing out the window.

Everything was white and there wasn’t anything left to see. For a Secretary, whose job and best skill was watching, taking stock, and keeping record of everything the club saw and did, not being able to see even a foot past the window was a bad sign.

“I don’t even know if we should eat their food.” He glanced between those gathered and counted heads. Himself, Auguste, Kit, Beau, Chris, and Mariska. Six bodies and four beds.

“Either we sleep in shifts, or folks double up.” The idea earned Marisaka and apologetic look, since she was the only woman among them at the moment.

“I won’t make you double up if you’re not comfortable with that. Kit and I are the scrawny fuckers here, we can always share if need be.” Fish patted around in his pockets until he found something to tie his hair back - a thin, dark purple elastic-y band he’d ‘borrowed’ from Lila before leaving. Combing his hair back with his fingers, he tied his hair behind his head and out of his way.

“So Auguste, gonna share with the class the note you got passed?” He stared holes into the taller man, waiting for him to share.

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[Namazu]

M.C.

Lila Adkins

Ex-Prisoner

FLASHBACK - AFTER THE SCHOOL, BEFORE WINTER

Auguste paced the hall outside the infirmary where he’d last seen Weston, a face and a name he distinctly recalled from his life before. He’d heavily debated in the hours before now, on whether or not he’d even approach the man. He could have walked away, Casey was adamant about returning to their home, to their people immediately and he could have used that as an excuse to simply ignore it. Something gnawed at him. Deep inside his soul he could feel it tugging at his heart.

“Osti de sacrament.” He hissed before pushing himself off the wall and stepping into the quiet infirmary. It was not hard to find the rival biker sprawled out on a makeshift hospital bed. Much like himself, he was covered in tattoos.

Auguste approached, cautiously, stopping at the end of the bed and waiting for Weston to acknowledge him before speaking. “Not here to start shit,” He clarified, mostly as a reassurance to himself; Auguste was still very much loyal to his club and he wasn’t sure if Weston was too, but he wasn’t about to risk starting a fight. “Just need to ask you a few things.”

Eyes closed, a hand resting on his forehead, and trying to distract himself from his headache by thinking about how lumpy this excuse for a hospital bed was, Weston almost didn't hear the footsteps approaching. He cracked one eye open, and immediately tensed when he saw Auguste approach his bed. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and scooted backwards on the bed, adding more distance between the two. The quick movement made him grimace from pain, adding to the scowl he gave the older man.

"What?" It was clear in his tone he wanted to snap more at the man, but held himself back, not trusting that he really meant he wasn't there to start shit.

Auguste paused, blowing out a breath as he considered his next words cautiously. “Are you still with your club? Or are you with these Samaritans?” He wasn’t certain why he was asking, and neither were ideal situations for whom he wanted to discuss. He shifted, awkwardly, moving to lean against a side table and a little further away from the center of the room. He didn’t want anyone else from his club to see him speaking with Weston, at least not until he was done.

"Samaritans, but only because my club is gone, thanks to you and yours. Dead. All of 'em. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Weston eyed the man up and down suspiciously, uncertain where this was going. Adjusting himself in bed, he leaned back against the wall behind the bed, hand coming to rest atop where he was stitched up.

Auguste crossed his arms over his chest, nodding briefly as Weston confirmed what he’d suspected, at least that he was with the Samaritans and not his club. “I don’t know that everyone from your club is dead and gone.” He cleared his throat. “You’d be surprised who survives out there but…” He inhaled deeply. Just rip the bandage off… “We - I, have Lila. She’s back with my club, left her there before coming here and she’s safe.” He had to stop himself from saying any more.

That revelation, that name, made Weston sit up straight and swing one leg off the bed before he stopped himself. The other man might not tell him anything more if he got in his face or got belligerent - even if he wanted to. Eyes wide with surprise, he stared at Auguste for a moment, searching for any sign he was lying.

"Why is she with you? How'd you find her?" He swung his other leg off the bed, ignoring the pain in his side as he slid off the bed. "I need to see her."

Auguste stood up straight as Weston moved, for a second he thought the former rival was about to throw hands. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he blamed him. And, with what he was about to say, that might still happen.

“She’s with us because before the world went to hell we … she got away when we went after your club. We found her later.” He huffed, saying it aloud after all this time just sounded just as dumb as he thought it would. “Listen, man, different world. Point is she’s fine, she’s been fine and I’ve been keeping her that way.” He sighed but nodded. “I can arrange that.” He didn’t care if Hank or Casey thought otherwise. “But she’s not staying with you, not unless she wants to.”

"Her world went to hell because YOU guys killed her family. Don't fucking forget that part." He pointed one very angry finger right at Auguste, other hand grabbing onto the thin excuse for a sheet atop the bed. He didn't move closer, at least. He worked his jaw back and forth, glaring at Auguste while he processed this information. "We meet in a neutral location. Not here, not where the Samaritans shack up, not your place. How long do you think it'd take to arrange that?"

Auguste's heart squeezed with Weston’s accusation like he hadn’t known that to be the truth already. Every day he had to watch her serve the club because of their actions, because he was complicit in what his club had done to her family. Nothing would change that.

“Give me a few days.” He said simply. “Name the place and we’ll meet you there.”

--------

Auguste spent the hours it took to return to the club’s home contemplating exactly how he was going to explain this to Lila, how he was going to face her at all. He didn’t regret telling Weston, and he didn’t regret the fact that he was about to tell her she had family still living. What worried him, what gnawed at the pit of his stomach that he might actually lose her! He couldn’t give her a good enough reason to stay; at least not one that he felt she deserved.

At the gates, he answered what questions he could, doing his best to give short-clipped answers. He lied, for the first time in his life with the club, stating that Casey had sent him with a mission. He’d pay for it later, though that was a future-Auguste problem.

Inside the clubhouse, he found it empty. Well, not empty in truth, but Lila wasn’t there. He’d gone to the backroom where she stayed but found her sleeping mat empty. Gone, in fact. He had a sinking feeling as he came back out from the back room and one of the probies chuckled. “You looking for your old lady?”

Auguste glared at the boy, advancing with a growl, ready to pummel him into jello if something had happened when he raised his hands defensively. “Yo, yo old man. She’s in your bunk. Fuck!”

He breathed relief, turning to stride out of the clubhouse and the few meters away to his trailer, flinging the door open. “Lila?!”

Lila was curled up on Auguste's bed, wrapped up in one of his blankets, with her back to the wall. A book lay on the floor beneath where her hand dangled over the edge of the bed, its spine creased from being opened so many times. She apparently fell asleep reading. She jolted awake at the sound of the door opening and someone calling her name.

"Whatthefuck-" She started, sitting upright, blanket hanging off her shoulder, hand reaching for a knife under the pillow. It took her a moment of blinking at Auguste for her brain to process who had barged in.

"You're back!" She untangled herself from the blanket, leaving the knife on the bed, and quickly crossed the negligible distance through the trailer to wrap her arms around Auguste's shoulders, giving him a hug.

Auguste felt the tension in his body melt away when he spotted her in his bed, suddenly feeling guilty about waking her at all, let alone startling her. He smiled at the warm welcome, pulling her in close, and hugging her tightly. “Yeah, I’m back.” He couldn’t help himself, leaning back to look down at her. He smiled, leaning in to brush his lips against hers gently. “Sorry for waking you.”

Lila smiled back, standing up on her tiptoes to meet his lips with hers, hands sliding down his shoulders and arms to give his biceps a little squeeze. "Mh, its okay, I probably shouldn't sleep the day away." She tilted her head, looking Auguste over, frowning a little. "Is everything okay? Are -you- okay?"

Auguste smiled sadly, reaching up to gently tuck a stray hand of hair behind her ear. “I’m alright but … I met someone.” He frowned, knowing it sounded entirely off. “We saved the community, or most of it, but Wess is hurt. He’s still there resting before everyone else can come back but... I found Weston there. He wants to see you.”

In another time, hearing a man say he met someone might have made her mind immediately leap to the conclusion she was getting dumped. Here and now, where there really weren't many people left worth meeting, and she wasn't even convinced she could call what she and Auguste had dating, she could only stare at him, confused, until he said more. The name hit her right in the heart like a ton of bricks. Lila immediately let go of Auguste and took a few shaky steps backwards, taking a quick seat on the bed again.

"What?" It was all she could get out at first, mouth suddenly dry. "He-" Lila stopped, putting a hand over her mouth for a moment, tears quickly welling up in her eyes. She rubbed them away with the back of one hand. "I have to go see him, Auguste. I have to. Is he okay? Where is he?"

She stepped away from him and he immediately felt cold, he swallowed and waited as she processed what he’d told her. He hadn’t doubted for a second that she would want to see him, though despite this he still felt his heart sink. She was going to leave. Why wouldn’t she? She had family again. He nodded slowly. “He said the same, we set up a place to meet. He was hurt, but alive and recovering. If you pack your things I’ll take you to him.” Auguste paused, then asked. “Do you still have my gun?”

Lila nodded, sliding off the bed again. Instead of rushing right out the door though, she wrapped her arms around Auguste's waist and hugged him again, burying her face against his chest. "I do, yeah. Do you want it back?"

He couldn’t speak for a moment, surprised when Lila hugged him again, holding herself against him. He gently rested his hand on her back and rubbed gently. “No, but bring it. Just in case.” He knew that Weston wouldn’t hurt his family, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other dangers out there.

Lila nodded, leaning away a little so she could sniffle. Last thing she wanted to do was snot up Auguste's shirt and be that gross. "Lemme pack my bag." She slipped past Auguste, reaching for the door, pausing for a moment with her hand on the handle as she looked back at Auguste. For a moment, she stared at him like she wanted to say something, then just smiled at him and bounded out the trailer.

Auguste returned to the front gate, filling his bike’s gas tank and checking over it in general, truthfully just to kill time and not let his mind wander. If he thought too hard about it he worried that she would leave him. That she would go with Weston and stay with her family. He couldn’t blame her, truthfully, but it hurt all the same. He glanced up as he heard the door of the clubhouse close, spotting Lila practically skipping down the steps to join him. An odd thought occurred to him; she’d never ridden with him before.

With a large dark green hiking bag on her back, Lila was still working on clasping a holster around her waist as she left the clubhouse. She was fumbling with the belt a little, trying to move faster in her excitement. "Sorry - I kinda... stole this from Fish. Its his spare. He's skinny so I figured this would fit me ok." She admitted, finally getting it to fit and sit right. Auguste's gun was safely tucked away in the holster.

"I made sure it was loaded and the safety's on." Approaching the bike closer, she looked it over then up to Auguste. "Are you ready? How far away is it?"

Auguste paused as Lila approached, attempting to settle equipment, he could practically see the excitement bubbling out of her and it made him happy and sad all at once. He chuckled softly, stepping closer to her and adjusting the straps on her bag, tugging them closer to her back, then the clasps on the holster. “A few hours.”

He reached back and grabbed his helmet from where it hung from the handlebars of his bike, and placed it on her head and adjusting the chin straps to fit her. “If we get into trouble, stick near me, eh?” He waited for her to nod. “Don’t fire the gun unless you have to and only if you’re going to take one out. If we get separated, there is a radio in the saddle bag - use it, Weston should be close enough to hear you.” Satisfied, he turned back to his bike, swinging a leg over and pushing it up off the stand, waiting for Lila to join him.

Lila nodded her understanding, tucking strands of her hair under the helmet so they weren't in her face, and climbed onto the back of the bike behind Auguste. As she wrapped her arms around his waist, scooting close to his back, she realized this was the first time she'd ever rode with him.

"Don't try and catch any air or anything wild. Remember, I'm in good kidney-punching distance." She commented over Auguste's shoulder, patting his sides playfully before hugging him again. She was trying not to show it, but her arms were shaking from excitement and anticipation. Her eyes were still a little red, but the tears had stopped quickly.

Auguste chuckled softly and shook his head but said nothing more, unable to find the words he wanted to say. He wanted to warn her what Weston’s people were about, the very little he’d seen at that school he knew they were no good. But was he? Certainly not. He wanted to ask her to promise to stay but still had nothing else to offer her.

He popped the clutch and turned on the engine, smoothing rolling out of the gates and onto the road. Over several hours and many back roads they made it to the meeting place: a transport weight station on a secluded single lane highway. Somewhere between their two perceived territories. It had long since been abandoned; a place his club had looked over weeks before and it had been picked clean then, now it was just an empty shell. As they approached he kept an eye out for any other vehicles but saw none, almost thankful to arrive before Weston. He pulled up alongside the only building, cutting the engine and holding the bike still to let Lila get off before stepping over and setting it on its stand.

Lila held on tight the whole way, occasionally letting go with one arm to shake it out. She wasn't nervous about being on the back of a bike, at least. Head on a swivel, she also kept an eye out for anything that looked dangerous getting close - whether that be something dead, or alive. Once they arrived, Lila hopped off quick - eager to stretch her legs. Taking off her helmet and rubbing a shoulder with her free hand, she looked around for any sign of anyone else.

"You think he'll come? He's coming, right Auggie?" She chewed her lower lip, nervously rocking on her feet and tugging at the hem of her t-shirt, some faded purple thing they picked up somewhere, a size too big for her. She hung the helmet on Auguste's handlebars, finally going still and looking at him. "If he wants me to go with him...." She trailed off, folding her arms in front of herself, suddenly looking down at the ground.

Auguste stepped over his bike and turned to watch her nervously step around and stretch. He’d find it amusing in any other circumstances. He nodded when she asked if Weston would come but she went on to start a question but did not finish it…

He sighed, stepping forward pulling her close to him, wrapping his arms behind her and holding. He rubbed gentle circles on her back as he considered his next words carefully. “That will be up to you.” He bit his lower lip before continuing.

