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

[Miaow]

LINCOLN
The Pit
​

Haewon had had a firm grip on her sister's shoulder for the majority of the walk to Cabrera's honeymoon suite. She wanted to trust her... but she felt like she needed one of those baby backpack leashes to keep her within a metre radius. The girl was unhinged, and not in a serial killer way, in a slightly suicidal way. In Haewon’s eyes, she wasn’t lashing out to hurt others, she simply didn’t care what the consequences were. Would she prefer it if she were a tiny serial killer?

She took a deep breath. Okay, quickly and quietly, follow the signs to the warden's office, but take a right before the stairs, fourth door on the left. God she hoped she remembered that right, now wasn't the time to be getting lost. At least they had the quiet part down, Minnie hadn't said a word since they'd split from Nari. This area of the prison itself was eerily quiet, other than the echoes from the pit following them down the halls. It was hard to understand any of the actual words coming from the pit, only muffled yells, which was pretty normal for a fight to the death.

"Fuck-- It's this one, right?" Haewon murmured as they passed door after door, pointing ahead. She looked over her shoulder, recounting how many doors they'd passed, before approaching it. She held a hand out to Minnie, signalling for her to stop, before pressing her ear to it. It sounded empty... She couldn't hear any movement, though there remained a background rumble from the pit. She'd given her weapon away, instead raising a fist as she turned the handle and pushed the door open...

Empty. She let out a soft sigh of relief, gesturing for Minnie to go in first, before shutting the door behind them.

“Nice to see how the 1% lives, I guess,” Haewon murmured as she scanned the room… They had a cushy mattress, more pillows than one human could need, and a bedside table each.
“The fuck are they doing? Making pillow forts?” She picked up a pillow, squishing it to test the firmness. She let it drop back onto the bed, pushing down on the mattress.
“You think he sent a scav team out to get this? There’s no way this is a prison mattress,” She flopped onto the bed amongst the pillows.
“Ohhhh~ I can’t possibly commit atrocities without my beauty rest~” She exclaimed, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead as she put on her best Cabrera voice, “I need the softest of mattresses in order to enslave the masses~”

Expecting to hear a laugh or, well, anything from her sister, Haewon was instead met with muffled, echoed retching. She lifted her head with a frown, finding the room empty and the bathroom door open.
“Minnie?” She called out, getting to her feet and following the noise.

Minnie sat on the bathroom floor, hunched over the toilet bowl. The images of Buster on the ground, blood spreading from his chest, and that momentary feeling of relief she felt when she realised it wasn’t Xander who was bleeding… She wretched again.

Haewon let out a soft sigh through her nose, leaning forward to hold the front of Minnie’s hair behind her head.
“You’re okay,” She murmured, taking her hair in one hand as the other rubbed her back. They stayed like that for a while, Haewon repeating the same, reassuring words, until Minnie had emptied the contents of her stomach… though it was mostly stomach acid and bile.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, sitting back against the bathroom wall, her face clammy and pale. She hugged her knees tight to her chest, picking at the dry skin on her palms, worn away by hard labour. Haewon sat across from her, legs folded awkwardly to fit in the small space as she backed up against the edge of the bath. She wasn’t sure how to start this god awful conversation. Part of her hoped Minnie would have forgotten this by the morning, but she knew that wasn’t healthy, either. She wasn’t even sure where to start.

“I’m sorry, Minnie,” Haewon murmured. It felt cliche. It was what everyone said when they found out you’d lost somebody. I’m sorry for your loss. Minnie simply didn’t respond. It wasn’t Haewon’s fault, none of this was. She didn’t make Buster call Cabrera a dickhead or whatever it was he did to get himself put in the pit. She didn’t make Xander kill Dutchess. She wasn’t there for any of those things.

She had so many thoughts in her head. She hated it here. She hated that Buster had to die. She hated the way he looked at her while he died. She hated that Xander would never really be free. She hated that Cabrera was free. She hated that half of the people around her were in the Cabrera fanclub and one wrong move could get her killed. She hated that she had to see his face every damn day when he came for lunch. She hated that she hadn’t killed him when she had the chance. Hate hate hate hate hate. She hated how much hate she felt.

Haewon let out a soft sigh, shuffling herself across the bathroom to sit against the open door, next to her sister. She didn’t touch her, purposely leaving a gap between the two.
“I’m sorry I grabbed you like that… at the pit,” She added.
“I’m sorry I hit you…” Minnie responded without missing a beat.
Haewon smiled a little. If there was one thing the two of them were good at, it was making up after a fight.
“I’m just… I’m really worried about you. Nari is, too,” She told her, her arms resting limply on top of her knees, “The people here will kill you, and we couldn’t do anything to stop them. We could get away with more at Northview. We’re outnumbered here.”
Minnie hugged her knees closer to her chest, her shoulders hunched.
“We’ve spent our whole lives looking out for each other… but I can’t keep you safe while you’re doing stupid stuff like this.”
Haewon could feel anger bubbling up inside her. God, she’d spent her whole childhood keeping this kid alive, her entire life revolved around her and she was trying her hardest to throw it all away. She wanted to scream at her, shake her. I took the bullet for you, over and over! I lost my childhood for you! Don't you get that?! She took a breath.

“I can’t go to work without worrying you’re gonna try and dunk Cabrera’s head in soup.” She murmured.
“He’d deserve it,” Minnie finally responded, staring off at nothing in particular.
“Yeah, then you’d end up just like Xander. They’d put you in the pit– and if you're lucky, they'd just kill you. Or, they keep putting you back in, again and again. As soon as you finish one punishment, they come up with another one. Do you want that?”
“At least he stood up for himself…”
“He didn’t. He got pissed off and emotional and he killed someone important,” Haewon had to pause to take another breath. Gentle parenting, gentle parenting… She was on Minnie’s side here, she needed Minnie to know that. The moment she raised her voice, she lost that trust.
“Look… I know you love Xander… and you can love him and miss him and wish he was still here… but please, just don’t look up to him. Don’t do what he did.”

Minnie swallowed a lump in her throat. Xander and Nari had been everything she’d wanted to be. Xander was quick-witted and strategic and strong, Nari was a genius, kind and creative. She paused before shuffling a little closer to her sister, resting her head on her shoulder. Haewon took this as a go-ahead to touch her, wrapping an arm around her and petting the top of her head.
“Every time we’re happy… something bad has to happen,” Minnie murmured, fidgeting with the stitching down the side of her dungarees.
“It’s not that something bad happens… It’s always the Samaritans. Every time,” Haewon responded, lowering her voice, “but… we just have to be patient. We get stronger, we prepare, and then we get our own back, yeah?”
She smiled at her sister, resting her cheek against the top of her head.
“And, in the meantime… we’ll hide some Momo shit under Cabrera’s pillow.”

Bullyboy Squad Safton Togy BeyondDandy Safton NanLia Crono Aegis Namazu Good_Morels Fluffy-Kat Tool Not Meat
​

 

[Tool]

LINCOLN
- Infirmary -
In collaboration with Namazu​

It had been some weeks since Detective Jones had landed herself in the infirmary of Lincoln. She'd gone from being out of her mind with fever and see-sawing on the precipice of oblivion to being merely ravaged by injuries. Baby steps were still steps.

The .22 bullet that gave her a divot in the space between a lower left spot of her skull nearish her ear was long gone, and the good Doctor had done his best in putting her face mostly back together, but there was no hiding the spiderweb of neat, black stitching that peeked out from a noticeably smaller bandage that had once covered half her head. Her cheek was still mostly cheek-shaped, even if there was a matching, pencil-eraser-sized divot in her cheek where the bone had shattered into splinters. Her eye still lay in its socket....... but each black, jagged mark that burst forth from the bandage was another underline beneath the word pain, and they would all follow her for the rest of her days.

If she was lucky, the chestnut of her unseeing eye would stay brown rather than going gradually milky; getting killed because someone mistook her for one of the shuffling dead would be delightfully ironic, but still. Punk-ass way to die.

Madison recognized she was in a bed and knew where she was...... and though the particulars of why she was still alive eluded her, she chalked it up to being either unknown or underestimated or both.

How had she come to be here? Weston or Connor, probably, but how specifically? Who knew. She'd been with the Fallen Angels, ridden towards the school, waded through the ocean of dead, stumbled into the murky afterwards punctuated by moments of clarity...... and then she'd been here, as though the details between that time and this one had been cut for cinematic brevity.

Weston.

Connor.

Texas.

King.

Blondie.

Cabrera.

Fish.

Sneakers.

Mouse.

The names had congealed into reality, at least.

Madison slept an inordinate amount, both to ease her pain and (according to the Doc) help her heal. As a result, she'd been deep into dreams when the first tickles of smoke curled into her lungs.

Sputtering awake with the taste of burnt plastic on the tongue hadn't been pleasant.

Remembering she was chained up tight had been less so.

Unfortunately, being a little more sound of mind didn't translate to a sound body. Madison was with it enough to recognize that she was...... pretty much toast. Clumsy fingers still tried to make the railing of the gurney go down, still tried to get herself sitting up enough to fiddle with the cuffs......

Goddamn cuffs.

There were, in fact, worse ways to go, but this one wasn't awesome.

There she was, pale arms draped over the railing, knees bent but not crouched, curled around herself like a dying mermaid, forcing her free hand to fumble with the cuff and trying to squeeze her thumb past the metal while bracing herself with her elbows, when that damned scratch in her sternum made her dissolve into ragged coughs.


This wing of the prison, where the infirmary sat tucked away, was often a quiet one - on occasion people passed by, sometimes being noisy and rude, sometimes just going about their business. Occasionally sounds from the canteen echoed down the hall, when the music or laughter was particularly raucous. The most unnerving sounds were when voices from the pit floated down the hallway. Sometimes it sounded like there must be a sporting event going on, with cheering and chanting. Other times, between the occasional gunshot and the roars of the crowd, it was impossible to think there was anything other than bloodsport going on.

Today’s bloodsport had devolved into panicked sounds of people fleeing and shouting - sometimes orders, sometimes questions. Among it, two sets of running footsteps were approaching the infirmary from the growing smoke.

Weston and Victor got to the doorway of the infirmary at about the same time. Victor paused at the doorway to wheeze for air, coughing into the crook of his arm and his once-white clinical jacket.

“Uncuff her!” Weston grabbed the doctor by the shoulder and arm, and shoved him inside. Victor stumbled, catching himself on a nearby empty bed, hand already going for the keys in his pocket. Weston leaned into the doorway, taking stock of who all was in the infirmary. He snapped his fingers and pointed at a young woman with her arm in a sling and splint who was sitting up, alarmed and coughing.

“Get out. Go outside, avoid the kitchen area.” Weston pointed over his shoulder. There was blood on Weston’s shirt, splattered and smeared from about stomach-height and downwards to his hip. He didn’t look or move like he was injured though - perhaps someone else’s blood? He turned his attention to Madison.

Thank God she was awake and moving, and within her right mind enough to be trying to get out of the cuffs. Fuck them all for cuffing her to the bed… even if it was necessary, for everyone’s safety. He had visited once - once - not long after he brought her here. She was out cold. Zero response to his presence. He couldn’t think of anything to say other than a quiet apology, so he held her hand for a few minutes, then left. He hadn’t had it in him to come back yet, but he should have.

“Madison, I’ll be right back. Fire system control box first.” Weston stared at Madison, hoping to hold her gaze long enough for her to understand he was coming back. Reluctantly, Weston pulled away from the door and ran down the hallway in search of this control box, praying it still worked.

“Stop, I have it.” Victor leaned over Madison’s cuffs and shooed her other hand away, unlocking the handcuffs from her wrist, letting the other end dangle from the gurney railing. When Madison was free, he leaned down and put her boots on the gurney near her legs, within reach.

“Put those on, just in case.” Victor ordered, already moving to other beds. He was pulling all the curtains open, doing a visual check to see what patients were still here and who needed help out, lowering gurney railings, handing people shoes and clothes, lowering beds and unlocking wheelchairs. He only had a real honest interest in one patient, but had responsibility over several, and he wasn’t yet in a position to abandon that responsibility. One of his nurses came flying into the room, sprinting so fast her sneakers seemed to hardly touch the floor. She went straight to Harry’s bed, unlocking the wheels and tossing his intravenous fluid bags onto the bed between his knees. Thanks to her, Harry was wheeled out of the room before anyone else, even if he wasn’t conscious enough right now to know it.

The enforcer on the walkie-talkie was right - the fire system control box was just down the hall from the infirmary. There was a small mechanical room in the corner of a hallway that Weston had never paid too much attention to, because he didn’t know what this stuff did. Now that he was in the room, it looked like hot water heaters, some big metal boxy things he couldn’t figure out, and a large bright-red metal box mounted on one wall to the right of the door. He tugged at the front panel to the red box, but it was locked shut, the shiny golden keyhole on the front smirking at him smugly.

A toolbox lay on the ground a few paces away, one of those big fancy ones that unfolded when you opened it into several layers of compartments. Weston quickly rummaged through it, saw no keys, and saw none hanging on the wall either. But, he did spot something else useful next to the toolbox - a crowbar.

“Fucker.” Weston hissed as he shoved one end of the crowbar between the panel and its front cover and shoved, arm muscles straining before the front cover popped off with a loud twanging metallic rattle. The locking mechanism had held fast, but he snapped the rusty hinges. An array of buttons and a LCD display screen stared back at him, along with fading warning stickers. He lightly ran his fingers along the buttons, reading labels, looking for something that indicated it would turn things on - or even an indication the panel still worked. He pushed what he thought was the on button and, mercifully, heard beeping as the display screen lit up. It had been such a long time since he’d seen an operational LCD screen that it was the most damn beautiful sight he’d seen in some time. Behind him, in one of the unidentified boxes, something started to whirr to life.

Checking the labels again, he realized the prison was divided into control zones. Handy, if you knew what any of the numbers or letters meant. He didn’t - so he took a guess and slammed the KTCN1 and CNTN1 buttons and prayed he was right. It made sense - KTCN for kitchen, CNTN for canteen. If he was wrong, fuck this prison and whoever built it. He didn’t dare press all the buttons, because then he’d probably be drenching everyone and everything - all their gear, all their food, all their supplies. No telling how much would get ruined.

He also couldn’t stick around and wonder if it worked. Grabbing his walkie-talkie, Weston pushed down on the talk button as he ran back to the infirmary.

“Fire control system is back on, I think, and I hit buttons for the kitchen and canteen. It should come on, if it still works.” There were garbled responses, but Weston didn’t listen, because he was already skidding back into the infirmary.

“Madison, come on, we gotta get out, there’s a fire.”


Put these on.

Right.

Sure.

The Doc fluttered away like a panicked bird, though to his eternal credit, his staff snapped to and started hustling people out and away.

Madison's hands grasped at boot number one and succeeded in lifting it from the bed and not dropping it. With an inordinate amount of concentration, her bare foot made its way...... no, genius check first...... okay, good. Left foot, left shoe. Her bare foot slipped inside her boot, its rough, dry leather scraping along her skin and being way too loose in its housing. The laces had no tension whatsoever, and the girl had lost a few pounds on a liquid diet, to say nothing of not wearing socks. Or pants. Tank-top and undies, neither of which had started out hers. Wardrobe of the stars.

A small noise of pain and frustration leaked from between her lips as she tensed her foot so the shoe wouldn't just fall to the floor and grasped at the laces to pull for everything she was worth. Comeon. Put on the shoe. Just..... Just put on the shoe.

Once the laces were as tight as they were going to get (not very), she tensed her leg once more so that she could put a knot somewhere in there. This wasn't any sort of loop-de-loop knot, this was a good, old-fashioned, trip-on-your-laces knot.

When her leg swung free at last, one shoe resolutely on, the effort made her eyesight blur and waver. The throb in her chest and the wire-thin pain lancing through her skull were familiar company at this point, but damned if being only halfway done didn't make her want to cry out of sheer outrage.

Boohoohoo. Save it for the Hallmark channel.

Right shoe. Right shoe, right foot. At least she didn't have to worry whether or not she'd picked the correct shoe. Tense foot. Slip on th-fuck who the hell left the laces tied??

Goddamn stupid shoes. Goddamn fingers not working like they should even though she knew goddamn well how this was supposed to work if her hands would just do what they were fucking told!

The shoe got laid in her lap, and her thumb and index finger began tugging at the knot with one hand when Weston's stupid voice called her name and told her the most obvious goddamn thing he could possibly have said, jolting her out of her task and making her head snap upwards........ and the boot clatter to the floor. A pirate-Madison, one eye covered, practically naked (by her estimation), unarmed and unremarked, her hands momentarily reaching for a shoe that wasn't there any more, so mad she could spit and so frustrated at her own body she could have wept, she made a simultaneously striking and tragic figure.

How far the mighty had fallen. "No shit." Madison said, rather flatly.


“Sorry, I - Doc, what the hell, you gave her shoes but no pants?” Weston snapped at Victor, who had darted into his office to grab a coat fit for the cold winter air outside. Shoving his arms through the sleeves, Victor motioned over his shoulder towards his office.

“Clothing donation bin’s in my office. Help yourself. I have someone to go find.” Victor didn’t even pause to make sure Weston found something useful; he was already running out of the infirmary. Madison was the last patient inside, and she wasn’t alone, so he apparently considered his duty done here. He looked more than frazzled - he was afraid. Clearly there was someone else out there he was worried more about.

Making some very colorful judgments out loud about what precisely filled Victor’s head right now (shit for brains, to start with), Weston hurriedly rummaged in the donation bin, pulling out a pair of jeans. He held them up, eyeballed the waist, eyeballed Madison, and decided it was close enough. He also found a pair of socks, rolled together so they stayed a pair, and lacking holes. Bingo.

Rolling a stool over, he sat down in front of Madison and yanked off the one boot she managed to get on. Unzipping the jeans, Weston pulled them up over Madison’s legs up as high as he could while she was sitting.

“You can either worm those on, or I’ll help you stand in a second.” He tugged the socks onto Madison’s feet, then started shoving boots on.

“Wheelchair, or gurney? Either way, you’re not walking. Also, hi, I’m glad you’re alive. You’ve been here a while. You can yell at me later when we’re out.” If Madison had any question about exactly how long she’d been bedridden that her weakened muscles wouldn’t answer, the fact that Weston’s hair was longer now probably gave some good hints.


Madison didn't know what sort of infirmary or hospital ever gave its patients pants. She'd considered herself damn lucky to get undies and a tank top and not one of those papery gowns that counted as clothing only on account of a shoelace's hypothetical ability to vaguely wrap things up and simultaneously show too much and too little. A mahogany gaze watched Weston as he berated the doctor and marched into a room before returning with...... clothes?

Who the fuck cared about clothes when there was a fuckin' fire? Either the fire wasn't that bad or Weston's priorities were way out of whack. Why, to escape the flames and the smoke, most folks wouldn't have waited for 'fully dressed' before heading for the hills. There was a reason most people milling around pre-Fall firetrucks weren't decked out in their Sunday best.

"What're you......"

Warm, calloused hands manhandled her legs without so much as an 'if you please', pulling off her shoe with a yank and lifting her legs one at a time to slide into denim, and Madison's face was flushed crimson with embarrassment at being pushed this way and that. She couldn't even rightly protest - argument would have taken time, and the trickle at the back of her throat had become constant. Besides, any verbal naysaying or denial she could have given wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference anyhow.

Madison was helpless to stop him.

Her fingers did manage to grasp the denim waistband and hold it in place as he put socks on her feet and muscled them into boots, though there was no way for her to worm her way into these pants on her own; balance just wasn't there yet, ditto for the hand strength to yank and pull things into place.

"Wheelchair."

No reason to pick a gurney when it was less maneuverable.

The length of Weston's hair did give her some valuable information. It wasn't long enough to account for lack of coordination to this extent. That meant a not insignificant portion of her body's failure to obey could be attributed to trauma or illness or both, not to the slow ravages of time. So. That was great.

Just...... just great.


“I’m getting you dressed because it's cold out. Won’t do you any good to survive getting shot in the head just for you to die of frostbite.” He also wasn’t comfortable with the idea of a compromised Madison being toted around in front of others in just a tank top and underwear, even if it had been a nice day outside. He heard the shit people said about women who were entirely conscious, sober, and able to fight back - no way he wanted to hear what they’d say about her. He might actually shoot someone in the neck for it.

“Sorry,” he added as he finished tying up her laces. Probably nothing perfect or comfortable, but it’d keep the laces from being a tripping hazard. Not that he expected her to run for it. A wheeling-them-over hazard instead, then.

Giving Madison a glance to make sure she wasn’t going to teeter right off the edge of the bed, he stepped away just long enough to push the wheelchair close. He locked the wheels, then leaned in and wrapped an arm around her waist. She was surprisingly lighter than he anticipated, which was worrying. A far cry from the unstoppable war machine he remembered from the schoolyard.

Helping Madison slide off the bed, he took the opportunity to help tug her pants up the rest of the way in the least-invasive way he could manage. He left the buttoning and zipping to her to try on her own first.

“Alright, hold on.” Weston tossed the bed’s blankets around Madison’s shoulders, unlocked the wheels, and pushed her towards the doorway.

“Maybe if you ask nicely I’ll pop a wheelie in the hallway for you.” Weston joked, trying to offer her a smile, though it didn’t really work all that well…. Since it was a stupid thing to say.


It was such a small thing, an insignificant thing, in the grand scheme of all things..... but damned if pants didn't make Madison feel a little more human, a little more capable of doing something, even if it took her a few tries to button and zip. Pants, a tank top, underwear, socks, and boots. A gun and she'd be fuckin' set. Hell, maybe someday she'd get herself a titty sling and really live it up. Gun first, though.

Gun > bra.

Human contact was still something unusual, and Madison hated the feeling of being shuffled around...... no, that wasn't quite right, she hated the feeling of being weak enough to need the help...... but soon enough, her keister was in a proper wheelchair, moving forwards at a reasonable speed. Pride wasn't something she had much of these days, but damned if it didn't sting anyhow. Madison was grateful it was Weston lugging her around and not someone else at Lincoln. The list of people she trusted was short; she could count them on one hand and still have a finger left over, and some of those she trusted were too young to burden with her sorry behind. Too young by far.

The blackness off one side of her head wasn't a surprise any more, and she'd need to learn to compensate for it if she was going to do anything but jack off and die or play bait for some swarm. Blankets were tugged further onto herself, and Madison forced herself to speak. Unfortunately for them both, Madison had other things on her mind than wheelies.

"Weston...... There were..... there were kids at th'school. They're here. They're in Lincoln. One..... one of them...... came to see me.... I..... I think."

A nest of vipers was no place for children. It wasn't a place for any decent folk, but children least of all. Madison shook her head to try and clear the cobwebs away.

"What happened? How're there kids here?"


What happened?

What a hell of a question. Weston thought about that same question a lot - not just the immediate question that Madison asked, but on a grander scale: how did he wind up here? How did mankind wind up here? He didn’t have answers for those questions beyond a painful feeling he fucked up badly and was getting his punishment for it far better than the government ever planned he’d get. Same as with the rest of mankind. But as for the kids? At least he could answer that one.

“The school’s no place to live at anymore. Too many bodies. Cabrera called it quits on that place, packed everyone and everything up, and brought ‘em all back here. For… safety. They’re warm and fed. The Angels went on their way too, and left. Sorry you had to be here but it seemed like the only option other than you dying.”

Weston pushed Madison down one hallway and then another, having no difficulty navigating what might otherwise be a winding maze to someone unfamiliar. It wasn’t long before they were moving the same direction as other people being evacuated - no enforcers among this crowd, just the scared, exhausted, and frazzled regular folk who somehow wound up at the bottom of the rung at Lincoln. They gave Weston a wide berth, and by extension, Madison as well. Some people averted their eyes in fear. He took one hand off the wheelchair for a moment to take his walkie-talkie out of its holder at his hip and pressed down on one button.

“Enforcers, start doing headcounts, and let me know who’s unaccounted for. Find Doctor Braaten and make sure he got his fool ass out. He went looking for someone, not sure who.”


Too many........ bodies?