“I don’t know if who he’s with is safe, cheri.” He wanted to word this carefully - “They had the people at the school hostage. That community we were trying to keep the horde away from. Weston and his people had taken over the community, by force. The people there … Well, I can’t say for sure; they weren’t happy when I spoke to them. Just, ask the right questions. Make sure it’s the right choice for you.”

Lila leaned her head against August's chest, wrapping her arms around his waist again and giving him a tight squeeze.

"Hostages?" She murmured the question quietly, a frown on her face. "That doesn't sound like him. He.... He's not perfect, but he wouldn't just hold people hostage." She fell quiet, realizing that was exactly the predicament she was in, more or less. "You should come with me." She pulled away, looking up at Auguste.

Auguste felt his heartbreak at that moment, it sounded as though she had made her decision already. He smiled sadly, at her and her thought process. “It’s not that simple, love.” He leaned down to kiss her gently, despite hearing a vehicle approaching. “I can’t go with you, I can’t leave my family…” He glanced up as a military vehicle pulled off the highway and into the lot. “You tell me what you want to do after you talk with him.”

Returning the kiss, Lila was already frowning when she pulled away. It was entirely understandable he couldn't leave his family, but it was worth asking. She nodded, letting go of August as she turned to watch the vehicle pull up into the lot. The vehicle pulled to a quick stop and its engine was barely shut off when the front driver's side door swung open so quick it squeaked in protest. Weston climbed out in a hurry, leaving the door open behind him.

"Lila?!" He looked shocked for a moment before a wide smile spread across his face. He started to cross the distance between, but Lila was already breaking into a run.

"Oh my God, Weston!" She squealed, jumping up to wrap her arms around his neck and shoulders into the tightest hug she could manage. Weston grunted, pained from the force, but he didn't tell her to stop. One hand on her back and the other behind her head, he spun her around and laughed as he held on tight.

"Oh, shit, little princess, don't go breakin' my back now!" Weston drawled out, putting her back down on her feet - but not before she planted a quick kiss on his cheek. Both of them had tears of happiness in their eyes by now. Weston took Lila by the shoulders and leaned away, looking her over.

"You're okay?" He asked, needing to make sure for himself. "Been treated okay, getting enough to eat, all that?"

Auguste watched awkwardly as Lila ran to the vehicle and Weston. He felt the poison of guilt fill his gut again, he wanted the best for her, truly, but he also wanted to be selfish and keep her to himself. At the very least, he conceded, he wouldn’t openly say it. He looked away, giving the two some privacy while staying in the vicinity.

Lila nodded at Weston's question, wiping tears from her eyes with both hands. It was probably good mascara was a thing of the past - she'd be all streaky already if she had any on.

"Y-Yeah, I'm okay enough. Not hurt. We have food and water. He's been taking care of me." Lila glanced over her shoulder at Auguste as she motioned toward him, then looked back to Weston. "They're Fallen Angels. I'm sorry, I didn't look for them, they found me, I know what they did to-" She spoke faster and faster until a sob caught in her throat, and she flung her arms around Weston again.

"Shh, I know, I know, its okay." Weston spoke quietly, hand on the back of her head as he hugged her back. He let her take a moment to let it out, staring past her at Auguste. He saw that kiss the two of them shared as he as pulling up. There was no way to mistake what that was. It was not his little-like-a-sibling-affection he showed Lila. That was something different. It made his blood boil a little. Not only was the man a Fallen Angel, but he was goddamn old. Old enough to be her father, probably. It felt wrong.

"Its not the same ones, Weston." Lila interrupted his train of thought when she pulled away and looked up at him. "Not the ones that killed everyone. A different chapter. Their president is a mean bastard and the younger guys keep staring at me and making comments, but Auguste keeps all of them at bay. I trust him, and like... two other people there. But I still want to come with you-"

"I don't think its a good idea." Weston's body and soul hurt just saying it. Lila stared at him, dumbfounded, after he interrupted her - jaw open, unsure what to say.

"I want you to come with me. I want you to come home. But I don't got a home for you to come to. The place I'm at - Lila, its dangerous. Too dangerous. I'd do everything I could to keep you safe, but the second I'm not around..." Weston shook his head. Last thing he needed was Lila winding up working for Temma. Or worse. Weston leaned close, face to face with Lila, and dropped his voice low enough that hopefully Auguste wouldn't hear from his distance.

"You should stay with him for now, until its safe. Once I have things figured out, I'll come for you. Okay?" Weston held her eyes until she nodded yes. A silent understanding passed between them.

Standing back up, Weston put a hand on Lila's head and playfully ruffled up her hair, which made her snort in a frustrated laugh. As she combed her fingers through her hair, Weston moved to his truck to lean inside, grabbing a bag for her. It was a small gym bag, clean and full of things.

"I brought you some things. Call it a present to bring back with you." He offered it to Lila, lowering his voice again.

"There's a radio in there. You need me, you call me. I'll come."

Auguste lurked at the edge of the weighstation asphalt pad, keeping a distance from the pair to give them privacy but close enough he was still aware of what was happening. Lila did not look happy, and he wasn’t certain if that meant she was staying or going. Either way broke his soul. It appeared that whatever was happening, it was wrapping up between them and so he turned to wander back in their direction, drawing close enough to see Weston hand over a gym bag for Lila. She was staying then, but the thought didn’t bring any relief. He stopped short a small distance away, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Are you sure, Weston?” Lila wiped at her eyes again with one hand, taking the bag with the other, studying his face. It hurt to be this close, only to turn around and leave again.

“Princess, when are we ever sure about anything? It's your decision though - not mine, not that guy’s. Yours.” He clasped his hands on Lila’s shoulders and gave her a grin, trying to lift her spirits. “It’s so good to see you. Just check in with me on that if you do go, okay?” He nodded to the bag. “It's not just for emergencies.”

Lila nodded, giving Weston another long, lingering hug before she finally peeled herself off, looking reluctant to let go. She stepped away, looking at both Weston and Auguste.

“I need to go … step away for a second and think.” She sniffled, holding the gym bag in her arms as she stalked back off to Auguste's bike. Her back turned to the pair of them, she looked like she was taking a moment to think (and have a good cry) before she got her shit together again. While Lila was taking a moment, Weston approached Auguste, sizing him up - scrutiny all over his face. He sighed and hooked his thumbs into his pockets as he lowered his voice.

“I told her it was her decision, not ours… but that I thought she should probably stay with you. My shit excuse for a home right now ain’t safe, okay?” He furrowed his brow, studying Auguste's face. “Promise me you’ll keep her safe until I can come back for her, until I can protect her too.” He swallowed hard. This was beyond difficult for him too.

“I swear to God, if you hurt her, or if you let anyone else in your club hurt her, I will come for you all, got it?” Weston’s voice was even and cold, and he didn’t look away from Auguste's eyes as he made that promise. His tone didn’t change as he asked one more question.

“Are you fucking her?”

Auguste nodded, sympathetic to Lila; it was going to be difficult to decide but he’d resigned himself to not try and convince her one way or another when he’d decided to speak to Weston in the first place. He inhaled deeply but nodded as Weston instructed (asked?) him to keep her safe until he could return; something he figured would happen if she didn’t decide to leave with him now. It would only be a matter of time before she did leave him and the club.

His lips parted to assure him that he would never hurt Lila, at least not intentionally. He wanted to assure Weston he only wanted the best for her but his final question caught him off guard. He took a moment, simply staring at someone who had once been an enemy, uncertain that he wanted to answer the question.

Finally he sighed, and nodded. “Oui - yes. Not that you’ll believe me but I did not start it, I did not ask … or force her into it and she decides if it… if we continue.”

Weston’s gaze bored holes into Auguste as he considered the man’s words. It was good he told the truth - the last thing he wanted was for Lila to be with a lying sack of shit. He stared at the man just long enough to possibly make it uncomfortable before he smiled a little, looking down at the ground and nudging around a loose piece of cement with his boot.

“Yeah, I figured. I saw the way she hugged you. S’when I knew I shouldn’t try and make her leave.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a little awkwardly. “She’s always had a thing for older guys. Don’t tell her I said that.” He grinned at Auguste, finally letting the ice break just a little.

“Listen. I got bad blood with Fallen Angels in general, and that ain’t ever gonna change, hear me? I lost too much. Lila lost too much. But Goddamn if she ain’t more resilient than I am, and she’s trying to work through that. She’s looking at you for who you are as a person, not what your patch says. Don’t disappoint her, okay?”

Auguste stood awkwardly as Weston stared directly into soul for what felt like an eternity before the damned man cracked a grin! He felt like his soul had left his body as the former club enemy started to chat like they were old buddies. It was relieving, in its own terribly awkward way. He blew out a breath and nodded, giving the other man a lopsided grin. “That's a comfort, here I thought it was a last man on earth bit, eh?” He glanced back at Lila, who was still getting her shit together. “She'll be there when you come for her, as long as I'm still around and if I think I'm on my way out … well, she'll be covered.”

Weston stared past Auguste at Lila as she ran her hands through her hair, then wiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands. Watching her take a visibly deep breath, hold it, shake out her hands, and roll her shoulders as she exhaled brought back plenty of memories of the old days. She used to only do that little hype-up-dance when she was getting ready to play pool with the guys, or go out on a date. Now, she was doing it while making up her mind who to trust her life with.

It was a bigger decision than someone like Lila should have to make, but at least she had the opportunity to make it for herself.

"Thanks man. I appreciate that. And hey - look, I wouldn't necessarily extend this offer to all of your club, but if she's in trouble, and you're in trouble too? Both of you should come then. We could always use another person that ain't a dumbass." Weston shrugged, trying to keep the offer casual so it wasn't weird - but it was an honest one.

Lila finally turned, bag tucked under one arm, and headed back towards Auguste and Weston. It wasn't a quick stride, but a purposeful one, like she'd made up her decision. Glancing between the two, she let the bag slide to the ground.

"Sorry, Auggie-" She commented quietly as she wrapped her arms around Weston, giving him the tightest hug-squeeze she could manage until he grunted. The quick peck planted on Weston's cheek made the Samaritan toss a confused look to Auguste's face as Lila let him go.

"-You're stuck with me awhile longer." She turned and gave Auguste a wink, stepping away from Weston and taking Auguste's hand. She gave him a little tug towards his bike - a big, shit-eating grin on her face for possibly making him squirm, thinking she had chosen differently.

Auguste cocked an eyebrow as Weston went on to suggest if there was trouble, for either of them, they should find him back at his prison. He wasn’t set on the idea of walking Lila into a place like that - not after seeing what kind of company Weston kept back at that high school - and leaving her there to fend for herself. As for if he would join her … it was a tough sell, his family was his club and he doubted he could part ways with them, even if he were in trouble.

“I appreciate that.” It was the truth, whether or not Auguste would accept it. He watched as Lila returned and then felt his heart sink into his stomach. Her apology as she passed him by and went to her Weston. It had always been a possibility; that she would choose to leave the club … leave him to be with her family. He kept his face impassive, stamped down any feeling of remorse or regret for even bringing her here and readied himself to face the truth of it: she was gone.

But then the girl turned and winked at him, sliding her soft hand into his and tugged… It took a moment for him to process what she’d said, his eyes flitting up to Weston before he felt relief surge through him. He turned toward her and her damned grin, giving her a scowl for all of three seconds. “You’re a shit.” He growled but followed her back towards his bike.

As he had before he set his helmet on her head and snapped the straps down. He tightened the straps of her pack - the one she’d brought from the clubhouse back over her shoulder, then held the bike for her to get seated. He straddled his bike, pulling her second bag - the gift from Weston - over his shoulders so it rested on the saddle in front of him, then reached back to slide her close to his back.

With a final nod to Weston, he lifted the bike off the stand and turned the ignition, rolling out of the truck weigh station and back towards the club’s territory.

-----------

Auguste rolled in through the clubhouse gates after the proby opened them, bringing his bike to rest with the rest, for now. He’d have to head back to the school before dawn to make sure he wasn’t missed. He held the bike still to let Lila off before dismounting himself and hanging his helmet over the handlebars.
It felt odd to be back here again, something had changed. For him and within him. With what happened at the school, the knowledge of what they had done to those families, the children … He watched as Lila started to make her way towards the clubhouse but gave a quick whistle. When she turned, he nodded towards his trailer, wanting her to follow.

Lila held onto Auguste tightly the whole ride back, arms circled around his torso. She was never overly scared of riding a motorcycle, even if she wasn’t as bike-obsessed like her family had been. Something about riding a bike now, though, put her on edge. Unlike in a regular car or truck, there was no layer of metal or plastic between her and anything dead and rotting corpse that could leap out of the ditches or woods and lunge for her. Bikes no longer felt like freedom. They felt like being too exposed. She clung tightly, trying not to think of that. Or of family…. Or of guilt.

When they rolled back into the clubhouse, Lila silently climbed off the bike and unbuckled her helmet, running a hand through her hair to get it somewhat back into place. She hung her helmet over the opposite handlebar, grabbed her bags, and started to turn towards the clubhouse. She had things to unpack, and soon, before anyone started asking questions.

Auguste’s whistle made her turn, a questioning look on her face as her eyes followed what he was nodding at. His trailer.

Lila offered him a soft smile and backtracked, following him. “Sorry about the little scare I gave you.” She murmured. “You looked like you stopped breathing there for a second.”

Auguste huffed a breath as Lila apologised for her poor choice of joke. “I died.” He grumbled, stopping at the trailer door and tugging it open, stepping aside to let her in first. “Full on heart stopped death.” He followed her in, pulling the door closed behind him. “I'd be lying if I said I thought you'd never go with him.”

He moved to lean against the useless kitchen counter, watching her. When she didn't make any attempt to drop off her bags he stepped in and lifted one off her shoulder and set it down on the bed. “I was afraid you would leave the second I saw Weston and knew I had to tell him about you. It's not like the club has been kind to you, in any way. I thought, for sure, you were headed off today with him and leaving … “

Auguste turned to face her again, the same cold pain he'd felt out at the weigh station returning. “Stay here,” he spoke softly, almost a whisper. “Stay with me, in the trailer.” He could stand the thought of her living in the clubhouse again, anymore. “Please.”

Lila gave up her bag easily, relieved to set the heavy thing down, and leaned back opposite of Auguste so she could watch him in turn. Something felt weighty on her shoulders now - the weight of a decision made and a thousand what-ifs and the worry that Weston wasn't safe. Somehow the knowledge he was alive wasn't as much of a relief as she thought it would be.

She looked up, offered Auguste a smile, then wrapped an arm around her waist as she pressed a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. She nodded yes at his request to stay, but there were a lot of emotions hitting her at once.

"Thank you. I'd love to stay here." She finally said, clearing her throat and wiping at her eyes. "Sorry, I'm not crying at you. I'm just... having a moment." Lila pushed herself forward and wrapped her arms around Auguste, resting her head against his chest and holding on tight.

"I don't regret my decision, but I'm scared, Auggie. I'm scared for him, for you, for us... and I'm scared that I'm going to feel like this for a long time and there's nothing I can do about it."

NanLia BeyondDandy smookie Fluffy-Kat punwithinfinty Good_Morels Bullyboy Squad

 

[Good_Morels]

NORTHVIEW -​

Kit was cold the moment his boots hit the ground, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, tugged the oversized denim jacket he’d scored from an old clothing store a little tighter around himself in response to the cold, taking quiet pride in the uneasy looks his studded shoulders and safety-pinned sleeves got him. Fashion wasn't a priority in the wasteland, but painting bleach skulls and angelic decals on his denims and pressing in each of those cheap metal spikes kept him busy and made him look intimidating.

Fear was about as valuable of a weapon as you could get without getting your hands dirty and by far the most useful negotiating tool.

He tried not to visibly flinch as the door shut behind them, already on edge from the proximity of the strangers. For once, he kept his mouth shut, bushing himself with chewing on an unlit cigarette and scanning the crowd while the heads of their respective operations talked. Out of any of them, their leader Chris, apparently, unnerved him the most. As a result, he drew Kit’s attention away from the less obvious threats, his stormy gaze studying every aspect of the guy. His evaluation was cut short by the clattering of chains, which put his head on a swivel as he moved his hand over his holster. The rapid clicking of safetys had him gritting his teeth, filling his mouth with the bitter taste of unadulterated dry lavender. At least the guns weren't pointed at them.

He leaned back against the wall as the CDC guys started taking generators, studying Fish to try and parse out if he was the only one feeling sketched out. He barely noticed Beau moving towards the truck to help out the strangers, stopping him by yanking his sleeve. It didn't do much to move the bigger man, but it did warn him a hard look.

“Don't get involved.” Kit hissed around the busted cigarette.
“It's polite.” Beau lowered his voice to match him, his southern drawl rough from lack of use. He hadn't talked much at all besides “yes sir” and “naw sir” since the school, not that Kit could blame him. It took a lot out of everybody.
“You give these guys an inch they're gonna take a mile.” Kit hissed back.
“I ain't-”
Beau was cut off by Fish’s orders, which thankfully got him back into line with a grumbled “yes sir”

Kit tried not to look visibly agitated that they were staying, instead glaring down at his boots, a glare that intensified as Beau quietly thanked the strangers for their hospitality. He followed obediently, keeping an eye on the rest of the group as they climbed the stairs. He was unfortunately not paying attention when Chris warned them about the light, and as such, was immediately blinded by the kitchen.

It was clean, way too goddamn clean. He studied both women for any signs of distress, noting how they didn't bother to chat, which could honestly go either way. He didn't echo Fish’s polite greetings, Beau's empty “howdy ma’am, that looks great”s and small southern small talks covering that avenue fine for the entire group. He couldn't be too frustrated with the other man, as hard as he tried. Beau hadn't spoken this much in months. Still, it was an inconvenient time for it. As they entered the hallway, Kit felt Fish tug on his sleeve and made eye contact with him, feeling a wash of relief that he wasn't alone in his absolute terror of the place. He tried to telepathically broadcast the words “it's ok, we’re ok” into Fish’s mind as he turned away to limited effect.

He tensed as the car salesman of a leader rambled on and on about the set up of the common room, forcing as friendly of a smile as he could muster towards anybody that dared approach him. He couldn't help but think of lemmings, each step forward into the clean and warm space feeling like a foot deeper into shark infested waters. It was too nice here. Way, way too nice. What's worse, Chris continued to offer amenities and detailed explanations, as if they were important and necessary. He swallowed hard as he felt his head go beneath the waves, looking towards the door.

It almost sounded like Chris expected them to stay.

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or terrified as the dorm door shut behind them, but he took his place beside Fish in the huddle. He couldn't help but laugh as Fish mentioned not getting comfortable.

“That will not be hard.” He interjected with a sarcastic smirk, having apparently gotten his attitude back when the door shut. He barely managed to contain himself from blurting ‘it's a sex cult and they are going to use us as breeders.’, but he did manage to keep his mouth shut and listening after another hard look from Beau.

“We sure as shit don't eat their food, my medical opinion is to operate under clubbing rules. No unattended drinks and watch them pour it.” He interjected as Fish counted heads. He shot Fish a second-long sly look when he suggested sharing, but didn't comment further on it, instead looking towards Beau, who looked like he wanted to die. “Ah can sleep on the floor.” The southerner offered, which gave Kit the opportunity to return the chastising looks he’d been receiving all day.
“Like hell you can, you're going to fuck up your bad leg and your spine that way. Bunk with somebody else.”
“The secretary’s talkin’ still-” Beau argued, the two of them locked in a staring contest until Fish mentioned the note. Both of their heads swiveled towards Auguste with an expression like he was carrying a dead cat.



[/B]

​

 

[NanLia]

CDC Building
​

Auguste jumped with the rattling of the door, much like everyone around him; it was a cacophony of noise that echoed through the, presumably, empty parking garage. It was unnerving, to say the least; and he strained to listen for any telltale noise of the dead but heard nothing but more rattling.

It was concerning how quick to arms the men around them were, now pointed at the garage doors, ready to fire. Security was one thing, but this reaction? Something didn’t sit right in his stomach having seen it. As though they were expecting more…

He let Fish do the introductions as he continued to watch the guards around them, who they looked at, and what they were looking for. In all of this, he’d expected to be pat down. Expected that his weapons would be confiscated. Who let strangers into their homes in this day and age without making sure it wasn’t a Trojan horse? Fuck, if this had been their camp, small as it were, they have been half-naked before Auguste let them through.

He frowned at Fish as the news turned worse and the decision was made to stay and wait out the storm; he believed the storm was a factual thing - it wasn’t something they could just drum up to keep them here, but how they willingly invited them in made his skin crawl.

The tour seemed placid enough, with friendly people saying hello or waving. Their building was clean and organized and the announcement of movie night… Auguste knew this place was a falsehood, there was something deeply wrong here and he didn’t want to stay long enough to find out. He didn’t doubt touring the group of bikers by their children was meant to make him feel at peace and calm. He’d been to plenty of places where people killed just as often as they did with the kids were away.

George the guard seemed complacent to lead and not look over his shoulder; they were confident that they could take on his family without needing to keep a watchful eye. Auguste wasn’t certain if that was overconfidence on their part or if they believed they’d fallen for the guise of a happy settlement of peace.

He blinked as the strange man stepped out of his room and eyed him; he momentarily worried he’d have to fend off a different kind of advance when the man grabbed his hand. His lips parted to speak, to politely decline when he noted the slip of paper.

The man swiftly left and Auguste stuffed his hands into his pockets, keeping them there until they were at their final destination: lodging.

Auguste nodded and smiled at George as he exited the room, turning to listen as Fish suggested precautions. “Agreed, on both. I don’t think we eat here, not unless we’re seeing their kids eat too.” He said simply, finally pulling the paper from his pocket…

Namazu smookie Good_Morels BeyondDandy Fluffy-Kat ​

​

 

[Namazu]

M.C.

Matt “Fish” Fischer

Secretary

CDC BUILDING

Fish studied Auguste as the older man pulled the paper from his pocket, read it, and then handed it to him. Taking the paper with a raised eyebrow and turning it right-side-up, Fish read it over too.

THREE WATCHING

“What the fuck? Three-” He breathed out quietly. He did not read the rest of the note out loud, but instead held it out so that everyone could see it, read it, and nod their head that they saw and understood. The handwriting was terrible - shaky, oddly-shaped letters, and the R was backwards. Fish stared at it for a second, then looked back up at the group.

“A kid wrote it… I think this means they’re watching? That makes more sense. I think.” He paused a beat, then added: “God damn. Either the kids know something funny is going on… or the kids are in on it. I can’t decide which is worse.”

Once everyone had read it, Fish pointed to the note, mimed zipping his lips with his other hand, then reached into his pocket. He dug around until he pulled out his lighter, and with three flicks of the lighter’s wheel, he put flame to paper.

There was no way he’d let any of their hosts - who might turn out to be captors and jailors - find a note on any of them. Fish held the paper between thumb and forefinger until it had burned to a small corner barely big enough to hold on to. He blew on it, then dropped it to the tile floor and ground it out with his boot. Nothing remained but a streak of ash, and with some additional scuffing around, it looked like nothing more than some dirt tracked inside.

Sighing, Fish took a step back and dropped himself onto one of the beds, ducking so he didn’t smack his head on the upper bunk. It had been a long drive and he was feeling tired. Rubbing his hands over his face and blinking away the blurriness in his eyes, Fish shook his head.

“Too far to radio back to Casey for backup, so we’re on our own, ladies and gents. No fucking up allowed.” The usual humor in his voice was gone - not that it had fully come back following the school. He slipped the lighter back into his pocket, then rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes briefly. He felt sore and stiff all over, and it was uncomfortable.

Opening his eyes again, Fish looked at the white-out window, still seeing nothing outside. He shook out his hands, mild pins-and-needles shooting up his fingers and hands. Maybe he had to push too hard on that lighter to get it to light.

“We probably have an hour, give or take, of daylight left. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone came by soon to announce it’s dinnertime. For the sake of keeping ourselves safe, don’t act like you suspect them all of something suspicious right off the bat. If anyone asks, we’re just keeping to ourselves and not wanting to be a burden on their supplies. But like Auguste said - don’t eat unless you see the kids eating the same thing.”

Fish leaned aside on one hand, and something caught his eye. On the wall above the bottom bunk was a small canvas picture - unframed - with a child’s painting on it. It was a brown bear, or perhaps a teddy bear, on a blue background, with black eyes. Cute and all, but something was off about one of those eyes.

He stared at it for a moment before scooting closer, running his hand over the picture. A cheap canvas, like the kind you’d get for school projects with kids, not something professional, but it was dense enough to work. Oil based paint by the looks of it. The canvas was in good condition, it couldn’t be that old, but where one of the eyes was painted, the canvas was thin.

Fish reached into his pocket and took out a small solar-powered flashlight. Twisting it on, he held it up to the bottom of the thick canvas and moved it from one side to the other, watching how the light moved. The light glinted off something underneath, or inside of, the canvas. Fish blinked, surprised, then turned off the light and faced the group again.

“Nobody move.” He said quietly, leaning forward and pushing himself off the bed. He teetered just a little as he turned, holding onto the bed frame with one hand and gently prying the canvas from the wall - just an inch or two, just enough to see underneath.

Beneath the painting was, in fact, a camera. The canvas around the bear’s eye was thin, giving the camera a chance to see out, even if partially obstructed. Fish settled the painting back into place, and sat back down on the bed.

“I found a goddamn camera… and I’m willing to bet that’s not the only one.”


NanLia Good_Morels smookie BeyondDandy Fluffy-Kat

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Dr. Elias Klein

Director of CDC

CDC

The Angels’ solitary was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was heavy, likely from a large or impatient man. It made the room loud. The door then propped open from the outside. The knock a false gesture of respect from the men at the door. Two soldiers spilled into the room, taking offensive positions at opposite corners of the tight space. Their all black wardrobe resembled an army combat uniform and their at-ready rifles were held to match. Their trousers were tucked into their boots by a front closure tie. It was neat. Deliberate. Their coats were crisp and buttoned properly like they’d been cared for. They each had a patch on their right shoulder. It was hard to read because it blended in with the uniform, but it had something to do with the CDC. These two soldiers were not the same from earlier. They weren’t a part of Chris’ crew. They were trained and military. They held their weapons tight, staring at the biker gang through fixed eyes with their fingers stretched over their trigger. They were there to secure the scene. One of them was huge. He towered over them all, even Auguste. Six-five, two hundred and fifty pounds maybe. The other was around six foot, a touch slimmer but his muscularity was obvious through the tightness of his sleeves. They didn’t say a word, just stood there like statues.


A third man then entered the room. It was guard George from earlier. George was smaller in stature than most of the men in the room. He resembled a little mouse as he scurried between the armed soldiers and the Angels. He wasn’t dressed like his company, but instead like a toy soldier or great value serviceman. “Sorry gentlemen, this room is normally used for our “special” guests,” he explained, moving about them freely towards the camera Fish had found. “We use these cameras to keep an eye on them so they don’t hurt themselves.” George came off truthful. He wasn’t sweating or nervous. He was calm. He’d done this kind of thing multiple times before. He further explained that some of their tenants had disabilities and needed to be monitored. They had children and young adults with special needs. Sometimes they were escorted to these rooms during difficult times and watched over.