For a moment, Madison was confused, right up until Weston explained that Cabrera brought everyone from the school here....... for safety. That was such a crock of bullshit that Madison re-examined Weston's words more holistically. A totality of bullshit rather than a nonsensical statement. It was true that the schoolyard grounds had been covered in zombie corpses, but rather remarkably, corpses were, in fact, portable. God knew she'd humped enough of them in her time. Even if there had been vague fears about zombie guts contaminating the ground...... planting beds existed for a reason. It was a school, not an industrial farm - at most they'd be dealing with an acre, maybe two, and that was if all the available green space was used for growing food. Plus, the entire area was fed by municipal water, not ground water.

No....... the de facto slaves at Northview had not been brought to the prison to become literal slaves because of an overreaching concern for their safety.

Anywhere with an executioner's pit that held not only deathmatches but man v. zombie extravaganzas could not, definitionally, be called safe. Madison had fought the dead in hollowed out pits, before. Lincoln was not unique in that regard. It was the same, banal cruelty that had existed before the Fall, laid bare and celebrated instead of shunned. Cabrera..... the name from Weston's lips filtered back to her, and Madison remembered a face with bloodshot eyes telling her this prison was full of...... fucking animals, he'd called them. People inclined towards casual rape and murder. In that fateful conversation, Cabrera had described the people he'd led in the invasion of a no-nothing school as little more than violent psychotics...... and Cabrera had brought Lincoln's newest victims close to his Scum-Sucking Raider King.

You know. For safety.

The hallways of the prison passed by unremarked and unremarkable - they were damn lucky not to encounter any trouble in their winding journey outside, but the trickle of smoke down Madison's throat stayed nothing more than a trickle, and as the pair merged with the regular people who made up the bulk of Lincoln's forced labor, the expressions on those faces were clear.

They were more afraid of Weston than of the fire that drove them outside.

For the first time, Madison wondered what, exactly, Weston had done in service to the King he wished to overthrow. Just how far had he bent the knee before realizing maybe he'd thrown in with the wrong crowd?

And it was the wrong crowd.

The wide birth these people gave her wheelchair and its navigator was evidence enough of that.

Madison kept quiet, even as her wheels came to a gradual stop. She didn't dare talk aloud around so many waiting ears, but her one eye spoke volumes as she watched Weston talk into his walkie talkie, giving short, direct, confident orders, and generally acting like he Totally Had This Under Control.

What the hell was he thinking?

Namazu
​

 

[NanLia]

THE PIT
Collab w/ Safton ​

Nari swiftly understood the critical mistake she’d made this evening agreeing to go and collect the rabbit, despite the rile of the crowds within the pit. The increase of noise hadn’t been displeasure of the results of the fight but the sounds of panicked people attempting to escape a fire somewhere in the building.


At first, she was walking against the crowds leaving the pit and getting as far away as possible but soon the acrid smell of smoke was choking the back of her throat, forcing her to pull the dirty borrowed hoodie up over her nose and mouth. It did not smell much better, now with the scent of Momo inside her shirt but it would at least it would filter most of the smoke.


She needed to get to the girls, she needed to make sure they were safe and she needed to be with them in the event that there was a chance to escape this hell during the fire. Slim as it might be, if they had to open the doors and let them all out; Nari would take her chances with the dead over with the people in this prison.


A scream of surprise was silenced in her throat by the inhalation of more smoke. She coughed, hard against the person that had grabbed her, unable to do any more than simply try and breathe again.


Momo jolted within her shirt, startling the Hispanic man who swiftly backed away. Now, able to breathe once more, she pulled the shirt back up over her nose, surprised to see who she was facing. She’d seen him before but wasn’t sure when or from where. Certainly somewhere in the prison…


It didn’t matter, if he recognized who she was it would make her problems all the worse. Nari turned and sprinted away, through the smoke onward closer to the pit. There had to be a way around the fire and back to her girls.

********​

Xander’s breath left his lungs and his knees buckled at the pain and wave of dizziness that overtook him. He very nearly fell back to the concrete floor where he likely would have stayed until the fire took him, but he managed to instead stumble over to the side of the arena and steady himself against it. There he remained, drawing in rapid shallow breaths until the pain in his ribs became more manageable and the cobwebs in his head cleared.


Soon he was staggering over to the gate of the arena. It was closed… had that Samaritan locked him in? That would be quite an end to him after all this work getting up and over here. The smoke was getting thicker and it was hard to even see the damned gate in the first place. The back of his throat was stinging, his eyes burning. He tried to fight it, but soon a barking cough escaped him – only to send another jolt of pain through his core that had him doubled over yet again.


Still, he pushed on. To what? He wasn’t sure. He had to believe Nari and Minnie and Haewon were somewhere out there… hopefully somewhere safe. Would they even still want anything to do with him? That was the million-dollar question, but right now he didn’t have an answer to it. The only thing that occupied his brain was making it to that fucking gate. Finally, his body slumped gracelessly against steel bars, pulling at them… to the sound of metal creaking obediently open. As Xander rushed through it, crouching low to avoid the worst of the smoke while moving into the interior of the prison, he allowed himself a dangerous emotion that he hadn’t dared feel in what felt like years.


Hope.



Nearing the pit she was forced to crouch, and duck beneath the black smoke as it billowed along the ceiling. She knew then she should turn back, go back to the girl's cell and wait but someone stumbled out of the pit, covered in blood and a sheer layer of sweat; at first, she thought it had to have been someone who’d died and risen but to her surprise…


“Xander!”



Xander followed the sound of the voice calling his name, whirling around to face the figure as it – she – emerged from the smoke. Even with a shirt obscuring part of her lower face, he recognized her immediately. He wondered if maybe this was some cruel hallucination sprung on him by oxygen deprivation… and, well, if it was? He could live with that. There were worse ways to go out than spending his final moments allowing himself the illusion of being reunited with his wife.


He lurched toward her on instinct, unable to fight the forces that drove his feet across the floor as he closed the distance. It was like they were two magnets of the opposite charge. Suddenly he was in front of her and he paused – almost fearful to take the final step as he lifted a hand gingerly, reaching out toward her cheek. “Nari,” he uttered her name like a prayer, trying to drink in every detail of her face even as the smoke filled the corridor around them.



Nari stared in shock and disbelief as Xander - XANDER! - shuffled toward her. She should have been concerned he’d turned, that she was seeing a dead version of her husband, lover and best friend coming for her but she didn’t move, not a step. If he was gone, then so was she.


Instead, he paused, raising a hand to her and she immediately pulled down the shirt over her face, stepping in toward the awaiting hand and letting the blood-soaked fingers brush over her cheek. She reached for him, grabbing the tatters remaining on his shirt.


“Xa-” She coughed, throat burning from the smoke, tears rolling down her cheek. They couldn’t stay here any longer and they couldn’t get to the girls. Nari pulled on Xander’s shirt, backing the way she’d come and away from the smoke.


They stumbled and staggered through the hall, away from the cell blocks and toward the only place she knew that would be safe: her workshop. It was unlocked, thankfully, and once they were inside she pushed the door closed, cutting off the smoke from the room, at least for now.



As soon as the heavy door slammed shut behind them, Xander leaned against the desk in the center of the room – several hacking coughs escaping his lungs and reigniting the pain in his torso. Once he managed to regain his composure, he whirled around, wrapping his arms around Nari in a swift hug before backing away to give her a once-over. “Are you okay? Where are the girls?”


He swallowed hard before speaking the next question aloud, his mouth suddenly dry for a reason that had nothing to do with the smoke and heat in the air. “Is the baby–” he began to ask, his voice trailing off before he could finish. With all the smoke and stress… they wouldn’t know until they could find a doctor…



She leaned into Xander as he pulled her close, feeling every emotion bubble up within her threatening to spill over and take control. He backed off, and she was thankful for the moment of peace before he spoke, rattling questions at her ending with one he hadn't finished.


Nari glared at the beaten man, ready to yell at him. How could he, of everyone, question her?! But a sudden sharp pain made her gasp and swiftly pulled her hoodie over her head, tossing it to the ground. “クソガキ!” She cursed, rubbing her hand over the top of her belly where Momo had delivered a swift, and hard, kick.


The bunny, now free from the confines of his prison, crawled out of the hoodie and happily hopped away to explore the new room.




Xander’s eyes widened at Nari’s outburst as she suddenly stripped off the hoodie, throwing it to the ground. He was about to ask what was wrong, wondering if the curse had been directed at him… but then he saw the hoodie move. He balked until the white, furry shape trundled out and began bounding without a care about the space.


Xander stared at the rabbit blankly. “Is that… Momo?”




Nari sighed, heavy with frustration as she moved to lean against the wall, then decided standing was too much and slowly slid to the floor to sit. Once upon a time, she could cross her legs under her, but now, nearing the end of her pregnancy, that wasn't even within the realm of possibility. She stretched her legs out in front of her, adjusting the weight of her belly so she wouldn't lose feeling in her feet and stared at her swollen ankles.


“Yes, that's Momo. Minnie and Haewon are … safe, I think. I sent them where no one will look for them. I went to get Momo so they wouldn't. And the baby…” she slowly ran her hands over her belly. “The baby is fine, as far as I know. I heard it's heartbeat after you all came here.”


She looked up at him then, a worried look crossing her features. “It's yours.” Her lips quivered, threatening to cry all over again. She felt like she'd been filled with tears since coming here. “Not his. They were going to … to … I couldn't think of anything else that would stop them.”






Xander knelt down at Nari’s side, the relief at hearing their girls were safe washing over his body like a painkiller and washing away the ache in his ribs, the agony in every breath. He gave his wife a knowing smile as he took her hand in his own, squeezing it softly. “I know. Buster told me,” he murmured, his voice hitching slightly at the mention of their friend.


He swallowed hard, his free hand moving over to rest on Nari’s belly for a moment as his smile widened. “We’ll have to start thinking of names…” he continued in little more than a whisper. Xander held her gaze for a long moment – it felt like an eternity staring into those chocolate-brown pools.

And then something popped out in the corridor – probably the fire reaching a circuit breaker – causing the lights to flicker, snapping him from his reverie. “Do you know if there is another way out of here?” he asked.




Nari marvelled at Xander's simple and gentle touch. How just a few seconds of him holding her hand and suggesting baby names managed to set her world back into motion. The months spent here first alone and then with limited access and truths with the girls had made her feel like she'd been frozen in time, with no future to be had.


He made her world spin and made her want to keep breathing. He made her hope. She nodded and squeezed his hand, her free hand reaching up to wipe away the tears streaking her spot-dusted cheeks. “Yes, a door there.” She nodded to the back of the room, beyond shelves of scraps. “It leads into the well pump and generator room. But the door is always locked.”




Xander followed her gesture toward the indicated door, scrutinizing it briefly. He turned to give Nari a parting kiss to the forehead before standing with a light grunt, cradling his midsection as he marched over to the potential exit. He placed his hand lightly on the steel body of the heavy door… it was cool to the touch. That was a good sign. He tried the handle and, sure enough, Nari was right. It didn’t budge.


He turned back to look at the interior of the room they found themselves in… he hadn’t exactly been given the grand tour of the Prison, but there was something vaguely familiar about this space all the same. It was clearly a workshop judging by the array of tools laid out across the benches and shelves. But the meticulous way in which they were arranged… Nari. This was her office. Of course; he had heard the Samaritans had taken her for her technical expertise.


Maybe now it was time to put that expertise – and these tools – to good use. Xander toward his wife with a hopeful smirk. “I watched you turn an abandoned high school into a colony with power and running water.” He shook his head. “A locked door is no match for you, Ms. Font.”




Nari smiled faintly at Xander as he left her; surprised at how quickly she could fall back into old roles and feelings. For so long she’d had to be the image of someone else and it pained her to think that she’d have to go back to him…


She watched as Momo, done with exploring beneath the desks and shelves, meandered back toward her, pausing at her leg and flopping against it. The rabbit seemed at ease, somehow, after being assaulted by a stranger and then flung to the floor. If she hurt the beast it would be the end of any kind of relationship with her daughters.


Nari peered up at Xander as he returned, his tone of voice light and meant to tease her like old times. She inhaled and immediately regretted it, coughing for several seconds before regaining her composure. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t looked at it the first week I was in here.”


With effort, she slid her legs beneath her and used the nearby self to haul herself back up to her feet. “I know I can unlock it.” She said, shuffling closer to her desk, collecting makeshift replacement tools, selecting a flathead screwdriver and a mallet. “The problem is, the people running this place will know too.”