As he gathered the equipment, he looked over the Angels. He could sense the tension in the room, it was hard to miss. “Oh,” he said to himself as he took a deep breath. “These are men from Level 3. They’re here to escort you all to the common area for breakfast. Your weapons must stay here however. Safety concerns. I’m sure you all understand.” The slimmer soldier stepped forward, his name was Jordan. He began to frisk each Angel, removing their weapons and handing them to his partner. The larger soldier went by the name Tank. It was easy to remember due to his size. He was built like one. He took the weapons and started stashing them in one of the nearby cabinets. George stepped outside the room and waited for everyone to be cleared before escorting his guest. The process didn’t take long and the Angels were led to the common area - George leading, the soldiers in black trailing from behind.


The hallway opened up into the large common area. The large windows to the right were as white as a sheet of paper from the blizzard snow. To the left we’re multiple cafeteria lunch tables where people gathered. Others crowded the bookshelves that surrounded most of the room. They sat in the comfortable university chairs and read while they waited for breakfast to be brought in by the kitchen staff. Voices spoke over each other, no specific conversation louder than the next. Children were escorted in. Among them the teenage boy who gave Auguste the note. He was thin and small. Maybe thirteen or fourteen years old. He was a blonde little boy with blue eyes and red flushed skin. He wore a white shirt with blue diagonal stripes and cargo shirts with flip flops. He followed all the other children to the makeshift classroom near the windows. Each child sat at their assigned desk as the teacher checked them in on her notebook. The boy looked at the Angels from a distance, his name was Noah.


In the meantime, George directed the Angels to one of the nearby lunch tables. “Breakfast will be served in a few minutes gentlemen. You’ll also get to meet Dr. Klein soon. It’s raffle day. He likes to come down and give the good news personally. Anyway, enjoy.” Guard George took off towards the exit. Same door the Angels had come from initially. It led him back through the kitchen and into the garage. The soldiers in black however went a different direction. They headed down towards a hallway to the left of the common area. There was a plaque on the wall that read elevators and a makeshift sign that said restricted area. There were two more armed military personnel blocking the entrance to the hall. Jordan and Tank saluted their fellow soldiers and were allowed down the hall and into the elevators. A bright green arrow lit up pointing upward. The soldiers headed inside and to Level 3 of the building.


It was a five minute wait before the kitchen staff started rolling in through the doors. Even though there were only a few cooks, there were a lot of helpers that delivered food into the lunchroom. People cheered for the staff as they came in, bringing smiles to their faces. Claps came together like a bad melody, but everyone was ecstatic for their meal. Breakfast was broiled potatoes, one sunny side up egg and a handful of berries. The meal was accompanied by a cup of pulp-in orange juice. It didn’t sound like much but everything was seasoned professionally. The presentation itself was almost out of this word with the egg layer over the mount of potatoes and the berries stretched over it like a rainbow on the plate. It was art. Chef Holden was an artist. It was Chris’ wife Martha that delivered the food to the Angels personally. She approached them with blushed cheeks and a big smile. Martha was young. Somewhere in her early thirties. She had a good figure for a sous-chef. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a bun. She wore black cooking gloves over her pale hands. She had cute freckles up her arms and across her nose. A cross necklace hung from her neck. She was a woman of faith who was not afraid to show it.


“Thank you all for coming. I know the road can be troublesome, but we thank you from the bottom of our hearts for making the delivery on time,” Martha stated passionately. She took plates from her food cart and started distributing them for each member of the Angels. “What do you guys think of all of this?” She asked them, curious about their feelings. She wanted to see if they would lie to her or tell her the truth. She had a knack for telling. She could always tell if Chris was lying. Martha decided to take a second from her shift and sit with the gang members. She wasn’t afraid of them. Not many of the tenants were. They were all protected by Mr. Han, a very powerful man. “Has Chris explained the raffle to you all?” She asked curiously. When nobody responded she let out a faint giggle. “Well, then let me tell you. We have a raffle once a mon-“ her explanation was cut short by the sudden rally.


The room broke into applause. They stopped their breakfast, stood from their chairs and greeted Dr. Klein who’d just come down from Level 2 like a celebrity. People whistled, others rushed to surround him and shake his hand. The crowd treated him like a glorified superstar. Dr. Klein was an elegant man. His hair was a fine shade of gray. It was slicked back and reached the top of his shirt collar. His sideburns were darker than the rest of his hair. He had a neatly trimmed five o’clock shadow. He was well dressed for breakfast. A black suit and silver tie. “I left my lab coat upstairs,” he joked with the crowd, his Northern European accent prevalent. His lips were thin, but his smile was wide. His eyes were bagged by hours of hard work, but they seemed content by the crowd's positive vibes. Soldiers escorted the man towards the windows of the room. Tenants began to quiet down and take their seats. Dr. Klein stopped inches from the windows, looking through them as though he could see the world abroad. He turned to face the crowd, his hands clasped behind his back.


“Good morning. It is a pleasure to see you all again. I hope you all have been well. It looks like Santa Claus had come early this year,” he joked again, his cheeks puffing up as he waved at the kids to his left. He turned over at the table of Angels thereafter. He didn’t recognize them but knew who they were. He’d seen them on the cameras and was aware of their drop off. He started walking towards their table. His soldiers began to follow him, but he stopped them with a gestured palm. He reached their table. The quiet in the room could kill as people observed from afar. Dr. Klein placed his hands on the table, leaning in and eyeing the Angels. He looked at each member for some time, as though inspecting them. Then he smiled again, his thin smile. He looked up at the room. “Please, a round of applause for our new guests!” The crowd applauded. “Thanks to them and Mr. Han we get six more months to fight the big fight. We are getting closer and closer to solving the puzzle that is this disease. We will have results soon. But please, do not let me keep you. Enjoy your breakfast!” The crowd cheered one more time before they returned to their food and conversation. The room grew louder again.


Dr. Klein gestured to one of the empty seats. Martha asked him to please sit, which he did. He placed his elbows on the table. “Gentlemen. We have not been formally introduced. I am Doctor Elias Klein, director of North Carolina’s Center for Disease Control and Prevention,” he started, extending his hand to shake that of each Angels’. “Well, I used to be. Now we’re here, thanks to Mr. Han’s efforts and the hard working men and women you see all around you.” He nodded at Martha. “I’m sure you are wondering what we do here. Well, let me tell you. My sole purpose is to find a cure to this disease that has plagued our world. We are the last standing science based and data driven organization left statewide and we plan to eradicate this disease once and for all. Me and a team of trained individuals are working every hour of every day trying to make a change. I thank you all for being a part of this. The generators you were able to deliver will grant us at least six more months of study. And of course, we will be able to keep our civilization safe.” He gestured to all the people in the room. They were the civilization he referred to.


Dr. Klein was about to speak again when one of his security soldiers approached the table. “Sir, the raffle,” the soldier said simply. “Oh! That’s right, I almost forgot.” Dr. Klein stood from the table. Martha looked excited. “Excuse me gentlemen, we will talk again soon.” Dr. Klein walked back towards the windows and cleared his throat to catch the people's attention. Even though it wasn’t loud, the people quieted down once again. People stood from their seats, interlocking their index finger and middle finger for good luck. Others closed their eyes and seemed to prey. “Today we have our monthly raffle!” Dr. Klein lifted his hands up as the crowd broke into applause. Some people whistled loudly in excitement. Guard George came back through the doors with Chris by his side. Chris approached Martha from behind and put his hands on her shoulders which made her jump. She freaked for a second before realizing it was Chris and laughed it off. Chris kissed her at the temple as he listened to Dr. Klein.


One of the soldiers unclipped the small leather bag on his battle belt. He untied it and held it up with both hands before Dr. Klein. The doctor grinned, reaching into the bag with one of his hands. He playfully dug through the bag with childlike expressions. Then he stopped with a raised eyebrow as he slowly drew a folded piece of paper from the bag. The crowd held their breath with anticipation. Their eyes glued to Dr. Klein’s hand. The soldier tied the bag back up and clipped it to his belt again. Dr. Klein started to unfold the piece of paper. He held it up with both hands as he squinted at the writing. “Our raffle winner is…” the pause was long, overdrawn. People leaned in to hear, hoping their name would be called. “….Martha Tremble!” The Doctor revealed. He put the paper in his pocket and started clapping for Martha. Most of the tenants clapped and cheered while the rest shook their heads in disappointment. Wishing their name would have been called.


Martha shot up from her seat like a cannonball. She turned instinctively to hug her husband. She jumped in place in his arms, excited at the opportunity. Martha put her hands on Chris’ cheeks. Squeezing them she drew his lips in for a kiss. “Congrats babe,” Chris said. He was proud, but also appeared somewhat worried. Martha could see it in his eyes, she read him like a coverless book. “It’s going to be okay, this is for our future.” Dr. Klein approached the couple. He waited with his hands near his hips. Chris stepped aside as Dr. Klein reached for Martha. He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her towards the crowd. “Meet our newest future scientist!” He exclaimed. Martha blushed as the crowd rooted for her. Amidst the noise, Noah stood from his desk and stormed off. The teacher didn’t even notice as she was preoccupied. Dr. Klein hugged Martha. “We will come get you this afternoon.” He looked at the Angels. “Gentlemen,” he excused himself. He fixed his shit and waited for the guards to escort him back towards the elevators. He entered it and vanished to Level 3.


When the crowd died down, Martha sat back at the table. Chris gave her another hug but was radioed back to the garage. She couldn’t hide her excitement for what was to come. She turned red as she looked at the Angels. “I’m sorry. You must be so confused,” she excused herself, forgetting she had not yet explained what the raffle was to them. “Every month we have this raffle. One lucky member of our community gets the opportunity to learn directly from Dr. Klein. We get to help him find a cure with all the other raffle winners. It’s a great opportunity.” She grabbed her cross necklace and closed her eyes for a second, praying internally. She opened them back and with grace. “I was a sheriff’s daughter before all of this. We lived in a very small town just outside of Idaho. It was a simple life. I worked at a bakery.” Her smile faded a little as she reminisced on the past. “This is a fantastic opportunity. I can actually make a difference now. Not that cooking for these people hasn’t brought me joy, but now I can help change the world for everyone. I hope Chris can understand.” She stated, mumbling the last part to herself.

Namazu
smookie
Fluffy-Kat
punwithinfinty
Good_Morels
Bullyboy Squad

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[NanLia]

CDC Building
​

Auguste frowned at Fish as he looked over the note he'd read and failed to understand moments before. He couldn’t tell which was worse in this situation; though he decided to be prepared for both. He paced the small room, looking over the furniture they’d been provided and the windows they had. The minimal beds they had were bolted to the floor and the windows were nailed shut; bars affixed to the outside.

There would be no leaving without their ‘hosts’ permission, at least not without a great deal of violence and bloodshed.

Auguste snorted his frustration as Fish suggested they play it cool. To not let on that they were aware of their circumstances, and to make matters worse, Fish soon uncovered the camera within their quarters. So they knew about the note and they knew the club was aware they were being watched. He wondered then if they had audio; if they’d heard everything that had been said. The kid could have been a plant, could have been sent to give them the note to set them on edge, hoping they would act on it.

There was no time for discussion as an abrupt knock interrupted any chance of conversing further as the door swung open and two new men stepped through; these were very different from those they’d encountered. Not civilians in uniform; they were professionally trained, presumably before the dead started to walk. A guard he recognized stepped through and attempted to excuse the behaviour but he wasn’t buying it. This was deliberate, calculated to intimidate them.

Auguste was slow, reluctant even, to give over his weapons; he wished he’d had the forethought to hide one or two within the room, however, with the camera watching them, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

He followed along in silence as they were once again paraded through the building and its people to the mess hall where they were seated at a table away from the population. There was no opportunity to discuss anything further about whether or not they should be consuming any of the food they were provided as the woman, Martha, happily introduced herself and served out the meals around their table. It wasn’t much, but fresh eggs of any sort was something Auguste hadn’t seen in months … maybe a year now. His mouth watered at the thought of eating it, but he resisted, for the time being.

Auguste wasn’t sure what to make of the events that transpired after the meal was delivered. The raffle, as Martha explained it, didn’t make sense to him. People were meant to go and help with the development and research for a cure, presumably, but these people didn’t have a scientific background. He hadn’t finished high school himself, but he knew well enough that more than that base education would be needed to pull off what they needed.

He glanced to Fish, Kit and Beau as Martha told her history; something didn’t sit right.

Namazu smookie Good_Morels BeyondDandy Fluffy-Kat ​

​

 

[AnneThraxx]

]

M.C.

Interrogation room

Birdie & Jenkins - collab with smookie

Elvis wrinkled his nose as the stench of sickly sweet copper, sweat, and urine filled his nose. The man had been left to wither away in the tiny, windowless cell. Deprived of food, water, and warmth. Suffering and locked in a gaunt, hurt body. Yet he still refused to speak. Jenkins didn’t get it. He knew a thing or two about loyalty but damn. He looked into the prisoner’s eyes that burned with hatred and unconcealed fear and he shook his head.

“Let me tell you something, amigo.” Jenkins shrugged off his leather and set it aside. He began folding his sleeves. Black shirt was good for hiding blood stains so he wasn’t too worried about getting it dirty. “This will not be as pretty as you had it so far.” He chuckled and tossed a wry smile at the woman.

“You want to earn that patch, Little Birdie?” Opening his arm wide in an inviting gesture toward the wounded male he prompted. “Ladies first.”