Xander nodded gravely, his lips thinning. “I know. But…” he turned to wander back toward the door they had entered from, pressing his palm against its body. A distinct warmth radiated through the core and he drew his hand back, glancing down at the bottom of the door where a few faint wisps of smoke were beginning to make their way in.


“...I don’t think we have much of a choice,” he finished. “If it comes to it, if we run into them... I’ll tell them I opened the door. Okay?” he said, his tone almost pleading.



Nari nodded slowly, as Xander insisted they break through the door; she didn’t like the idea of him taking the blame for something she was doing. Honestly, she wouldn’t let him tell their captors it was him; he wasn’t yet free from his fate because he’d won that fight - she knew plenty of other stories that, despite having won their freedom, they’d continued to fight.


She shuffled back to the door, it wasn’t anything spectacular. A steel door, hollow save for the struts. A simple tumbler lock. She didn’t know anything about lock picking, but she had previously considered how to get into the room. She took the flat edge of the screwdriver and pressed it to the top of the pin within the door's hinge. Using the mallet, she tapped upward until the pin slipped out of the slots.


Twice more the door groaned, no longer resting on the hinges but on the brackets and now on the tumbler lock.


With the same screwdriver, she wedged the tip between the doorframe and the lock where the latch sat and tapped again, this time harder until the screwdriver moved the door back far enough in the frame that the deadbolt no longer sat inside the strike plate.


Once again the door groaned, this time sliding toward her, and the room she was within, as it was freed from the frame.



Xander rested back against the workbench, an arm hanging loosely around his midsection as he watched Nari work. Even considering just how dire their situation was, he couldn't help but smile faintly at the sight. The methodical way in which the woman went about solving a task in front of her never ceased to amaze him. She rarely seemed more peaceful and at ease than when she was at work.


Suddenly there was the groaning creak of metal-on-metal as the door gave way to Nari’s efforts and Xander's smile broke into a grin. He hobbled over and embraced her quickly, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Great job, babe,” he murmured. He glanced around before grabbing a pipe wrench off the nearby table and hefting it in front of him like a sword and stepping forth into the darkness.



Nari leaned into Xander’s, heedless of and blood and grime transferable between them. It was a simple gesture, something that would or could have happened a hundred times if they were home. But they weren’t, they were here and she didn’t know the next time she’d get another. If it would be their last.


She watched as she stepped over the door and into the darkness beyond; she knew what he’d find: the mechanical room - a broiler, the water pump to the prison, pipes and wires leading in all directions and a long corridor that led… she didn’t know where.


Nari knew they couldn’t stay here, already smoke was seeping through the gaps of the door they’d come in. She hurried to pull the dirty hoodie back over her head and was thankful Momo seemed to understand now wasn’t the time to keep his distance and was underfoot. She scooped him up and stuffed him back inside the hoodie and followed Xander through to the door and down the corridor.


She didn’t know how long they travelled along, though it felt like an eternity of silence between them, Xander at the lead, ready to take on anything and her behind, cautiously looking back the way they had come; expecting fire or Samaritans to be chasing them down.


Instead, they came to another door and after Xander checked for heat they found it unlocked and it led into a hallway that was entirely void of people.


Nari paused, looking both ways down the hall as Xander leaned against the wall to catch his breath. “I think I know where I am.” She said quietly, “This way.” She turned, reaching for Xander’s hand and started down the hall to where she believed they needed to go.


“We’re in the admin building.” She said softly, pausing at an intersection to look down the various halls to make sure the coast was clear before leading him onward. “The girls are over here.” She sped up, as fast as her oversized belly with a bunny balancing on top of it would allow and nearly dragged him down the hall to Cabrera’s room.


She pushed through the door, pulling Xander in behind her and slamming it closed behind her.

Miaow Bullyboy Squad Namazu BeyondDandy Crono Togy Aegis Good_Morels Tool ​

 

[NanLia]

FLASHBACK
Collab w/ Bullyboy Squad - Cabrera, Namazu - Victor, NanLia - Nari ​

Nari hadn’t slept after the incident with Cabrera and his nightmare, part of her wanted to blame him - her head ached, as did her hips and knees (but that seemed to be par for the course so far in her pregnancy) but he’d been asleep when he’d shoved her off the bed, he hadn’t been lucid. The cold compress had helped as much as it could - numbing some of the pain and reducing the swelling enough she could at least see through the eye. Regarding herself in the mirror now she could see it already turning deep shades of purple, and when she lifted her lid enough to peer at her eye she could see the blood at the corner.

She’d retired to her chair for the rest of the night, sitting under the lamp and thumbing through her book, taking notes in a broken-spine journal.

When Cabrera announced that they would be visiting medical, she nearly cried - worried now that he would go through with what that intolerable enforcer had attempted to do months before. He must have been able to read her face and swiftly added that he wanted to make sure that she, and the baby, were fine after the tumble the night before.

Nari hadn’t expected the spectacle of walking through the prison alongside Cabrera. People watched and whispered in the few days she’d been moved into his quarters but often kept it quietly between themselves. Now? Now it was blatant, some calling out to him or her - though she wasn’t entirely sure what all was said as much of it was Spanish.

When she slowed and put a little distance between herself and him he’d immediately stepped toward her, placing a calloused hand on the back of her neck and turning her in the direction he desired.

“Remember who put that baby in you.” He growled as he leaned in.

In her exhaustion, she’d forgotten the act, forgotten that she had a part to play in his now. She forced a smile and did her best to relax to his touch. “You did.” She murmured in reply.


Victor was at his usual desk in the medical bay, a cup of coffee near his hand, a book open on his desk, and papers shoved into a notebook filled with his scrawling handwriting. Several pens - some dried up, some not - were scattered on the desk as well. He sat with his head in his hands, staring at the page, somehow equal parts lost in thought and simply lost.

The book was about natural herbal remedies for illnesses throughout the ages. It was quite helpful - if you lived in Western Europe or various parts of India and what is now China. If you lived in the armpit of the United States where Lincoln was? Not so much. He didn’t recognize any of the plants mentioned so far, or even have an idea where something similar would be. Victor sighed. He knew cornfields, not Aconitum heterophyllum.

Victor flipped a few more pages, none of it at all helpful to him. Now it was going into plants found in South America. This author seemed to be trying her hardest to avoid North America. Irritated and defeated, he slammed the book shut, grabbed it off the desk, turned in his chair, and whipped it at the far wall with an angry growl and huff. The paperback book smacked against the wall and then hit the ground with a useless fwump.

Leaning back in his chair with his hands on his face, Victor could hear the jeering, hooting, and cat-calling from his office. Not that he understood any of it, it was all in Spanish, but it sounded closer than he liked. It couldn’t mean anything good, either. Taking another swig of his coffee (which at this point was cold and tasting more like water with a suggestion of coffee), he pushed himself out of his chair to go poke his head out of his office.


Cabrera opened the infirmary door for her to go in first. He followed and froze halfway through, vision fixed on the man with his head poking out of the small office door. Victor. The doctor. That man. Of course he was there, he fucking worked there. Motherfucker.

Ignacio moved again, trying to suppress anger-fueled reflux. He always tested himself in high-stress jobs but lately he felt he was getting old. He put his hand to the small on Nari’s back. “I take it, you know him?” He didn’t wait for an answer, speaking loudly in a stiff tone.

“Doctor.” He waited for their gazes to cross. “I want you to check my woman and the baby.”


Nari was momentarily taken aback by Cabrera’s statement. She didn’t understand why he cared if she’d met Victor before or that they knew one another. She glanced up curiously, wanting to see his expression but the pressure on her back from his hand told her to stay in her lane - this was not information she should be prying into.

She moved into the infirmary with Cabrera’s encouragement; she knew she was a sight, her eyes still couldn’t open fully despite keeping a cool compress on it overnight. Her clothes were not meant for maternity, they were simply plus-sized so they stretched around her belly awkwardly and hung loose around the rest of her. She was curious to find out more … anything about the baby and its health. Aside from that first trip to the infirmary with the enforcer woman she hadn’t returned.


Of course Cabrera was here. He fucking lived here. Motherfucker.

Victor did his best to try and not flinch away at the sight of the man, instead focusing his attention on Nari… who was apparently that scumbag’s woman. He wondered if Blake knew about that interesting detail. Not a little detail - a fucking large detail.

The woman looked like an awful mess. Exactly like how he pictured Cabrera would treat a woman, of course. Victor frowned as he studied her with concern, crossing the small infirmary to find exam gloves to pull on.

“Take a seat.” Victor gestured towards one of the beds. Not that he was an OB-GYN by any stretch of the imagination, but he did have a basic working knowledge of the female body’s reproductive system. Probably better than most straight guys did, not that he wanted to flex that fact.

“Any aches and pains, or anything just feeling not-right? Nausea, dizziness, or any bleeding?” Victor found himself one of the stools on wheels and took a seat, keeping one eye on Cabrera as he wheeled up in front of Nari. He kept a respectful distance from her, anticipating this was probably nerve-wracking.


Ignacio found it challenging to keep his urges and attitude at bay. But he just wanted to get it over with. Then something drew his attention, unexpected, sending an icy shudder down his spine. Woman on a hospital bed on the other side of the room. Before he could double-check it was her the curtain was tugged back around her spot.

Without looking at Nari or the doctor rolling towards her on a stool, the man strode in the direction the familiar face half covered in a bandage with a single “Be right back.”


Nari glanced nervously at Victor as he calmly requested that she simply take a seat at the edge of one of the exam tables. As though being back in this room didn’t make her want to throw up. As though she should also be entirely calm about the entire ordeal. She forced herself to inhale deeply, then exhale.

She didn’t know Victor all that well; he’d been with Hughes when they walked in the yard. Sometimes Victor stayed with them, other times he left as soon as she arrived. He seemed kind enough and she willed herself to trust him because Hughes did. The military man had been among the very few she could call a friend in this hell during a time she had been very alone.

Cabrera stepped away, muttering something, and somehow that lifted some of the tension she’d felt. As instructed she came to sit where Victor had requested, watching as he wheeled towards her but, thankfully, kept a distance between them.

“Headache.” She said quietly, glancing to where Ignacio had disappeared behind a curtain. “My head stopped bleeding last night with a cool cloth.” She paused, considering her choice of words carefully. “No pregnancy concerns.” She hadn’t been certain if his questions were related to her face or the baby and felt it was simpler to answer both. “My right hip aches, but I think that’s from when I fell.”


Victor couldn’t blame Nari for feeling nervous. Anyone would be nervous to be pregnant, and it was only made worse by the reality of their world now. Being around Cabrera wasn’t helping anything whatsoever. Especially not if he beat her. There was so much he’d love to say to this woman, if only Cabrera was out of earshot.

“That’s good to hear.” It was a little bit of a lie. It was not good to hear her head had been bleeding, on account of that brute - or any animal inside this place for that matter. He pushed his stool to one side and opened a drawer, pulling out a stethoscope. He tucked it under one arm while he held the flat metal piece against his palm, trying to impart some warmth to it before using it.

“As the pregnancy progresses, you’ll likely run into issues with back pain, ankle pain, swollen ankles, that sort of thing, if you’re not already. These are all common and not necessarily a sign of anything serious all on their own. Usually taking it easy - putting your feet up, having good back support - will help. If you have any bleeding or stomach pains or cramps though, let me know right away.”

He stood up from his stool, tucking the earbuds of the stethoscope into his ears, holding the other end in one hand. He didn’t yet move closer to Nari; it was clear he was treating her a bit like a wounded deer, not wanting to move too fast or too close without ample warning.

“So normally a first appointment at the start of your pregnancy includes a full physical exam, pap smear, the whole works. We don’t have the supplies for that - so what I’m going to do is take a listen to your chest to make sure your heart and lungs sound good. Then your stomach. Unfortunately we don’t have a way to do an ultrasound, but maybe we can hear the baby, hrm?” He tried very, very hard to sound upbeat at the idea of hearing the baby - but he didn’t even know if this was something Nari wanted. And if she did? What a heartbreak that a mother couldn’t even get an ultrasound picture of her baby to take home and keep.

The thought of Cabrera imposing himself on her was an awful one, something he banished from his mind as he tugged the collar of Nari’s shirt down just a bit so that he could slide the metal end under her shirt and against her skin. Victor quietly instructed Nari when to breathe in and breathe out, when to take normal breaths and when to take really, really big ones - doing his best to use a gentle voice. The whole time as he listened to her heart and lungs, his eyes were over Nari’s shoulder, watching what Cabrera was doing elsewhere in the room. Harassing another one of his patients. Of course. The bastard just couldn’t let a woman on the way out lay in peace. Victor himself forgot to breathe.

“Everything sounds good.” Victor announced, pulling the stethoscope free from one ear so he could talk to Nari and stand a chance of hearing her reply.

“Lay back on the exam table, please. You look pretty far along - what’s your estimate? Six months, give or take?”


Nari paled at the mention of a full physical exam, her eyes widening as she listened and watched Victor warily. She glanced, occasionally, to where Cabrera had stepped away and was truthfully hopeful that the look of fear wasn’t the idea of being examined by an entire stranger in the place that had threatened to take her child just months before, and that Cabrera wouldn’t approve of it.

She calmed as he went on to announce they had no such equipment to complete the list of tests he suggested. It was short-lived as he closed in to listen to her heart and breathing; Nari couldn’t recall ever being nervous around doctors in the past, but her last, real, appointment had been so long before. And now? Well, was Victor actually a doctor?

She’d taken the information at face value when she’d met him in the yard with Hughs, but at the time she hadn’t thought of asking for his credentials. Now he was here and saying the correct things…

Before she could overthink any further he was declaring that her heart and breaths sounded good. “Uh, yes.” She spoke softly, pushing herself back far enough on the bed so she could lay bay as instructed. “Six months.”


As he walked back to where he left his woman with the doctor, Cabrera seemed lost in thought. Until he heard the words, ’Lay back on the exam table, please’, and he sped up his pace.

“Hey,” the man warned. “Don't go fucking touching her between legs.” Everybody in an earshot looked over, watching the scene. Until he tugged the curtain back around them and took his spot beside Nari’s head. He didn't touch her, didn't even look at her, but glowered at Victor.

“What's the situation?”


Victor nodded at Nari’s response of six months - so he was close. Not bad for eyeballing it. He had just put the other earpiece of the stethoscope into his ear when Cabrera, like the obnoxious bull that he is, barged on into Nari’s space.

“I’m not going to do that kind of an exam.” He scowled at Cabrera. “That would be unnecessarily uncomfortable for her.” He added firmly. He also wanted to add that he thought Cabrera did plenty of unwanted touching already and he didn’t want to add to the trauma, but he held back.

“The situation is, she’s doing fine, all things considered.” He turned his attention away from Cabrera, trying to ignore him, and put his attention back on his patient. He held up the end of the stethoscope again and motioned to her stomach.

“Since we can’t do an ultrasound, I’m going to try and hear the baby’s heartbeat with this. Usually, we can, just not as loud and clear as if we had other devices on hand. But we make do with what we have, don’t we?” He offered Nari a tight, apologetic smile, doing his damndest to ignore Cabrera’s existence.

“May I move your shirt up a little so I can put this on your stomach?” He was being particularly gentle, not just because Nari looked like the very picture of an abused girlfriend, but because Cabrera was easily within punching distance.


Nari felt like her cheeks were on fire as Cabrera returned and announced the doctor wasn’t allowed to touch her privates. She was eternally embarrassed; not only did Cabrera not have a right to say anything about this but she didn’t know Victor more than what she knew from their time together in the yard. To suggest that she would…

She pushed the thoughts from her mind and chewed on her lower lip, nodding as Victor asked to lift her shirt, moving her hands off of her belly and fisting them at her sides.


"Good." That was all that Cabrera had to say to the guy's excuses. He didn't know what were Victor's medical plans concerning Nari but he was already making his own. In fact, he was about to talk to King on the topic next. Not every little detail of his agenda but the community would benefit from it as a whole.

Ignacio cleared his throat when the belly was exposed. He turned his gaze away, thinking about what the doctor suggested. Heartbeat of a little human growing in that belly. Ignacio's.... kid.


Once permission was granted, Victor gently pushed Nari's shirt up just enough to put the rounded end of his stethoscope on her stomach. Trying his best to ignore Cabrera's existence, he stared down at the metal disc and then focused on the middle distance at nothing in particular as he listened - at one spot, then another, moving the stethoscope end here and there until he found the best spot. He listened for about a minute, then offered Nari a smile.

"The little one sounds great. Heartbeat is strong, no abnormal patterns." He took the listening ends out of his ears and instead offered them to Nari.

"Have a listen, if you'd like."


Nari watched Victor move the stethoscope around her belly, his face impassive. A thousand things raced through her mind, the foremost being; would there even be a heartbeat? The limited resources she was able to find about pregnancy at all had caused far more concerns than offered comforts for her over the past few months. Every book spoke of all the medical care and well-being that pregnant women needed to ensure the viability of a live birth. Appointments, imaging, blood tests, tailored diets, bed rest, no stress… How many of those had she missed? How many of those could she miss and still carry through to term?

She’d pushed the thoughts to the darkest recesses of her mind, focusing on her girls - repairing their relationship as much as she could and throwing herself into her work. Things needed repair, maintenance and care and if she thought of that instead of what she was already failing to do as a mother it wouldn’t seem so bleak.

Now there was nothing to hide behind, nothing to distract. She could already feel the tears well up in the corner of her eyes when Victor looked at her and smiled she simply burst into tears. She nodded, sniffing back a sob before speaking, her voice wavering. “Yes, please.”

She let him bring the earpieces to her ears and then adjusted, holding her breath as she listened to the speedy heartbeat. It was the happiest thing she had ever heard and the saddest.


Cabrera kept his gaze averted, posture erect. But he tried to remain relaxed. Until he heard her cry. He looked over sharply with a tightening stance, ready to act. But the medic wasn’t doing anything wrong, was he? Ignacio swallowed and standing his ground he watched. He couldn’t help a tiny curl of a smile when she listened to the baby growing inside of her. But the smile eventually faded and he cleared his throat, taking a step closer.

“Show me.” He demanded and leaned in, sort of hovering over the mother, his hand propped to the bed behind her pillow.


Victor hesitated at Cabrera's order to show him. Nari seemed to be having such an emotional moment - and who could blame her? - that he didn't want to interrupt it. Even if Cabrera was the father (and the idea made him feel ill, but he wasn't supposed to judge) it felt unnerving how he didn't look... excited. In awe. Scared. All the usual things new fathers should probably look like. He just looked as angry and irritated as he always did.

Reluctantly, Victor took the stethoscope off and handed it to Cabrera, keeping the little metal discs in place on Nari's belly.


Cabrera listened to the distinct sound of a human heartbeat. A human living and growing inside the woman next to him. Ignacio gazed at her in silence. Looking into her wet eyes.

“Good job, Mamma.” He yanked the earpiece out of his ears and let it drop to the blanket, grabbing Nari’s hand in his. His thumb drawing circles across her skin as he said with a lopsided smile.

“Strong like his father.”

Bullyboy Squad Namazu Safton Miaow BeyondDandy Crono Good_Morels Tool Not Meat ​

 

[Good_Morels]

THE RESERVE
Flashback

Wren had taken a couple of classes on animal behavior before he got his job at the sanctuary. He’d been trained to handle the raptors, the snakes, the foxes from the fur farm. They didn't offer training for cougars, Cougars weren't supposed to be anywhere nearby, so why would he need it?

He remained frozen, staring at the yellow-green eyes of the massive cat.

Most big cats were ambush predators, and as such, were immediately turned off of prey that approached first. He took a step towards it, every muscle in his body screaming at him to run.

He couldn't. Prey animals ran. He was not prey.

The cougar growled, its fur standing on end as it slinked backward. Wren held his breath. The cougar spun on its heels and ran, disappearing into the brush. He breathed a sigh of relief.


TW: SA

Spoiler

The Reserve’s zero casualty horde survival just so happened to occur a couple of days before their first annual Harvest Festival, a holiday Wren had fought tooth and nail for in the council. Holidays were more important than they realized; they raised spirits, provided a chance to relax, and most importantly, gave the kids hope for a life worth living. Survival came first, of course, but celebrating life was human nature. Holidays had developed in every community across the globe before the apocalypse, imagining them as unimportant was foolish. Something along the lines of that argument had convinced them to give it a shot, and by God was it a success. The main gazebo and fire pit were always lit with solar-powered fairy lights, but they gave the festival a particularly magical look in the reds and oranges of the forest around them. The camp had dragged the folding birthday tables out of storage to set up whatever excess they could offer, the most prominent being a sizable wild hog that made the mistake of rooting in the gardens. (Good riddance to the bastard). The kids had gotten creative, making decor out of fallen leaves and the most inadvertently terrifying masks from grass, twine, bark, and garbage. This was supposedly “paramount”, (a word Wren didn’t know they knew), to trick or treating, where the camp had substituted berries and glazed nuts for candy. He hadn’t seen most of them smile that wide in ages.

The Samaritans picked a good time to visit, as The Reserve didn’t always have so much food to spare. The group was ragged by the time they got to the Reserve, arriving just a day before the festival. The sight of their heavily armed forces was unnerving, but Wren had always tried to see the good in people. They were rough around the edges, sure, but they swore they meant no harm and the council decided to grant them pity in a six to four vote. Even so, they weren’t permitted near the children and as such, weren’t allowed to join the festivities until the kids were asleep. That hadn’t stopped them from enjoying said festivities to their full extent, however, and many of the Reserve and Samaritans alike were drunk as skunks on mead by this hour.

Wren had gone light on the drinking to keep an eye on things, which he didn’t regret even as his community praised his leadership and encouraged him to relax with another drink. Despite the joyful atmosphere, there was a cold pit of dread in his stomach that he simply couldn’t ignore as he watched the Samaritans laugh at a table of their own. One of them must’ve noticed him staring before Wren was pulled into another conversation, as his rough baritone interrupted him mid-sentence.

“Hey sweetheart, you're the leader around here, right? I gotta talk to you about somethin’.”

The samaritan, Michael, if Wren remembered correctly, was no exception to the drinking when he approached. He looked downright clique in the dim light, tall and handsome with a rugged sort of strength that, in other circumstances, Wren may have found incredibly attractive. Times were different now. Even with the atmosphere in his favor, Wren couldn’t shake the anxiety that followed the larger man like a cloud, nor could he draw his gaze away from the belt of ammo circling his hips, and the pistols in his pockets. That seemed to give the Samaritan the wrong idea, as Michael’s face broke into a smug grin.

“Privately, if you can. I’m sure your little friend doesn’t mind.”

Gonzales did, in fact, very visibly mind, but Wren waved him off and promised he wouldn’t be long. Michael seemed to find that particularly funny but didn’t comment on it.

“We can talk in my cabin,” Wren replied confidently, unwilling to show any weakness to the visitors. Michael followed without any fuss, though Wren noticed a sway in his steps. He was drunk, which was good. He could handle a drunk idiot.

His cabin wasn’t far. Wren had chosen the cabin closest to the gazebo as his own to allow him the fastest access to the rest of the camp, a crucial thing to have when time was so often against them. He let Michael in first and shut the door behind himself. Michael’s hand found the doorknob before Wren found the light switch, locking it with an audible click. Wren felt that familiar fear rise up in his throat as he started to ask what Michael was doing, but he couldn’t get the words out before the wall hit his back and the taste of raspberry mead was pressed against his mouth. He managed to shove Michael away from his face, but the man’s calloused fingers were already halfway up his shirt, splayed across his ribs as if he might crack them open.

“Slow down, I-I need to know what you needed to say” Wren breathlessly demanded as he grabbed the man’s wrists. It wasn’t much of a deterrent, Michael only pressed closer to him, his lips trailing up his neck.

“You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” Michael murmured against his skin before kissing it, making Wren’s face flush bright red.

“I’m very flattered, but you’re very drunk and I thought you needed something important.” Wren replied as he tried once again to push the larger man away. Michael must’ve been pressing his full weight against the wall, making a cage from his body.

“It is important” The samaritan argued into his neck before biting down, eliciting a shocked gasp from his prey. “I wanna.. I wanna cut you a deal. We’re gonna help you all out… Make you parta’ our group.”