Birdie glared at Jenkins as she stepped away from the door. She hated when he called her that."Yes Sir", she said in a slightly sarcastic tone. She cocked her head to the side, walking a small circle around the man, picking up a pipe she spied in the corner.

Her fingers traced gently across his bare shoulders causing his body to shudder. "You're loyal. I'll give you that." She leans in, whispering in his ear. "But one can only be so loyal" she cooed. Without missing a beat, she swung with all her might. The pipe slammed against his shin with a sickening thud echoing through the metal box. A small grin crossed her face as she swung again, hitting the other shin, bone instantly protruding. The captive screamed out in agony as she crossed in front of him. She leaned in close. His stench almost made her eyes water.

"I'd speak up if I were you, it's only gonna get worse." She said calmly. Before Birdie had time to react, the prisoner threw his head forward, driving it straight into her nose.
"Son of a BITCH". She fumbled backwards grabbing her face, blood gushing through her fingers. She turned to Jenkins with watery eyes.
"You're up Elvis."


Jenkins began folding his sleeves. He took a step back to make sure he didn't get blood drops on his boots. Damn, that girl kept surprising him. He knew she could do all the kinds of dirty jobs with the bikes but he didn't realize she could be this ruthless. That was a relief, really. He liked Birdie. Didn't want her spirit crushed by doing something she wasn't made to do. Apparently he was wrong.

“Shit.” He made a face when hers got bashed in. “You’re good?” It was a rhetorical question. This was not a game or a playground. They wouldn't leave until they were done. Jenkins looked back at the prisoner and chuckled.

“So I'm the good cop after all?” He walked up to the tied man and crouched in front of him after briefly tugging on his own pantlegs above knees. He watched the man's face, waiting to meet his eyes. The captive’s face was soiled with blood and sweat and fresh tears.

“This little lady has some steam, doesn't she? She could go like that all night.” He lied, he didn't know about that. Maybe she was already done after getting injured. But he wouldn't mind learning if she could go all night in another department.

“By the time she's done with you, you won't be able to walk again, amigo. And that's a death sentence out there where we’ll drop you off if you don't talk.” There was no reaction so he stood up. Glint of a blade from his belt flashed in the hurt man’s gaze and the captive inhaled sharply, too weak to tense up again.

Elvis grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head back. Pulling the tip of the knife toward the man’s eye.

“But so is going out there blind.” He mused.


"I'm peachy," Birdie chuckled to herself as she slipped out of her vest, taking off her toque and laying them both in the corner. Her sinuses burned, and the blood dripping down her throat made her nauseous. She spat out a few mouthfuls of saliva and blood before turning back to the two men. Pulling a scrunchie out of her pocket, she threw her hair into a quick messy bun.

"All night long, baby." She mewed as she walked back over. She smirked at Jenkins through bloodied teeth, wiping some blood away before putting a cigarette to her lips. "And we're just getting started." Birdie took a long drag of the cigarette, exhaling toward the men. Standing back for a moment, she watched Jenkins work. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't curious what he had in him. She never hated getting stuck on tasks with him, and kind of admired him and his moxie; even if he was an asshole most of the time.

She could see the panic rushing over the captives body as the blade hovered above his eye. His body trembled, as if he was holding himself back from moving even an inch. Holding the cigarette between her lips, she walked over, grabbing the man by the shoulders. She squeezed them tightly as she leaned down towards his ear, her blood dripping down his shoulder and chest. "The less you squirm, the faster it might be," She warned, her hands moving to the sides of his head, keeping him still. "We could take both eyes; make it interesting. Maybe an ear." She remarked to Jenkins, looking up at him, in an almost eerily bubbly tone.


Jenkins kept his gaze focused on the man, the blade drawing a circle in the air, just an inch above the watering eye.

“You hear that? If you don't talk you won't even get to see your end.” He glanced at his friend, instinctively pulling the blade away a fraction.

“Oh Jesus, woman, wipe your face would ya.” He looked back at the man. “You see what I'm dealing with here? It's pure level of crazy. I can do all the nasty shit to you but you know what she’s capable of, right? I might cut off your ears, hell, your nose, but I wouldn't…” He trailed off on the show.

The stranger's eyes bulged harder, fresh tears escaping at the bottom, drawing more trails on the soiled cheeks.

“Yeah, that's right.” Jenkins put the blade to the man’s chest and dragged the flat of it down to his stomach and lower. “You know what I'm talking about, right?” He tapped the knife to the captive's barely clothed crotch, making the hurt male flinch. “You know a man wouldn't do it to another. I couldn't do it, honestly. But her?”

Elvis shifted his gaze, locking eyes with Birdie. “She’s some loco business, buddy.”


"Shit. Sorry," Birdie stands, letting go of his shoulders pulling a rag from her pocket. She spat at the ground, and wiped the blood from her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. Walking to the side of the man, she knelt, sitting back onto her heels. She playfully walked two fingers up the man's leg. "He's not wrong." She shrugged, holding out her hand to Jenkins, her doe eyes locking into his gaze. Her fingers beckoned for his knife, and she smiled up at him when he handed it over. Turning her attention back to their prisoner, she played with the knife in her hands. "From my experience, you should live. But you'll probably wish you hadn't. Hold him still, would ya? Though I don't recommend watching." She glanced over at Elvis, tugging at the waistband of the man's briefs, before slicing the elastic and ripping them down the side.

"Fuck. Wait, please. Shit just... Fucking wait a second" The man begged suddenly through ragged breath before she could remove any more cloth. His eyes darted to Jenkins, pleading for any sort of mercy. "There's an old military base. East of here, small town just as you cross the state lines. 26 miles past the border sign." He sobbed and choked, staring down at Birdie. "God please, just fucking stop you crazy bitch." She gave him a gentle smile, and laid her hands down in her lap. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Her voice was soft, as she patted the man on the leg, causing him to flinch. She stood, rolling back onto her feet. She walked over to Jenkins, handing him back his knife, wiping some more blood from her nose.

"It's a suicide mission, going there." The man threatened, spitting at the duo. "These aren't guys you want to fuck with. You'll be gunned down before you even get to the gate." His body slumped in defeat and exhaustion, unsure of his fate. Birdie looked up at Elvis, shrugging her shoulders. "What do we do with him now, Boss?"

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Casey Guidry

Vice President

CLUBHOUSE

The wind picked up force outside the clubhouse. The gates rattled and bike tassels floated like snakes over water. Above the distant tree line, dark clouds formed. They glued together like putty in the sky. Deformed. Bulging. Black. It was coming their way - some kind of storm. The sky sprinkled snow over the Angel’s compound. Casey watched from under the protection of the porch, smoking. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and butted it out on the wood post he was leaning on, leaving behind a circle of black ash. He flicked the I'm uncultured to the dirt before signaling over the pair of prospects from their posts near the gate.

“Once Elvis gets done, get our bikes in the container and prep the van. We’ll be heading out soon.” Casey ordered.

The prospects nodded. Junior returned to his post while Hucks stopped halfway and turned back to Casey as though he had forgotten something. He was a round fellow. Short but covered a lot of space horizontally. He would have been closing in on three hundred had the apocalypse not cut his diet in half. His head was almost free of hair because his face seemed to steal it all. His beard was as round as him, like a lumberjacks. He wore a thick hoodie under his patchless vest which was becoming covered in white dust.

“Wait! What do we do with the guy?” Hucks asked.

The ‘guy’ was the unfortunate bastard receiving a beating from Elvis and Birdie. This man was part of an organization that stole an arsenal from Madame Marinov. Whoever he worked for was dangerous. Dangerous enough to take from the Russian mafia without fear of repercussions. Madame Marinov owned everything north of Minneapolis. She did business across the Canadian border and with most of the northwestern states. Hank speculated her Russian contacts were set up near Alberta, but he didn’t have solid evidence to support that hypothesis. Casey felt something odd about the entire situation they were in, but had no choice but to oblige with Marinov’s bidding. The club needed to get Genevieve back from Marinov. If they didn’t, they would have Edgar Clay to worry about - and that was someone you did not want as opposition.

Casey said, “Lock him up inside the clubhouse. I need him alive as a bargaining tool. If things go south, at least we’ll have him as a back up plan.”

Hucks nodded and turned towards the container where everyone nearby could hear the screams of the man inside. Hucks looked up at Casey who shrugged and headed into the clubhouse. Hucks shook his head and returned to his post.

- - -​

Inversely, the clubhouse was quiet. Silent actually. It was early and everyone was still in their respective trailers. Casey roamed through the lounge, across the bar and through the double doors leading to the conference room. His footsteps were loud, but only due to the building's emptiness. A large rectangular table was in the center of the conference room with chairs surrounding it. Each chair was assigned to a patched member of the Angels. Members had a voice in club decisions. Or at least they used. Lately their voices were muffled by Hank’s antics, but Casey wanted to change that. However, it just wasn’t the time - the club had too much to deal with at the moment.

Casey shut the doors behind him and walked around the table towards the filing cabinets in the corner of the room. He dug through the inside of his vest pocket for the key. Only three people had keys to the cabinet. Himself, Hank and Fish. Casey inserted the key into the lock and clicked the cabinet door open. It creaked through rusty hinges and swung wide, opening its contents. Casey dug through yellow folders, paperwork and boxes until he found what he was searching for. In his hands he held a folded shirt. He turned and placed it on the table, unfolding the shirt like a napkin. Inside the cloth was another piece of fabric. The same piece of fabric that Marinov had given him a week ago. The same piece of fabric that made Casey question what exactly was going on.

The piece of fabric was a piece of a Fallen Angel’s wing. It came directly off a member’s back. It was torn, as though someone got their hand on it and ripped it off by the seams. Casey appeared frustrated, biting his bottom lip as he tried to make sense of the situation. He knew it wasn’t one of his guys, none of their vests were torn. Everyone still had their wings. That led Casey to believe it had to be another charter. Elkin was gone, so it wasn’t them. Bill also wasn’t stupid enough to attack Marinov’s crew. Bless his soul. That left their guys in Tulsa and Deadwood.

Deadwood was closer to the Canadian border so that their proximity made more sense to Casey. But was Duke that ambitious to attack Marinov head on? Tulsa on the other hand was further south, but Wright was more of a wildcard. None of it made sense, but Casey needed to get to the bottom of it before their club was forced to pay for the actions of others. Casey stuffed the wing in his vest, folded the shirt and shoved it back in the cabinet before closing and locking it. He stepped out of the room, shutting the conference doors behind him.

- - -​

“We pay his friends a visit,” Casey interrupted.

He stepped into the container. The smell of urine was prominent. The man had soiled himself. His legs were crooked, bent in angles the human body shouldn’t bend. Casey noticed the steel pipe on the floor. It was rusted and curved. Tied and defeated, the man had his chin tucked to his chest and his hair draped over his face. A puddle of blood and piss swamped his feet. He drooled from the tip of his bottom lip and he looked up at Casey and the dim light that shone through the crease of the doors. The guy felt some warmth from the sun. He’d been locked up for three days without much water and even less food.

Casey turned to Birdie, whose face was covered with hints of dry blood. Her lip looked busted and her nose red. Casey pointed at the guy tied to the chair, their prisoner.

“Did he do that?” asked Casey.

The man broke character, forming a brief smirk as he eyed the young Prospect. He was frightened of her. Extremely. She had broken his legs. She reminded him of Harley fucking Queen. A nutcase. But he couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph when busting her face in with his skull. Though as Casey turned to look at him, he tucked his chin again and dismissed his gaze.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” Casey said.

He put a hand on Birdie’s shoulder and guided her out of the container. He waited until Elvis stepped out before helping him close the doors. The guy inside looked up at them once again before being engulfed in darkness. The doors crashed closed and Casey locked them in place. He turned the handles, clicked the catches and inserted the padlock under the right door cover. The container was locked like a vault under a bank. There was no way out.

Heading back towards the clubhouse with his two comrades, Casey pulled a red rag from his back pocket. He handed it to Birdie so she could clean herself off.

“You okay?” He said.

He gave her a look over, trying to see signs of stress. This was her first real test with the club and it appeared she passed with flying colors. Birdie was new. She had not been with the club long but showed a lot of promise. She took instruction well unlike a lot of the other prospects and Casey had never seen her waiver or shy away from anything asked of her. She reminded him a lot of his wife. Independent. Reliable. Strong.

“Do we know where they’re holding up?” Casey asked.

The three gathered around the front steps of the clubhouse to speak. Casey would look over at the incoming storm from time to time, trying to estimate its arrival. He hoped the two extracted the information they needed from their prisoner so they could leave post haste. He dug his hands in his pockets. A harsh cold drift of wind flew between them.

“We have to leave soon. Gather the things you need. Junior and Hucks are getting the van ready. We leave in ten minutes.” Casey instructed.

- - -​

The trailer door accidentally slammed shut behind him, making Casey wince and cringe. He froze in place. He turned towards the bed frame to his right to see Bullet’s head peek up. He was laying at the end of the bed, resting over Ally’s feet. His tongue crept between his teeth and his eyes grew with excitement. Casey brought a finger to his lips, signaling Bullet to remain quiet - not that he understood. Casey knew how to give Bullet simple commands. Sit. Roll. Bark. But it was Ally who knew exactly how to maneuver him. She trained him after all and they had a connection he would never understand. Casey had a dog named Willis when he was young, but the mutt was nowhere near as intelligent as Bullet.

Ally shifted in the bed. Casey moved quietly through the room towards her. He sat down gently on the bed, trying to be courteous to her sleep as he pet Bullet on the head. He shifted his hand to her shoulder and gently nudged her awake.

“Hey. Good morning.” He said.

He smiled, speaking softly to her. She looked cute when she slept. He rubbed her arm over the comforter. It reminded him of the good old days when the two had first moved in together. Ally was very routined before. She was ex-military and maintained a lot of the teachings she learned from when she enlisted. Casey recalled her alarm clock going off every morning at four o’clock in the morning. It drove him nuts for months. But the more and more time they spent together, the later and later that alarm clock started to go off until one day there was no more alarm clock.

“We’re getting ready to leave. We’re spread thin today. Hank left with Kallie. I haven’t heard from the boys and I’m taking Elvis and Bird with me, so…”

He paused, realizing he was leaving Ally alone with not much protection. Even though he was confident she could take care of herself, it made him uneasy. He drew in closer. His hand drifted around the side of her neck and he pulled her towards him. He kissed her passionately, his nose rubbing up against hers. He felt her heat, it was pleasant against the cold morning. Then a sudden wet like sandpaper tongue struck him on the cheek. He pulled away instinctively, his hand wiping off the saliva Bullet covered him in. Casey broke into laughter. He pet Bullet’s head and thanked him for the kiss as he rubbed his own face on his shoulder. He looked back at Ally.

“Okay. Lila is here somewhere. Probably in Auguste’s, so make sure she gets up soon. Have her start inventory of the shipment we just got from Han. I need that food locked up before someone gets greedy. Hucks and Junior are taking care of our ‘guest’. They’re going to put him in the clubhouse, just so you know. Weston’s back in his trailer. He’s moving okay, but don’t let that cowboy do anything stupid. He’s got to rest.” Casey said.

He leaned in for another kiss.

“I love you. We’ll be back soon.”

NanLia
Namazu
AnneThraxx
Fluffy-Kat
Bullyboy Squad

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Tenants

CDC Lunchroom

CDC

Breakfast was over as the cleaning staff rolled through the aisles of lunch tables with their steel service carts. They gathered plates, glasses and plastic ware from every individual, marking off their laminated inventory list. They tossed reusable items into table pans and everything else into large black garbage bags clipped to the end of their carts. Some people left the dining area for their daily post or job. Usually a six to eight hour shift. Others went to their dorms and a few stayed back and continued to enjoy each other’s company - laughing, cracking jokes and telling stories. The children were corralled back to their desks to start their school day. They were beginning to learn about evolution. How apes became human and the consequences of environmental collapse.

At the table, Martha helped gather the Angel’s tableware. She reached over the table and took their items, placing them in her cart. She smiled at each individual member, her dimples glowing pink. She was a very attractive woman. She was still on a high from winning the raffle and couldn’t hide her excitement. A smirk escaped her every time she thought about it. This opportunity was one in a million.

“Did you gentlemen enjoy your eggs?” Martha asked.

She had to get back to work before the Chef barked at her for being away from the kitchen too long. They had to start prepping lunch. As she started to pull away, three tenants approached. One was Steven, a middle aged Indian man. He was clean shaven with a buzz cut. He had small scars around his left cheek like braille. He suffered a burn as a kid. He was also ex military - Army to be exact. Steven served his four years and walked away before meeting his wife and having two children. A boy also named Steven and a girl named Aaina after his mother in law.

The second tenant was April, a brunette woman from New Jersey. Her accent was strong, but one could easily mistake it for Boston. She was nearing forty, but had the body of a younger woman. She was busty and dressed to impress. She wore a pink tank top that exposed her cleavage and was short enough to show off her thin midsection. Her black leggings were tight around her waist which enhanced her hourglass figure. And she wore flats that made her feet look tiny and exposed her painted toe nails. She chewed gum that nobody knew where she got from, but was given privileges for her good looks.

The third tenant was a teenager named Lucas. He was a blonde and blue eyed eighteen year old. He wasn’t in the classroom because he had already surpassed most of the other students in academics and made the decision to start working alongside the adults. He normally had the day shift cleaning the dorms, but he traded his shift with a friend so he could spend more time with his ‘colleagues’.

The trio congratulated Matha on winning the raffle then all sat down at the Angel’s table. Martha waved her goodbyes at the men and said she would see them again later and hoped they enjoyed their stay. Steven and Lucas sat next to each other while April took her seat next to Beau. She propped her chin on her palm and her long nails tapped her chin in curiosity. She looked at him from head to toe as if inspecting him. She blew her gum into a bubble that popped loudly at their table. Steven sighed at her and Lucas' eyes widened. April moved her hand and placed it on Beau’s forearm, shifting closer to him with a smirk.

“What’s your name, cutie?” April asked the Tail Gunner.

Steven turned from April and focused on Fish. He sensed he was the leader of their group. When the club first walked in, Steven noticed Fish at the forefront. His vest also read, Secretary. Steven didn’t know much about bike culture, but that title held value. Monetary and social. The military man extended his hand for a shake and formal introduction.

“I’m Steven, this is Lucas and that’s April.” He said.

Lucas waved at the group then looked down at the table to avert eye contact. She was shy, but opened up once he became comfortable and included. One of the reasons he started working. He wanted to make new friends as trivial as that sounded.

“You all work for Mr. Han? Are you from New York?” Steven asked.

Mr. Han was from New York. He owned large corporations before the apocalypse. Everything from banking to technological development to even medicine. He was a man of many interests, but it was because of him that the CDC was able to continue their research for a cure. It was because of him that all these people still breathed and enjoyed the simplicity of life. Mr. Han still resided in New York. He built an impenetrable compound in one of his many buildings and was able to triumph in one of the most infectious cities in the world.

In the corner, April dug into her bra. An unlined lace ribboned balconette she cared to reveal. She pulled out a green pack of Eclipse gum. She opened the flap and offered Beau a piece. She chewed loudly and winked at him. Lucas’ lips curled into a grimace. He furrowed his brow and flared his nostrils. A mumbled ‘eww’ escaped him which made April look at him and stick out her tongue. He laughed. Steven shook his head at his company’s antics. With another sigh he looked at Fish but before he could speak again, Lucas budged in for the first time.

With his blue eyes now unyielding, he said, “What’s it like out there?”

He was curious. The blue in his eyes lit up like headlights. He looked at Kit who seemed the closest to his age. All the others appeared much older. Lucas was fascinated by him. He liked his look, and thought he was extremely cool. He envisioned himself in that outfit and in that vest. He wanted to follow up with another question about how to join them, but felt it was inappropriate.

So instead, he asked Kit, “Have you killed one of them? The…roamers I mean.”

Steven went quiet. Lucas was too young when the apocalypse began. He was just a child and was sheltered from the true gore that ruled the world. From the real darkness. He and his parents moved around from survivor camp to survivor camp until they came across Mr. Han’s generosity. Because of him, Lucas was not raised in the presence of the dead, hence his question and fascination for the odd. His parents however were not treated with the same courtesy. They were killed on a scavenger trip by other survivors and left Lucas orphaned. He was raised by teachers and soldiers.

April stood from her stool. She grabbed Beau by the vest and tugged at him to stand with her. She began to walk away as she curled her index finger for him to follow. Her hips rocked left and right with each step, her butt bouncing freely through her high waisted leggings. April strived to be an actress before the fall. She booked a few commercials in her time, one coincidently being for Eclipse gum. Aside from that however, she was a waitress at a Waffle House. Nothing much became of her, but she naturally got what she wanted due to her looks.

“C’mon big boy, I got something to show you,” she said.

April’s guided Beau through the lunchroom towards her dorm.

Namazu
Good_Morels
NanLia

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[Namazu]

M.C.

Matt “Fish” Fischer

Secretary

CDC BUILDING

Fish still had his hand on the canvas when a heavy knock sounded at the door and then flung it open. He startled, letting go of the canvas and letting the kid’s picture fall back against the wall and quickly slipping his flashlight into his pocket. The sight of two armed soldiers taking up position in the room as if they had the intent of making some kind of move made him tense. He reached one arm out and grabbed Kit by the shoulder, nudging the other man behind him as he stepped forward. The last thing they needed was any violence here, cut off from backup.

“Special guests?” Fish echoed George, raising an eyebrow as he took a step back away from the man. He hadn’t seen a single person on their way up that was disabled, with special needs, mentally troubled, or otherwise in need of some kind of monitoring. Hell, even the kids look pretty well behaved, for kids.

Fish’s first thought was to politely decline the meal, but it didn’t seem like a smart or even possible move - not with armed guards ready to march them out. The thought of parting with his weapons made him incredibly uncomfortable, but before he could protest he had a stranger’s hands on him, frisking him and removing his knives and gun. Fish kept his attention split between where their weapons were going, and how the guards were treating his people, making sure not a damn one of them stepped out of line or got too handsy. He swore his blood pressure rose when they started patting down Kit, but he kept his mouth shut.

Hackles up, Fish reluctantly let himself get marched down the hall with the rest of his crew towards the common area, tossing glances at the others to check their thoughts on the matter. He wanted to give Kit’s hand a squeeze, to convey that it would be okay, but he didn’t dare. Not in front of people he didn’t know.

All in all, the entire mealtime, including the big hubbub about “raffle day” was… utterly disconcerting. The people were too friendly and clueless. The place was too clean. The folks who seemed to be in charge of things seemed too showboat-y. The cheering on of Dr. Klein too cult-y. Fish made the bare minimum amount of conversation with Martha that was necessary to not be impolite but gave away nothing about what they knew or didn’t know, but it was even worse when Dr. Klein actually sat with them.

At this point, Fish was certain that he had an easier time corralling a horde of the dead than sitting through this bullshit. At least with the dead, you knew what to expect. With people like this? He wasn’t convinced they had not been sent off into some kind of trap.

The fact that the damn lunch-lady just got randomly selected as a “newest future scientist” was as suspicious as a three dollar bill. Fish wasn’t surprised by the idea that people with the CDC were attempting to figure out a cure for whatever the hell all this was. That tracked. That made sense. That, specifically, was what the CDC for.

Martha was here to make mac and cheese and put sandwiches on kids’ plates.

The disconnect was massive, and the fact that the whole room here (save for his people) just fell for it hook, line, and sinker was utterly terrifying.

Fish briefly thought about jumping out a window just to get out. His attention drifted to Chris, wondering if he knew that something bad was probably going to be happening to his wife very soon. He felt bad, but honestly - if the guy couldn’t see it? Maybe Fish’s pity would be limited. Fish glanced at Auguste and met the older man’s gaze - he wasn’t buying this bullshit sandwich either, he could tell.

When Fish glanced down at the food on his plate, his stomach flipped, and he covertly reached for Kit’s hand next to him under the table and gave him a squeeze. Potatoes, eggs, and berries… at least there was no suspicious meat, but any of this could have been tampered with, drugged, or poisoned. He was hungry, but was he hungry enough to risk that?

No, he wasn’t. Not at all.

Fish didn’t touch anything on his plate and tried not to bristle when Martha started to try and urge him to eat. “I’m fine ma’am, thank you,” was all Fish had to offer, nudging the plate away until she took it.

He had hoped that now the raffle and meal spectacle was over they would be ushered back to their room, but now they were being crowded by locals. April immediately got on his nerves - she reminded him far too much of his ex-girlfriend; not a positive parallel to draw whatsoever. He mentally gagged when she immediately started hitting on Beau.

Taking Steven’s offered hand, he gave him a firm but perfunctory shake.

“Friends of Mr. Han’s. We’re from out of state.” Fish responded, not willing to divulge anything about the club’s location or how and why they wound up here to begin with. “Handling this bit of charity for him, and all, since he’s busy.”

Turning his attention to the kid, Lucas, who - as expected for a kid - had all sorts of questions, Fish took a breath and mulled over the question.

“Well, right now, cold and empty. There are a lot of dead out there, so it’s extremely dangerous. Not all that long ago we saw a whole horde of them nearly wipe out a community elsewhere…”

Fish trailed off, his attention darting to Beau as the skanky woman started to try and drag him off.

“He’s got no business with you, lady.” Fish piped up in April and Beau’s direction, giving the guy an out - not just if he wanted it, but he should definitely take it.


Good_Morels NanLia BeyondDandy

 

[NanLia]

CLUBHOUSE
​

Ally stirred at the sudden and loud noise somewhere in the trailer. She resisted the urge to wake; it was too damn early and while Bullet moved, she didn’t alert in any way. She had the privilege to feel safe here, in their trailer home amongst a club of bikers in the middle of the apocalypse. And that was only because she knew that Bullet would keep her aware of any threats and the only people who would dare step into this trailer were Hank or Casey.

She sighed softly as she felt Casey sit on the edge of their bed and felt his warm hand gently brush her shoulder. “Mmm.” She grumbled at the greeting, wanting nothing more than to bury herself deeper into the warm blankets and sleep for hours more. But Casey went on, speaking softly about his departure and she opened one eye to peer at him through the low light. He was concerned, for her, for himself and his club. She could hear it in his tone, even if she couldn’t see his face clearly.

Ally leaned in at the gentle urging of her husband and returned his kiss, melting into the feel of him. She kept her eyes closed as he gently nuzzled his nose against hers, a quiet comfort from years together. She blinked when she heard Casey’s laughter only to see Bullet happily wagging her tail and she didn’t need to ask to know the canine hand intruded on their moment. She patted the bed beside her and Bullet dropped onto her belly, curling up beside her to watch Casey.

She nodded as Casey laid out instructions - an itemized list of things to do that typically would fall on Fish or Auguste but both were away. “On it.” She noted that she would have to keep a close eye on Wess, because if he was anything like the rest of the crew he was going to be up and pushing himself.

“I love you too.” She whispered against his lips. “Be careful.”

BeyondDandy ​

 

[AnneThraxx]

]

M.C.