Wren moved his struggling to keeping his shirt down as Michael’s hands wandered. “Sorry Michael, but we’re fine the way we are. I’m sure we could make trade negotiations, but The Reserve is a- s-stop doing that while I’m talking to you”

He could feel Michael’s smirk against his collarbone as the samaritan finally pulled his hands away from his bare skin, though he immediately began working on fumbling the buttons of his shirt open. “We don’t do negotiations. We’re taking this place whether you like it or not.”

Wren’s blood ran cold, he was suddenly much less interested in keeping things civil. He planted his knee firmly between the samaritan’s legs, pulling his hunting knife from his pocket and ramming him to the ground and pinning him there with his legs. The moment Michael’s back hit the wood, Wren’s knife was to his neck and his pistol was sliding halfway across the room. The samaritan looked infuriated, but then a dark smirk painted itself across his features. Wren felt cold metal against the underside of his jaw.

The other pistol. Michael had two of them. Wren had only chucked the one.

“Tricky bitch, aren’t you?” Michael chuckled darkly. “You’re gonna kiss it better the minute I’m done talking, understand?”

He didn’t need to elaborate, Wren could feel it against his leg from his position on top of the Samaritan despite the circumstances. He didn’t move the knife, and Michael didn’t move the gun.

“If it ain’t me, my people are gonna come and take it instead, and they’re a lot less sweet than I am. We outnumber you ten to one without counting our ‘munitions. If you don't play nice, we’re gonna line you up like cattle and put a bullet in every one of you.”

Wren swallowed hard as he considered Michael’s words. He could cut into him right now, but the second he did, he’d have his brain splattered against the wall. The shot would alert the rest of Michael’s gang and the camp would be absolutely defenseless. They wouldn't need the back up Michael was threatening him with, his people would be sitting ducks. He slowly withdrew the knife and returned it to its sheath. Michael grinned up at him.

“Goooood boy, I knew you had a good head on your shoulders.” Michael purred as he used his free hand to pull the sheath off and toss it. Wren didn't have anything else, but Michael took his time feeling up his pockets for any other weapons. Wren didn't look him in the eye, holding his breath as the man groped at his pants. Michael looked disappointed to find nothing hard at all, but he didn't linger on it, the wandering hand settling on his hip and gripping hard enough to leave bruises.

“Normally, we’d kill you all dead for the stunt you just pulled, but I like you, birdie. I meant it when I said you were the prettiest person I ever seen. In fact, I'm pretty damn sure I love you, I don't wanna hurt you.” He emphasized his point by tossing his pistol over next to the other one, the hand on Wren’s hips keeping him from making a lunge for it. With the weaponry gone, he knotted a hand in Wren’s hair and sat up straight, holding him still while he went back to marking up his neck. Wren tried to keep his breathing even despite the hammering of his heartbeat.

“G-get to the point, please.” The sound came out weaker than he’d ever heard himself, which only seemed to excite the Samaritan more.

“We're gonna take this place either way, but I can make things a lot easier for you if you play nice. All you gotta do is surrender this camp and, more importantly, yourself.” Michael purred before biting down on the junction between Wren's shoulder and his neck. Wren whimpered pathetically in response.

“You’ll learn to love me, I can be real sweet when I wanna be.” Michael kissed the newly formed bruise gently. “It’s that, or I'm gonna have to get real mean. Lincoln doesn't like kids or old men. Nobody’ll bat an eye if I get rid of ‘em.” He brushed his lips against the mark and chuckled.

“I bet I could get your own men to shoot you down if they saw this on you. Can't take any risks with the infection.” He kissed it again. Wren swallowed hard. He recognized the name ‘Lincoln’, and it added a whole new layer to what he was dealing with. This wasn't a bizarre branch of the army throwing their weight around. They were criminals. Dangerous, violent criminals. His mind was racing as he tried to find a better solution than rolling over like a dog. If they poisoned the Samaritan’s breakfast, would the rest of their group come for revenge? More than likely, and it wouldn't be pretty. If Michael wasn't lying, which he didn't seem to be judging by how many weapons he was carrying casually, it would be a massacre even with prep time. Michael’s offer was disgusting, but it was the best way for Wren to buy time to come up with a better plan.

At least Michael wanted him and not somebody else. He could make that sacrifice.

“Alright. I’ll talk the council into it tomorrow, make sure nobody gives you any trouble.” He promised, his voice trembling.

Michael grinned. “That's a good start. Now tell me you love me and how much you wanna be with me.”

“I love you.” Wren whimpered. “I-I wanna be with you forever.”

Michael’s grin widened and he pulled the other man into a rough kiss, refusing to pull away until Wren was gasping for air.

“Good, cause I'm pretty sure I wanna live between these pretty thighs.” Michael clutched the meat of Wren’s leg for emphasis, his other hand still knotted in his hair.

Wren swallowed down his rage and batted his lashes, pressing closer to the man he wanted to strangle right there and then.

“I think I owe you an apology.” He purred, his tone sickly sweet and sultry as he struggled to play along. It was enough for Michael, thankfully, who was delighted to hear it.

“See? That wasn't so hard, was it? I’ll take good care of you Birdie, I promise. Nobody's gonna lay a finger on you or these people.”

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[Bullyboy Squad]

ON THE ROAD
The Burning Sanctuary


In front of them, flames licked the frosty air and clouds of dark smoke rose into the afternoon sky. Behind the fire Cabrera again headed towards the neighing animal. Its doe eyes big with terror, showing whites. The animal bucked and swung its thick skull up and down. A gasp swept through the crowd of enforcers when it uppercut their leader. Ignacio stumbled back but didn't fall. He laughed and spat fresh blood to the side. Then he faltered, reminded by the sight that the path they made for him was shrinking.

“Come on.” He spoke in a low voice and approached again. The animal stood its ground, directly facing the clearing in the flames, its robust ribcage moving with labored breaths. Ignacio brushed the singed coat on the unhurt side, feeling the powerful shoulder and thick neck, muttering. “Come on, boy.”

His hand on the reins as he moved forth, pulling the animal with him. “I'm with you.”

The closer they got the more black billows obscured the light. The drag of his lungs pulled smoke in, burning down his throat. He coughed convulsively when they were about to cross and the animal jerked forth shoving him like a goddamn rag doll. It leaped through the gap in the flames and didn't stop the mad run until it was in the safety of the snow-capped trees.

Air knocked from Cabrera’s lungs left him gasping and choking on the smoke. He didn't waste time though, rushing through the same gap. Coughing and laughing. He pointed at the horse, teary eyes set on Kurt as he spoked once he caught his breath.

“Go get him for me.”

Ignacio glanced at the kid who continued throwing ice into fire as long as it took back then. He said, blunt but sincere, “Good job.”

The leader looked towards the group of men coming from the other direction. Connor on the front. Ignacio’s gaze searched for a different face. Old and wrinkly. And he looked satisfied when he found it.

“Good.” He smirked softly to the older woman once thet were close. “I've been looking for you, ma’am. There's a baby on the way that you're going to deliver.”

Some Samaritans looked at one another but didn't comment. Didn't get it either. Why would they burn the camp down, why would Cabrera order that, risk it. If he needed one of the camp’s residents.

Soon the frightened steed was back and Cabrera petted it to soothe the animal.

“Get on the horse.” He spoke to the female stranger.

"I'm almost 60. I'll put my back out just getting on the thing." She spoke.

Ignacio didn't seem too worried, ordering his men. “Help her.”

Minutes later they were on the way to their vehicles. It was time to go back. Home.

​

Crono Aegis Miaow ​

 

[Good_Morels]

LINCOLN
Collab with @Not Meat

Wren had always enjoyed the smell of smoke. His childhood home smelled like cigarettes, the campground of the park smelled like smoke, the forest after a controlled burn smelled the same. He didn't appreciate it quite as much here.

Marx was far too focused on yelling at the remaining man in the pit to pay any attention to Wren squeezing his arm in an attempt to get his attention. That was not effective. He said Marx's name, which was also ineffective. Wren tugged at him in an effort to bring him down to his level. The arm Wren was clinging to came up to hit him in the face. Wren stumbled backwards, holding his face. Marx's expression fell to a well faked concern as he finally turned towards his companion.

"Sorry darlin', I didn't see you there. Are you alright? What's up?"

That sweetness was all too familiar, believable enough that he'd fallen for it back when his camp was first taken over and his priority was to make good relations between the kindest enemy he could. Idiotic.

"I smell smoke." Wren replied just loud enough to be heard, though the scent of blood was now significantly stronger than the smoke. He gave his nose a cautionary feel and was thankful to find it wasn't broken.

The crowd began to notice the smoke at around the same time as Marx did, a wave of people suddenly separating the two of them. Wren was immediately lost in the crowd, still reeling as his nose began to drip red. 'Fucking prick. I shouldn't have said anything.' he seethed internally, but there wasn't time now. He joined the crowd in moving towards the exit, though he found himself towards the back of the group without his bulldozer of a boyfriend to force him through.
[11:53 AM]
He was nearly at the exit when somebody's shoulder shoved him aside, nearly knocking him down in the process. He met the fiery glare with a matching expression before the man sprinted off. He wouldn't be telling Marx about that, already able to hear his ranting about how the people in this prison would tear him apart if they saw him alone for even a moment. The last thing the fucker needed was to be proven right.

He could see Marx waiting by the doorway, dark eyes frantically scanning the crowd for him. Wren kept the other side of the doorway and ducked down intentionally, letting the crowd shield him and grant him a few extra minutes of freedom. The moment he could, he sprinted towards the room Sapphire worked in, slamming the door open the moment he got there.

He was breathless as he stood there, blood still dripping down his face. "Kitchen's on fire. We need to go."

Minding her own business. It was always like that, wasn’t it? When a great tragedy occurred at least someone was minding their own business, blissfully unaware of what was happening around them? It happened to Sapphire often. It happened the day the world ended and she was pretty sure it would happen again.

She was working on a book, one of her favourite things to work on, that’s spine had separated from the pages. Carefully gluing them back down and holding them there. In a few moments she typically would test the durability of it to make sure she wouldn’t need to separate the whole cover and glue the entire thing back together. It happened sometimes and she truly didn’t mind. It meant that she got to fiddle with the book longer before moving on to sew someone’s clothes back together.

As much as she loved to tinker with different little projects here and there she did truly wish that Dieter hadn’t told anyone of her past hobbies. She had less time to work on her own passion projects and found that she was fixing more things for more people she didn’t know because of the generous old man who seemed to connect with every single person he met. Dieter was never afraid, not the way Sapphire was.

When the rather loud bang of the door slamming open sounded throughout the otherwise quiet room, Sapphire jumped, nearly dropping the book in her hands. It took her a moment to register what Wren had said. A fire? Alright. The kitchen? Not alright.

She was on her feet the moment it clicked, fear dancing in her eyes.

“The kitchen?” She questioned, a sense of urgency and panic in her voice that was never normally there. “Are you certain, shillytern? The kitchen?”

Wren was glad to see her up, eager to get her somewhere safe that wasn't near Marx. That meant his room was off limits, they'd need to get outside to the yard.

"I am, I overheard one of the enforcers yell it into his radio." He confirmed. He was a little confused about her concern with the kitchen, and with the term 'shillytern', but nodded.

"Leave the things, we can replace things, but we can't replace you." He added quickly, moving out of the doorway to reach for her hand. "I should be able to get us to the yard from here, I'll keep you safe." He promised as he met her fearful gaze with his own nervous brown eyes.

He wasn't sure if she read his journal, but if she did, she'd at least understand the power he held and the cost it took from him to get it. He could keep her safe, at least for a little bit. He just needed her to come with him.

Sapphires eyebrows pinched together in confusion. She looked down at her things, not even considering those to be a factor.

“N-no. No. It isn’t the items that I am concerned about, shillytern, have you seen Dieter? Is he alright? Is he safe?” Her words were quick, panic stricken. Sapphire didn’t take his hand, instead moving past him and grabbing her sweater. She turned to face Wren again, “You are certain it’s the kitchen and not an area by the kitchen? The pantry perhaps?”

She could feel her heart dropping. If Dieter had been in the kitchen when it started he would have ensured that everyone else in the room had been evacuated before he was. She had no doubts that Dieter would have risked his own life to save another, that’s just the way he was. He did it for her.

Wren looked away as he scraped his memory, trying to remember everyone he'd seen in the crowd. He swallowed hard.

"There was a massive crowd in the chow hall, he could've slipped past me." He said as gently and optimistically as he could, though the image of that old man being trampled by the convicts lingered in his mind.

"The enforcer said the kitchen, but he might've been wrong." He offered as he trailed after her, his brows furrowed in worry.

"Either way, do you have any experience at all with fire fighting? He wouldn't want you to kill yourself trying to save him." He changed his tone to the more commanding one he would've used at home, but it wasn't nearly as convincing without the confidence he had at the camp. Not that it mattered, he knew he was talking to a brick wall.

Sapphire was moving without even thinking, her legs propelling her toward the kitchen on instinct as if she would be able to save him if she could just get there.

"He would do it for me." She replied breathlessly, trying to quicken her pace. "Fire or not if there is even the slimmest of chance that he could be alive I have to try. I have to try."

There was a freneticism that Sapphire didn't often show. Her eyes were wide, filled with fear, voice panicked and shaken. She rarely raised her voice, rarely spoke back to people in any way shape or form and yet there she was, brushing off Wrens concerns as he trailed her through the halls.

She called out Dieters name, hoping that he would hear her, hoping that if he were alive and escaping that he would find her. He would always find her. She would always find him.

"Dieter!" She screamed out, tears filling her eyes, streaming down her cheeks as her heart sank lower and lower each time he didn't reply. Each time he didn't rush to her and cradle her in his arms smelling like freshly baked bread or grease from cooking.

Wren had never heard that tone of voice from Sapph before, but that didn't render it unfamiliar. Desperation was something he knew well, especially the sort that came from the need to save someone. That particular variation was one he hadn't heard in a while. He'd heard it from his fellow rangers, a couple of parents who didn't quite make it to camp, but never from Lincoln.

He already knew he wouldn't stop her, but he still tried, reaching for her hand and missing it as she sped up, his fingers just brushing hers. He chased after her, recognizing the very hallway he had just run down to get to her. The doors were shut now, probably a smarter move than just letting the fire spread uncontrollably. He placed himself between her and the door in an ill-placed effort to stop her from opening it.

"Sapph please, I'm sure he got out, the kitchen has a delivery door. We can't go through the dining hall anyways, it's already-"

The moment they threw the dining hall door open—the place devoured by fire—the suction of air in the hallway jerked the flames towards them. Heat burst in their faces, flames gushed through the door. Fire clawed up the frame and walls and ate at the high roof. The light bulb above them exploded but as another plume leaped towards them, the sprinklers on the ceiling shot with frigid water. They showered all along the hallway and around the dining space, drenching everything and everyone as they gradually killed the flames.

Bullyboy Squad Safton Togy BeyondDandy Safton NanLia Crono Aegis Namazu Good_Morels Fluffy-Kat Tool Not Meat

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[Bullyboy Squad]

LINCOLN
Dining Hall


"Get away from there!" Freddie's voice boomed through the fog of smoke, his eyes burning, throat raw from the noxious fumes. He charged towards the young man and woman, their figures obscured by the billowing haze. “Don’t you open that door!” He coughed out.

Before he could reach them, the woman pulled on the handle and a burst of flames engulfed them all. Freddie staggered, his arm shot up to shield his face from the scorching heat, heart racing with a fresh surge of adrenaline. In a split second, the sprinklers activated. He flinched when rusty water hit his hat, shirt and arms. He squinted at the ceiling, glad that Jones triggered the fire system. Drops whipped his worn skin, painting it brown before water turned clean, deluging them in torrential rain. The dying flames shrieked like defeated monsters from a fairy tale. He remembered one like that, he read it to his little boy as a bedtime story.

Freddie clicked on his flashlight and made his way towards the two. All that was ravaged by the fire was now plunged into darkness. He looked inside, shining the light at the tables and chairs. His heart squeezed in his chest. The dining hall he knew for nearly two decades, as long as he worked there, was now gone. Black, smoldering ruin. It survived the riots and the end of days. Witnessed many of King’s speeches. But it didn’t survive this.

Freddie slowly exhaled, his heart heavy. He took a moment to gather the courage to step inside. Soft splashes of puddles on the floor and a hiss of the steaming embers filled the thickening silence as his boots knocked across the burnt space towards the kitchen. His bright light swept the room, glinting off the dull polish of half blackened cabinets. He moved past the long rows of metal countertops, heading for the pantry fridge, until the beam of his flashlight froze on a bloodcurdling sight. He stared at the twisted frame of a human leaned over the counter. Charred and unrecognizable. It wasn't the fire that killed him, there was a gaping cavity in his skull and a meat mallet discarded on the counter next to it.

Hearing steps behind him he glanced over and spotted the girl and the young man who Freddie knew belonged to Marx, his superior. “Get the hell out of here, there’s nothing here for you two.” He warned but didn’t stop for long. He continued towards the pantry, the metal door covered in soot coming into sight. Hopeful, he was about to grab the handle when he realized it was already cracked open. His heartbeat stuttered and he jerked the fridge open. His flashlight swept the inside, the view tightening his throat even more. The supplies. The food they had stored for winter. It was gone. Gone.

Freddie stared in disbelief when a holler reached him. “Fuck me, you seeing this?!” Peeling his gaze off the heartbreaking sight, the man joined his fellow enforcers who just arrived in the kitchen, his legs like jelly as he walked up to them.

“Motherfuckers…” Another Samaritan gritted out, all of them shining their lights at the wall opposite to the kitchen entrance. Freddie was devastated by the recent discovery so not much could shake him. But the sight took his breath away and his mouth went ajar. His eyes big, his gaze glued to the black letters burned into the concrete in front of him—a message carved with something highly flammable.

In that moment, something changed. Something ended. He didn't grasp it yet, not fully, not at that moment. But Hofstadter could feel something big and dark looming overhead. He felt like a man standing on the edge of a new era. An era none of them was ready for.

The letters on the wall said, NO MORE KINGS.

Freddie let out a ragged breath, heart hammering in his ribcage. Damn right, he was scared.



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Crono Aegis Miaow Namazu NanLia Safton Good_Morels Tool Not Meat BeyondDandy ​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

LINCOLN
Bedroom & Club


The door to Cabrera’s apartment was locked so when Nari heard the metallic click she could be sure it was someone who had the key or…who tried to break in. The door quietly opened and the sound of familiar stride broke the silence as Ignacio stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

He didn't approach the bar like he used to for weeks in the past, every evening having a glass. Sometimes a few. Not anymore. Not since he got back from the last raid—a month now. He stood there, dressed in his pseudo-tactical clothing and kevlar. Strapped with his sidearm, rifle slung to his back. He silently watched her curled in her usual seat by the lamplight, holding a book.


At the first sounds of metal in the lock, Nari neatly slid the thin notebook between the pages she was reviewing. The prison had become an ever-constant battle between things breaking and her minimal understanding of how to repair them. After figuring out the broiler situation and keeping the hot water… hot, she’d been inundated with further tasks and projects. She hadn’t minded in the least; keeping her mind occupied helped with the dread she felt in the quiet moments.

She looked up as he stepped through the doorway and paused to watch her. She felt an awkward flush rise to her cheeks as she set the book aside, adjusting herself in the chair. Long ago she’d been able to tuck her feet up beside her as she sat to read, but now that was an impossible task. At some point, a cushioned footstool had appeared in front of the chair, oddly mismatched clashing colours but it had been the starting point of change between them. The first of many Nari and baby-oriented objects appeared in the space she shared with Cabrera.




Cabrera stared at her, quiet. His gaze static, set on her face, before it slipped down her figure. One could say he was indiscreetly checking her out but he paused on her belly, humming.

“I’m taking you out tonight.” Words laden with a soft chuckle, it sounded ridiculous under their circumstances. He headed for the table, pulling the strap off his shoulder to leave his gear behind.




Nari stared at Cabrera as he regarded her. Not long ago she would have been embarrassed by his direct gaze, she would have shied away but she'd grown accustomed to it. Her eyes widened after he spoke and moved on and it took several seconds for her to register what he'd said.

“Out?” She repeated slowly. Outside? Out of the prison? She slid the footstool away and eased off the chair. “Out where?”





After rechecking the safety was on, Ignacio set the rifle down on the wooden top and started unstrapping his vest.

“Yeah, out. To the club. You know,” he glanced over, “To eat something, talk to people, have some fun.” He continued shedding gear until everything was down on the table, lips curling into a small crooked smile. “Ever tried that before?”





The club Nari blinked, once, twice before she shook her head. He'd gone to the club before. He'd come back drunk dozens of times, but he'd never invited her before. She glanced to the wardrobe, the second that adorned the apartment and filled with clothes, maternity clothes just for her. She looked back at Cabrera and smiled slowly.

“That will be nice.” Nari felt a momentary flicker of guilt. Should she be enjoying herself like this? But she swiftly pushed the thought aside. It was all part of the ruse; they needed to appear as a happy couple. She went to the wardrobe and searched through the plenty of outfits she'd never even looked at before selecting a long elegant dress with high neck and no sleeves. She glanced to Cabrera, almost sheepishly, “I'll change in the bathroom.”





Ignacio gave a shallow nod. He watched her go and caught himself staring at the closed door that she disappeared behind. Snapping himself out of it he looked down at his t-shirt and cargoes. Yeah, no, they had to go. He wasn't going to look like a fucking camouflage hobo next to her. He wanted to do it right.

Cabrera got deep inside the closet to retrieve something presentable. He had some outfits saved for special occasions when King was throwing parties and such. He held a black, silky shirt in his hands and sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose. He leaned his head down to the side and smelled his armpit before huffing. Next time the bathroom door opened, he was already in a fresh pair of black pants. Shirtless. With a bunch of baby wipes in his hands, rubbing his chest and arms. He paused, feeling caught red handed on a silly act even though it wasn't unusual to clean like that after the outbreak.





Nari changed swiftly, tossing aside the sweats she’d been contently wearing and had intended on sleeping in, on the floor of the bathroom and slipped the gown over her head. Much to her surprise (and delight) it fit like a glove. Somehow he’d known her size, though she would believe that he’d enlisted one of the many females within his crew to find the correct sizing. She regarded herself in the mirror and brushed her greasy hair out with her fingers before ultimately pulling it into a tight bun on top of her head, letting little ringlets frame her face. It would have to do and as she opened the door she paused and stared, rather stunned to find Cabrera half dressed and… bathing? Nari flushed and glanced away.

“Sorry.” She said quietly, stepping out of the bathroom to stand awkwardly aside and wait for him to finish getting ready, or use the bathroom to finish cleaning up.





Ignacio’s heart skipped a beat at the sight. Lithe body in a long dress that struck with stunning simplicity, hiding skin but exposing enough, like a promise. Her hair thoroughly pulled back but leaving naughty strands. The protruding baby belly made her even more beautiful. A pang of excitement stirred in his groin, rekindling the attraction he was ignoring for a while.

Cabrera awkwardly laughed. It wasn't often that she got to see him embarrassed, a little more human. He grabbed the shirt and with the wipes crushed in the other hand, he headed for the bathroom.

“You’re not used to it, huh?” He spoke from the inside, his voice resounding in the bathroom walls. He quickly opened the tap and the rush of water rustled in the quiet space. He rubbed it into his face. After the whole day of working and a few hours on a patrol in the icy temperatures, the warm stream on his skin felt heavenly.

“To be the one waiting on your man.” He grabbed the towel and dried his face before reaching up to his hair, looking at the mirror. His hand froze inches from his scalp. Ignacio stared at his reflection, lips parted. There was no hair to rake like he normally would. Just an ugly close trim with a burn scar by the temple. And a cut on the far side of his face. Cabrera swallowed hard. The loss of another piece of who he once was stabbed in his ribcage. Then he realized he left the door open. Not checking if she was watching, he quickly put the shirt on and headed her way, buttoning it. It's been forever since he wore such a delicate fabric, it made him feel a little giddy. He didn't notice that he missed one button in the haste.

“Ready?” He stopped beside her, putting his hand to the small on her back. It was simply instinct by now.





She kept her eyes averted from him whilst he made his way across the room to the bathroom, not wanting to stare at him, to offer further invitation for him to react. In the past he'd been aggressive and she'd half expected to corner her as he had before, but instead he laughed. Nari's wide eyes flew to Cabrera as he stood over the sink and bathed himself. Her eyebrows creased in confusion, wondering if he was reading her mind somehow, knowing what she'd been feeling. She felt a small sense of relief when he went on to discuss dating norms, men waiting on women.