Interrogation room

Birdie & Jenkins - collab with smookie

The captive’s warning played at the back of Jenkins’s head. He could already tell this was going to be trouble. They were going to go there, right? It was quiet for too long and they had to mess with another group. He was getting tired of that shit but orders were orders. Guess their leaders knew better what and why.

“Leave him. The VP might want to use him as bait.” Elvis said dismissively, slipping the knife back to scabbard like he was done with another hard day at god honest work. It was much less messy than he was used to. At least he didn’t need a freaking shower now. He eyed his companion, thinking she could use a bath.

"Fair enough," Birdie replied, walking over to the defeated man, giving his shoulders one more harsh squeeze. "Try not to die on us, okay sweetheart?" Her voice was soft, eerily nurturing as she tousled the man's filthy hair. A wave of guilt rushed over her, filling her stomach and throat with knots. She stared at the man for a moment, before Jenkins' voice brought her back to reality. Stepping past the man, she grabbed their things and threw her on her toque.

“You look like a mess, Little Bird.” His lips curled with a smirk, smug look on his face. He opened his arm for her, putting it around her shoulders. “You need a wet towel and a change of clothes. And I need a smoke.” He tugged her with him to the exit, leaving the stranger behind.

"Oh come on now, it's not that bad." She gave him a bloody smirk as she handed him his leather, stepping into his open arm. She found his arm around her oddly comforting, leaning in to it. The heavy doors opening and the VP's voice startled her, she quickly stepped away from his embrace. As Casey entered the putrid steel box, she watched as he glanced over the scenario. When asked if the prisoner had done the damage to her face, she simply nodded. "Yes Sir." The prospect usually referred to full patched members as Sir or Ma'am, out of respect and an old habit. All except for Jenkins, really.

She smirked menacingly at their captive, as he turned his gaze away from the VP. "I'm fine, really." Birdie protested slightly as he escorted her out of the rancid confines. The cold air burned her sinuses as she watched the two men lock him back up like an animal. She followed along beside them as they walked towards the clubhouse.

She sat atop the railing as Casey looked her over briefly. "I'm okay, really. Nothing a cigarette and a change of clothes can't fix." She wasn't lying. She was okay, for now; but she knew later on might be a different story once the reality sank it. Situations like these, in a world like it was, often left things seeming far to surreal. Somewhat shaky hands took out a pack of cigarettes, placing one between her lips, before handing the pack over to Jenkins with a small smirk. "I'll let you give him all the juicy details we got out of that fucker."

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

Bullyboy Squad BeyondDandy

 

[Good_Morels]

M.C.

Beau Montaire

Tail Gunner

Beau didn't speak as the guards took his weaponry, every muscle in his body tense. Nothing about this situation was good, he understood that now. That damn storm was a curse from the devil himself. Even so, he could empathize. If they had any good intentions, it made good sense to be cautious, the lot of them were dangerous people. That didn't make it any easier to be on the receiving end.

He followed rest of them to the dining hall and made small talk with everyone who came by, picking awkwardly at his food without actually eating any every time Martha looked in his direction. He didn't trust it, as far as he was concerned, Kit had a point about poisons or whatever, but he couldn't stand the shame that fell over him when the kind woman that made it for them looked his way. Not touching the food would be spitting in her face. He ignored the chastising looks from his club mates, staring downward. He couldn't make heads or tales of how exactly the nice kitchen woman could help out with such an intellectual procedure, but maybe she was smarter than she looked. He didn't know what degrees she had. He glanced towards the medic, who currently reminded him of those cats who bowed up and hissed but didn't move any. He’d probably have a better understanding of the situation and could explain just how worried they should be.

He smiled up at Martha as she took their plates.
“Ah, they were mighty fine Miss Martha. Thank you kindly.” He lied, unable to meet her gaze for too long.

He wasn't really feeling up to socializing when the three tenants approached, shrinking up as casually as he could to make himself unnoticeable while staring down at his clasped hands resting on the table. As long as he didn't make eye contact, nobody should bother him. The other club members were more interesting, smarter, more talkative, he should be-

He damn near jumped out of his chair when the gum popped by his ear, jerking into a straighter posture. He flinched when her hand found his forearm, casting a look towards Fish that begged for help before turning back towards the woman, his gaze quickly glancing over her figure before sticking unyieldingly to her eyes, which was painful. Not out of a desire to ogle her body, of course, but out of an anti-social need to not look at her at all. He had never attracted this kind of attention before, always happening to be in the company of much more handsome men or men that were openly more affluent. Hell, Chris was still at the table. Why not Chris?

He cleared his throat and forced a smile. “Folks call me Monty, it's a pleasure.” He offered his hand for a handshake as the older man introduced them all.

“April's a mighty pretty name.” He commented. He turned bright red as she suddenly slid her hand into her shirt and pulled out a pack of gum, unable to help himself from noticing her exposed bra. He coughed awkwardly and looked away as she offered the gum.

“Ah’m alright, thank you though.” He declined as politely as he could, hoping Miss April would take that as more than a denial of the gum. Instead he turned towards Kit, who seemed damn near effortlessly to be navigating the situation with the kid.

“We’ve had to kill a lot of them by now. It's nothing to be proud of, people aren't designed to kill each other, even if that person is already dead.” Kit explained, seeming to be well aware of just how much the kid was drawn to him and trying not to encourage him in the wrong direction. “You have to do what you have to do to stay alive, though.” Kit finished. The medic shot him an apologetic look, which only made Beau feel worse. He hated pity.

He did not particularly want to stand up when April did, but he wasn't left with much of an option. He looked towards his clubmates for help as she began to walk off, starting to sit back down before she spoke. He swallowed hard and thought about things for a minute. He wasn't the most attractive man there, he wasn't anything, really, especially not since he’d buried his wife. She reminded him of a prostitute, yes, but also of countless stories of women latching on to some random guy so he would drive away some threat, like a stalker. That had to be why he caught her attention; she needed help.

“I’m just going to see if she needs help, I won't be long and I won't get close. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, assume somethin happened.” He promised Auguste, who was sitting beside him, quietly before following her.

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[NanLia]

CDC Building
​

Auguste wanted to eat the eggs.

He started at the plate and salivated, truthfully wanting to consume them despite knowing very well that they could be drugged, or poisoned. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d seen fresh eggs. Not canned. Not pickled. Farm. Fresh. Eggs. It had been months and he recalled that Lila had made a giant omelet with all the fresh veg they had. He’d eaten every bite, including the egg shells she’d missed to scoop out.

He resisted, though pointedly did not touch the plate or utensils, smiling at Martha as she cleaned up the table and carried on with her day. He wanted a clear statement; he didn’t trust these people.

Auguste was about to sigh in relief as they were going to be alone for a minute or two; he wanted to express to the others that they should leave, storm or not. He’d rather risk getting stuck in the van during a snowstorm than here, where something he didn’t doubt was vile and underhanded was happening among the ‘scientists’.

Instead, new faces sat at the end of the table and introduced themselves. Lucas and Steven asked far too many questions for his liking, he didn’t answer, simply regarding both as each spoke though his eyes kept slipping back to April as she fawned after Beau. The man was nearly his age but for all, it was worth he looked like an awkward teen attempting to stay away from girls' affections. In another time or place, he’d think it was humours but when April tugged at his jacket and led him off the hairs on the back of Auguste’s neck stood.

He couldn’t let one of them just be alone, not here. He glanced at Fish across the table. Once the Secretary caught his eye, Auguste nodded to Kit sitting next to him before he stood. He and Fish had worked together long enough that Fish would understand the unspoken message. Do not separate. Auguste headed the way Beau had gone, not intending to leave him alone for any length of time, even if he intended on taking up April on her offer

Namazu smookie Good_Morels BeyondDandy Fluffy-Kat ​

​

 

[smookie]

M.C.

Bruno Jenkins

enforcer

Jenkins drew a sharp breath through his nose, the winter chill sneaking under his leather making him shiver. They stopped outside and he nodded to the man in charge.

“We do. Just like you wanted.” He grabbed the pack from the girl and tapped a cigarette out. Then made a face to accompany the bad news.

“But you won’t like it.” Elvis leaned in so she could light up the tip for him. It sizzled as he dragged the smoke into his lungs, exhaling with satisfaction. Then he told their VP about the military base the guy mentioned and its exact location. He didn’t question the orders but they did dampen his mood.

“Ten minutes." He pointed the cigarette hand at Casey. "Got it.”

A far cry from enthusiastic, Bruno draped his arm around the girl’s shoulders and walked her towards the bathroom. Inside, he unceremoniously grabbed the sides of her waist and lifted her up with a grunt, cigarette hanging at the side of his mouth. He placed her butt down on the counter, still in her personal space as he just took his time standing there, sucking in another hit. The smoke coiled and billowed in between them. His dark, puppy eyes fixed on hers.

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Mason C. Weston

Rod Captain

CLUBHOUSE

The rubber tip of an aluminum crutch struck the base of the bathroom door. The knock boomed through the empty clubhouse like a pair of cymbals. A soft chuckle followed suit.

“Get a room you two!” was said with a southern twang.

Wess’ voice broke through the door. He’d just woke up in time to see the jester and her mathurine de vallois sneak into the bathroom together. He mocked them with kissing faces outside the door, knocking on it a second time before hobbling forward down the hallway with a childlike smile on his face.

The crutches dug deep into his armpits, the protective pad not giving him any relief. His right knee started hurting a few days prior for favoring his right side so much. He wore his favorite pair of cowboy boots which felt heavier these days. They were accompanied by a pair of boot-cut denim jeans, a red and black thick flannel and his kutte. Despite feeling useless in the last few weeks, he was still an Angel and needed to represent. He didn’t want his sister or the other Prospects to think his spot at the table was up for grabs - so the wings stayed on.

He stopped upon reaching the main room, noticing its emptiness. He hoped his sister was okay on the road with Hank. He had been quite reserved after his accident and had not spoken much with either of them. Deep down, he blamed Hank for what happened to him, but knew it was ultimately his own fault. It was easier to blame someone else and Hank was not anyone’s favorite person at the moment.

Wess stepped out through the front doors and saw Casey in the distance. He was loading one of their vans. Rifles, handguns, shotguns and all the bullets they could fit. It was an arsenal; like he was preparing for war.

“Need a hand?” Wes asked.

He leaned onto the porch railing and perched his crutches together near its post. Casey turned to him and nodded, shutting the trunk doors and starting towards him. Wess pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his vest and offered Casey one. He declined.

“How’re you feeling?” Casey said.

“Been better. Where is everyone?” Wess asked.

Casey huffed. Wess lit a cigarette between his lips. He inhaled, removed the cigarette and exhaled a puff of white smoke into the air.

“The boys are dropping off a shipment for Han. As you know, Hank and your sister went to see Edgar Clay.” Casey explained.

“What’s the deal there?” Wess said.

“Not sure yet. All I know is Edgar’s patience is wearing thin. I’m heading out to see what I can find about these new players.” Casey replied.

Wess rubbed his face and looked up passed the compound fence. He stared over the tree line at the dark clouds that neared. He looked back at Casey.

“What did our friend tell you?” Wess said.

Casey looked over at the shipping container where their guests had spilled all his secrets. He could envision him through the steel wall. Sitting alone with his hair draped over his face. Blood and sweat dripping down the tips of locks. Cuts on his hands and feet. Bruises swelling his face tight. Puddles of urine and bile smeared under his chair. He was their prisoner.

“Everything.” Casey sighed.

“I’m taking Elvis and Birdie with me. That leaves you, Ally, Lila and the prospects. I think Lila’s got Chris’ kid with her. Check in on them if you have an minute. Ally should be out here soon, but we’re going to be gone by then.” Casey added.

“It’s alright Case. I’ll take care of them.” Wess winked.

“You guys best get going before that storm gets here.” Wess advised, pointing at the sky above the trees.

NanLia
AnneThraxx
smookie

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[AnneThraxx]

]

M.C.

Birdie Morris

The Welder

Lighting her friend's cigarettes had become almost habitual by now. She shoved the lighter and her hands into her pockets to fight off the chill. The smoke from her own cigarette stung her nostrils as she took long drags, staring off at the impending storm while Jenkins relayed the information they extracted from their prisoner. Was it a trap? They could easily be outnumbered, being only the three of them. Would they even be able to make contact, or would they be gunned down like he warned? The storm drew closer with every passing minute, which would only make things worse. All these thoughts circled through her head as she inhaled deeply, holding in the smoke. Jenkins didnt seem too impressed, which only added to her worry. Orders were orders, she reminded herself as she hopped off the railing. She nodded to the VP as she stepped into Elvis' open arm, following his lead the to bathroom.

She grimaced as she witnessed the damage their new friend had done to her face. Deep reddish purple bruising began to form in the corners of her eyes and her upper lip. Turning on the water, she soaked the rag Casey had given her, wiping away the dried blood from her nose and mouth.

Spitting into the sink, she noticed Jenkins behind her. Before she could toss a snarky remark his way, she felt hands lifting her by the hips. She let out a small gasp as he plunked her down onto the counter top. Surprised, she was silent for a moment, doe eyes holding his gaze. Her cheeks blushed and she looked away suddenly. She turned her body to look in the mirror, wiping the last of the blood from her face. She tossed the rag into the sink, turning back to face him.

He still hadn't moved from between her knees. Birdie looked down at her clothes. Her favourite hoodie now covered in her blood, her pants splattered in what she hoped was the prisoner's. She didn't even want to think about her shoes. Her head cocked to the side, she studied him. "Are you worried?" The Prospect questioned apprehensively. She sure as hell was. This would be her first real outing with them that wasn't a supply run or simple patrol. Her stomach twisted in knots. The thought of being out numbered almost made her nauseous.

Adjusting her posture, she rested her hands on either side of her thighs. A smirk crossed Birdie's face as she locked into his gaze again. "I wouldn't have done it, y'know. " She stated in a small chuckle. "You men are all so attached to those things. Besides, I'm not a complete monster." She kicked her legs playfully on either side of him, attempting to mask her anxiety with humour.

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[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Tenants

April & Noah

CDC

April refused to be victimized by Fish’s desire for control. She did not give men authority over her life or how she chose to live it. They always thought they were smarter than her or knew her intentions but they weren’t all that bright. Most men couldn’t get past shiny objects and see their real value. So she stuck out her tongue at Fish’s failed attempt to reel Beau back in and forced a laugh. Irony. Leashing the handsome man away from the table she waved at the other bikers and the friends she left behind.

“Cheerio!” She said.

Despite being labeled by the clothes she chose to wear and the way she spoke,
April was actually a very intelligent woman. She was the only one of her family members to finish high school, go to college and graduate with a degree in psychology. April worked as a correctional counselor for thirteen years before turning the page to a new career. One she wasn’t very proud to talk about but one that came out of necessity at the time. Also one that has kept her alive in the damnation that started a few years ago.

April noticed Auguste leave after her and Beau. She winked at the big man and popped her gum again, trying to playfully seduce him. She actually liked taller and bigger men and would usually go after them first. However, she thought Auguste played for the other team. Maybe she was wrong about him. Or maybe he simply played for both. She was intrigued to find out.

“Two for the price of one, must be my lucky day.” She joked.

Eyes around the room lingered on the trio as they walked past the common area. Some were envious, others were disgusted. April had a reputation for taking men into her dorm room at least three to five times a week. Never the same men at that. She usually chose from the guards, but would occasionally spend the evening with a tenant or two. Nobody ever said anything however. They were too cowardly. Most of the people there weren’t married either or locked into relationships with other people, so they had no say. Real relationships were hard to build these days, even for the people living in the luxury of the CDC.

“We’re almost there boys,” April said.

The three were heading down a line of open dorm rooms. April led, holding onto Beau’s hand and physically dragging him along. Auguste was not too far behind, keeping his eyes on his boy. As they closed in on April’s dorm, a faint whistle called for Auguste. Two dorms behind was the young boy who had given Auguste a note earlier that day and alerted the Angels about the cameras. His name was Noah. Half of his head was peeking out of a dorm room they had passed. His hand waved at Auguste, urging him into the dorm and he whistled again.

April reached her room. The door was open. Rules stated dorm rooms were meant to stay open during the day and could only be closed until after supper. April however had special privileges, so she invited Beau in and closed the door behind him when she noticed Auguste stayed behind. She entered and locked the door from the inside so no one would interrupt their intimate time together.

The room looked much like that of the Angels but had much more personality. The bed was fitted with classy beige colored sheets, pillows and a comforter. A classy style April was proud of. A few stuffed animals rested near the footboard. The desk had a big wall mirror hung over it. It had built-in lights around its frame to create a halo effect which made it easier for April to put on her makeup. She had neatly stacked boxes of said makeup on the tabletop and a jewelry tree hanger next to it to hold her necklaces, rings and bracelets. She loved gold by the looks of her collection.

There was a battery powered radio near the front door, cassette tapes laying on the carpet next to it. April bent over, positioning herself so Beau could get a good view of her figure. She grabbed her favorite cassette, slid it into the player and shut the slide before hitting the play button. Soft music came through the speakers. April turned the dial and made it louder as Frank Sinatra’s voice began to fill the room between them.

She turned and smiled at Beau, digging her gum packet back out of her bra and placing it on the desk. Under the desk was a pink crafts box. April squatted and dug inside it, bringing out two shot glasses and a half drunk bottle of Vodka.

“Drink?” She asked.

She wasn’t looking for an answer and started pouring two drinks - one for each of them. She handed Beau a glass and downed the other as she started to trot around in dance. She moved sensually to the beat, swaying her hips and arms erotically. Her back was to him so she looked over her shoulder. She started to tug at the base of her pink shirt, pulling it up over her breasts and then off of her body. She turned to face Beau, exposing herself. Her bralette was see-through and did not leave anything to the imagination.

April closed in on the biker, filling his personal space. She ran her finger down his chest towards his belt, pushing him back and forcing him onto the bed. She bit her bottom lip as she stared at his tight jeans.

“I can help you with those.” She said.

She slipped out of her sandals and started to remove her own pants. Her panties matched her bralette. They had a distinct flower-like design on them. Her legs were thick and muscular. Glowing under the dorm light. April turned for a second and dug in one of the cabinets behind her. She pulled out a golden Trojan packet and tossed it to Beau.

“Put it on, handsome.” She said.

- - -​

Down the hall, Noah urged Auguste on. He kept flicking his hand towards himself, trying to draw the man near. He did not speak, just peeked out of his dorm until Auguste responded. He looked up and down the hallway and towards the common area to make sure nobody was following the biker.

Noah disappeared back into his dorm when Auguste closed in. He rushed towards his desk and grabbed a sharp pencil for protection. He held it firmly in his hand and hid it behind his back. He watched as Auguste’s shadow crept up on his doorframe and the giant appeared. He was larger than life to Noah, bigger than even the biggest of the guards. His beard had streaks of white and tattoos melted into his hands.
The kid froze, his penciled hand shaking behind him. His eyes were wide and his brows dropped to the center of his forehead. He didn’t say anything, but wasn’t confronted by the giant.

He gulped, realizing he was not harmed. He looked at Auguste, letting his expression rest and his body un-tense. He felt as though they had just gone through a Mexican standoff like they did in his cowboy books. Quickly he turned and drew open the cabinet under his desk. He pulled out a notebook and turned the pages to an empty blank. He firmly put his pencil between the thin blue lines and started writing on it.

He didn’t feel fear anymore and became instantly comfortable in Auguste’s presence. It was a strange feeling for a kid, but his guard was down the second Auguste didn’t attack or hurt him. Noah turned around and showed Auguste what he had written. He pointed at the notebook aggressively, as though the news were urgent.

“They took my mom.” it read.

Noah attempted to mumble the words, but couldn’t vocalize a single one. He was mute and did not have the ability to speak to Auguste. He took the notebook back and started writing again, turning it back to Auguste when he was done.

“Please help me!” was written.

Namazu
Good_Morels
NanLia

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[NanLia]

CLUBHOUSE
​

Alejandra didn’t exactly lounge in bed but she also didn’t rush to get up, either. After Casey left the trailer she stretched out in bed and yawned; it was still dark so she presumed it had to be before first light, not that she minded but it was so rare any of them ever had time to just relax. It was a creature comfort she missed dearly from before. Lazy weekend mornings where she and Casey would get out of bed until one or both of them were starving…

With a sigh, she threw back the sheets and immediately hissed as the cold wrapped around her. She made haste to get to the edge of the bed so she could get her prosthetic. It was her second since the end of the world, the first having been worn thin from years of abuse before. She’d taken for granted that she could go to the VA any time to get a replacement and hadn’t. Now she regretted the delinquency.

This secondary one fit, but that was as far as she’d give it. It was slightly too long for her height, giving her stride and evident limp and forcing her to stand with her hips cocked. It made her back ache, and the scarring around her knee had rubbed raw the first few weeks she’d worn it. She knew there were worse things in this new life, like not having a prosthetic at all. She worked through it, what other choice was there?

Dressed, Ally wrapped a warm coat around herself before heading to the doorway. She paused with a frown as released she was alone. She leaned back to look back between the curtains to Bullet. The elderly dog had nuzzled her way beneath the blankets until only the tip of her nose and tail were visible. “I don’t fucking think so.” Ally laughed. “If I have to get up, so you do you.”

The dog huffed but didn’t move. “Where’s Santina?”

At the mention of the girl's name Bullet’s head popped up, ears perked forward and her tail thumping.

***​

Outside, Ally noted the vehicles were gone. She wasn’t surprised considering the drop in temperature could only mean there was a storm coming. She spotted Wess directing some prospects by the gates and waved before making her way to Auguste’s trailer to knock on the door. “Ladies,” She called through the aluminum shell. “We got work to do today.”

BeyondDandy Namazu ​

 

[NanLia]

CDC Building
​

Auguste followed along behind Beau as he was dragged by April, keeping an eye on those they passed, the few and far between and behind them. He didn’t like just how far they were moving away from Fish and Kit, not to mention the general population of this place. As much as he didn’t trust them, there was some security in numbers, especially around those who appeared to be happy for their presence.

He’d been taken aback as April commented about him joining her and Beau, so much so that he hadn’t been able to prevent the look of disgust on his face. He knew he shouldn’t think poorly of her; she was probably doing anything she could to make her life here better. It could be commendable, really, except her personality and the snapping gum made him want to throw her out a window.

Auguste turned at the whistle, catching sight of the kid who’d given him the note earlier. He paused, and that was long enough for April to drag Beau into a room. He heard the door closing and spun back with a curse. At the very least he knew which room the pair were in; every other door down the hall was open. He didn’t like the idea of standing outside the door and listening to what they were up to so he turned back to the kid with a huff.

He stalked down the hallway to the room he’d disappeared into and stopped in the doorway, staring at the kid as he stared back. He had no patience for this today and as the kid just stood there, he was well prepared to leave and go back to playing hall monitor.

Instead, the kid started scribbling out another note, which he read and sighed. “Kid, I can’t do shit for you or your mom.” He shook his head, glancing back down the hallway to ensure they were still alone; though there were probably cameras. He looked back at the kid. “Did she win that lottery?”

Namazu smookie Good_Morels BeyondDandy Fluffy-Kat ​

​

 

[smookie]

M.C.

Bruno Jenkins

enforcer

Jenkins flicked the cigarette above the nearby washbowl to get rid of the fresh ash. The brief grimace on his face matched the sound he made. Something between a resigned sigh and an annoyed huff. That was his only response to the girl’s question.

Elvis watched her clean herself. He didn't help or stop her, enjoying the simple pleasure of another drag of nicotine. Their eyes met once again and he blew out the last line of smoke, aiming for the ceiling. He tossed the cigarette in the washbowl where it hissed and the tip turned black, dampened by water.

“I knew you wouldn't.” He stepped even closer when she swung her legs at him, hands gripping her thighs tightly as their bodies pressed together and his face stopped just inches away from hers. “You look like shit.” He said with a smirk and leaned in, tilting his head to the side. He dragged his lips across her cheek and stopped by her ear. Feeling her narrow waist with his steady grip, catching a whiff of her unique scent, his hot breath ghosted her neck as he loudly whispered.

“We got ten minutes.”

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[AnneThraxx]

]

M.C.

Birdie Morris

Welder

"And you look like an asshole." She replied with a smirk, her head falling to the side as his lips carressed her cheek. A small sigh escaped her as her arms draped over his shoulder, her fingers tracing across his shoulder. She pecked along his jawline, till their lips connected, feeling hands gripping her closer. Her thoughts swirled again. What was even happening? She had just mangled a man's legs, threatened to cut his junk off, leaving him locked in a metal box; thirty minutes later shes fooling around with the club's enforcer before heading out to confront some psychopath militants in the woods. With an impending storm to top it all off. It all seemed insane. Sureal even.

She didn't waiver away from eager hands helping to remove her sweater, tossing it aside. Jenkins' kissed passionately, with a touch of neediness, which didn't surprise her. Birdie's fingers ran through his hair. They had never gone farther than some casual flirting, or a slap on the ass in passing. She had no real complaints. It was the first real intimate contact since losing her husband. It was an odd feeling that only added to the cocktail of emotions she was cycling through. She would work through that later though.

The sound of Wess' crutch colliding with the door brought her back to reality, startling the duo. His playful torment echoed through the washroom. Jenkins' cursed at the man in frustration as she tried her best to stifle a laugh. Her cheeks flushed with mild embarrassment as she rolled her eyes, placing her forehead against Elvis' chest. She shook her head with a small, nervous chuckle. She sat up, pushing him back just enough for her to be able to slide off the counter. Pressed between him and the linoleum, she kissed him again quickly, giving him a playful tap on the side of his face. "How about we make sure we don't die on this little adventure, then we can see where this might go." She slipped out from his grasp, grabbing her sweater and throwing it back on. "I've gotta grab my things and change, y'know, since I look like shit." She shot him a teasing glare, before slipping out of the room.

The clubhouse was silent as Birdie walked to the back, going into one of the small supply closets where she kept her things. Sleeping in the clubhouse was starting to get old, but she was grateful to have somewhere to sleep at least. Even if it was often just the chair in the corner. She rifled through her bag, grabbing a sweater and a pair of jeans. Swapping outfits and loading up her backpack, she fastened her sheathed knife to her hip. Adjusting her hat and throwing her blank vest back on, she headed through the clubhouse and out to the van.

The clouds loomed, and the wind whipped flakes around, leaving a thin layer of white on the ground. She frowned at the weather, lighting a cigarette. "Glad to see you're up and moving." The prospect remarked kindly, ignoring the taunting gaze of Mason as she walked up to the van. The sight of all the weapons and ammo brought the knots back to her stomach. "Shit... We're really going all out, huh Boss?" She asked, throwing her bag into the back seat, before leaning against the side of the vehicle to finish her smoke, in an attempt to not let the thoughts and anxieties consume her. 'Eyes on the prize, babygirl', she thought to herself. At this point, the prize was simple: don't get killed. Taking one last long drag, she tossed the cigarette into a puddle of slush, climbed into the passenger seat, and grabbed the map from the glovebox.

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