“No, I guess not.” Something happened, in his thoughts, that concerned her; a look of … sorrow? Of deep loss? It was gone in an instant and he was at her side, stepping into their usual formation.

“Wait..” she uttered softly, turning to face him. Her nimble fingers swiftly unbuttoned the first few lacquered buttons on his shirt to correct the miss-button then buttoned them back close to the collar. She didn't stop there, carefully folding his collar flat then dusting the seams along his shoulders taking out any wrinkles. Satisfied, she nodded. “There, perfect.”





Ignacio paused when she turned to him. He could feel her belly briefly brushing his side before she put some distance between them. He glanced down at her hands, exhaling a soft chuckle. His cheeks warm. He focused on her face, her hands on his collar. Their eyes locked when she looked up at him. The corners of his mouth turned upward in gentle amusement, his gaze softer than it used to be in the last few weeks.

“Thank you.” He put his palm back where it belonged at the bottom of her spine and he led them outside. “They got dance parties on Fridays. So it might be crowded but at least no strippers.” He could guess it wasn't her scene. “Just girlfriends, wives and escorts. Have you met Temma yet?”





Nari listened, uncertain why she was surprised to hear that the club had scheduled evenings. Her own community had but she'd made a point of securing herself in the name of laying low. She nodded then spoke.

“I have, early on. When I first arrived. She was … nice, kind.” She wondered, briefly, if Cabrera danced. Up until now he hadn't seemed the type but then she knew only the hardened exterior, the brutality he presented to all around him. She was suddenly wondering what sort of pastimes he had, before all of this.





“Yeah, she’s nice. Don’t worry about her husband’s tattoos.”

They could feel the tremble of bass even before reaching the entrance to the club. Some privileged but lower ranked Samaritans, guys and girls, were queued up in the hallway, buzzing with alcohol and excitement. But Cabrera didn’t have to wait. He flashed a smirk at the bouncer, motioning his head at the man who let them in with a respectful “Sir. Ma’am.”

Low lights, pink, golden and violet. Lively latino music too loud, throbbing with too much bass. Was there ever too much? The dance floor burst with eager people like the world never ended. Girls half dressed despite winter. Skirts too short, heels too high. Heated bodies ground against one another, bouncing up and down, some people yelling to the lyrics. Heading towards the VIP section where it was possible to talk without ripping your throat raw, the two had to go through the ocean of bodies first. Cabrera took Nari’s hand and leaned in, his breath hot against her neck.

“Stay close.” They pushed through the crowd. Smoke, alcohol, fresh sweat and perfume. A cocktail of scents assaulting senses. Women who recognized Cabrera sneaked fingers into his clothing, hands running up his skin, loudly whispering their promises to his ears. But he didn’t listen, getting them off his way, constantly checking that Nari was right behind him. Once they were out on the other side, they entered the large private space. The music sounded more distant.

Ignacio wrapped his arm around her waist, gently pulling her close while exchanging nods and smiles with some women and handshakes with the men. Derek stood up and squeezed his palm too hard, not on purpose. The man’s grip was conditioned by regular deadlift and boxing, Cabrera got used to it.

“You know my lady, Nari.” He introduced her to their companions, some of them completely new faces to the Northview girl. Derek gave her a nod and spoke in his Barry White timbre. “He finally let you out of the dungeon.” His gaze drifted to her belly and lingered there. Derek knew Temma would never give him offspring but it didn’t stop him from dreaming about raising a child with her.





Nari followed behind Cabrera per his instructions as he weaved and flowed through the thick crush of bodies inside the club. The beat of the music, the head of the people; she could feel it already ebbing into body and soul and wasn’t certain she could stand it for long.

She pointedly ignored the women who pressed into Cabrera, whispered to him and turned dagger glares at her; it wasn’t a change from plenty of other women, and men, she encountered daily, though this was clearly pointed. He’d had a reputation, before her. Blissfully, Cabrera led them away from the crowds to a private area she could only assume was meant for the elite and while she already felt out of place here, it was better than down in the crush.

She smiled and nodded at Derek, offering a small laugh as he teased Cabrera for keeping her hidden - as though it had been entirely him, but before she could answer she was being engulfed by glitter, sequins and the sickly-sweet scent of perfume. Temma. The massive woman had thrown her arms around her and hugged her, giving a squeal that could be heard over the decibels of the music behind them.

“Finally!” She breathed, releasing Nari and stepping away but refusing to let go of her hands. “I have been all over Derek to try and convince our dear Right-Hand-Man to bring you out!” Temma tisked, pulling on Nari’s hand to drag her, and by extension Cabrera, to the long leather couch she’d been perched on. “Oh gurl!” Temma huffed, letting her eyes roam Nari’s body before she sighed wistfully. “I knew that dress would be perfect for you, mama. I knew you had the body for it! Good thing this guy snatched you up when he did, you’d made some mad money being one of my girls.” Temma laughed. “Offer’s always on the table, if you decide you’re done with him.” Nari blinked at the glitzed woman, speechless.





Cabrera settled in the soft leather, putting his arm around Nari’s shoulders like it was second nature. He chuckled and shook his head, glancing at Derek.

“Can you tell your wife to stop spooking my lady?” Derek was just gesturing at the scarcely dressed waitress to get a refill and fresh drinks for the new arrivals. He hummed.

“I can tell my wife many things, doesn’t mean she’ll listen.” People around them laughed and the atmosphere eased a little. Cabrera got himself a glass of whiskey that he planned to nurse for the next hour and he arranged a mocktail for Nari. The company was mismatched and odd but somehow everybody got along well. Some topics were silly, others peculiarly deep and thoughtful for the shallow bunch. Cabrera eventually let go of Nari with a “I’ll be right there,” and he joined the men at the pool table. He was busy getting into the game while Nari got surrounded by the females.

“I can’t believe he’s settled.”
“Oh my gaaawd, right? He’s such a playboy. It’s so weeeeird he’s monogamous.”
“Is he treating you right? And the baby?”
“The baaabyyyy.”
“I heard he burnt the whole village because the maternity nurse didn’t want to go with him.”
“Shut up, Diane, it’s not about them. How’s the baby? Can I touch your belly?”
“So what is he into? I heard he’s very kinky.”





Nari settled comfortably onto the couch, oddly relieved that Cabrera was at her side, staying close. Temma hadn’t released her hand, the woman still grinning like they’d been old friends reunited. If she’d been offended by Cabrera’s request to her husband she hadn’t acknowledged it, happily taking the drink the waitress had brought her.

Nari tentatively sipped her drink, she knew Cabrera had requested no alcohol for her but she had very little trust in the people that surrounded her and didn’t want to risk hurting her child over something as little as a drink. Much to Nari’s horror, Cabrera wasn’t staying long, leaving her alone on the couch. Within seconds of him leaving, women filled the space; they’d all been nearby, at the perimeter of Cabrera’s space, looking in and watching but never approaching. With him gone, nothing held them back and she quickly started to feel overwhelmed; drowning in the attention.

At first the series of comments were spoken around her but soon their focus shifted to her, her baby and her relationship with Cabrera. The request to touch her belly had been a mask, the moment it was spoken several hands were reaching in and touching her. She searched desperately for someone to help; she didn’t want to create a scene. Temma was gone, Nari spotted her a distance away, dancing. Derek had followed Cabrera to the pool table. She soon realised that the girls were watching her, expecting an answer to their questions.

“Yes, he’s treated us well.” A collective bob of nods followed. “I.. Uh, I guess he’s into Asians…” The girls around her burst into laughter.





The girls kept pushing, asking more questions about what type of partner Cabrera was and about the baby. Some told stories about their exes and dreams. At some point the conversation turned solemn when the girl with too thick mascara and glittering dress started crying. Others explained to Nari that she lost her son and daughter during the outbreak.

The redhead next to Nari shifted in her spot, crossing her legs, leather creaked underneath her skanky skirt. “Is it a boy or a girl?” Another one tagged along with the question. “I bet it's a boy and will break hearts like his daddy. Did you pick a name yet?”

But before Nari could reply, Cabrera stopped before her. “Sorry girls.” He showed his open palm to his woman, smiling. “I’m stealing this beauty.”



Somehow that answer had been a trigger, a spigot opening to allow the free flow of questions and hands directed at her. More people reached out to rub her belly, or perhaps it was the same amount of people still repeatedly touching her? It was hard for Nari to distinguish as the questions and chatter around her increased.

It was too much, all at once and she was nearing the very short edge of her tolerance when the people parted and swiftly silenced, leaving Cabrera standing before her. His outstretched hand was a welcomed sight and she didn’t hesitate in slipping her own into his, using his help to lift herself off the couch.

“Thank you,” She breathed, stepping closer to him, as was their pattern.


​

NanLia ​

 

[Namazu]

THE SCAVENGERS
Rural Ohio - At Least 2 Hours Away from Lincoln​

“I’m really starting to think a mouse crawled under the hood and died in there. You all smell that too, right?” Denise wrinkled her nose, putting down the map onto her lap and glancing at the others. They all bounced slightly as the truck rolled over a shallow pothole, suspension squeaking. Denise was navigating this time, sitting in the passenger seat with her map partially unfolded and routes carefully drawn out with multicolored pens. The edges of the map were a little yellowed from time in the sun, but the ink and sharpie marker lines remained fresh.

They were many miles out from Lincoln, and the country air was fresh and clear out here… except for that damn smell coming out of the vents of the truck. Denise leaned forward and closed the vents on her side with a sigh.

“At least we’re just about there. The town should be just over this hill. Whaddya say - we park at the top and scope it out first?” Denise folded up the map carefully, tucking it inside one of the front pockets of the backpack between her feet.

It had been several weeks at least since the fire at Lincoln - she had lost track of exactly how many, days of the week and calendars didn't really have much meaning to her anymore - which meant several weeks in a food crisis. This was one of many endless trips out looking for anything and everything edible. They weren't the only scavenger group roaming rural Ohio in search of something, anything, to keep them all going.

Some groups got lucky, and came back with a bit of something useful - never quite enough, but better than nothing. The groups that found nothing knew better than to come back empty handed. Those groups stayed out searching until they found something... or they didn't come back at all.

It was her first time running with this bunch. Her usual scav group was... not a group anymore. Two were dead and one was laid up in the infirmary with a broken leg, out of commission for a good long while until he could walk again. And when he could? He might not be on scav duty anymore. Not after what happened. She couldn't blame him, but she was not about to give up on what she was good at.

Denise was bound and determine that their team would not fail.

Bullyboy Squad NanLia Safton Good_Morels Tool Not Meat Miaow BeyondDandy Crono Aegis ​

 

[NanLia]

NIGHT OF THE HORDE
Fuck Toni...​

Her body burned. It ached and throbbed. Every time she moved another flaming spike pierced her body, starting at her belly and working to the back of her skull. No, she wasn’t moving, she was being moved - jostled. She couldn’t move, she willed to lift her hands, to press them to the source of her pain but they didn’t work, refused to budge. She wanted to look but her eyelids were too damn heavy to open, all she could muster was a gurgling groan from the back of her throat.

“Se ha vuelto. Te dije que esposar sus muñecas era inteligente.”

Voices above her, the words were muffled but she understood bits and pieces. Turned. Cuffed.

“Eres idiota. ¿Lo ves? Está respirando.” Idiot. Breathing.

It was too much, the rocking of her body, the jolts of pain. It was easier to sleep.

Sometime later…​

She was cold, shivering. She willed herself to open her eyes, to take in her immediate vicinity. Tilting her head made it feel like her brain was sloshing around in her skull. Wherever she was it was dark, cold and musty smelling. This was different from where she’d been before but … she couldn’t remember where that had been. She shouldn’t be here, but she wasn’t sure where “here” was or where she should have been.

Chains rattled when she tried to move her limbs, and she knew she should have been concerned but the blinding pain that shot from her belly through her body made movement impossible. She could feel it, the cold bands of steel around her wrists and ankles. Looking down at her body she was covered in a thin blanket, but something was wrong.

She was too tired, too weak to try and move so she lay there, trying to remember until even that was too much and she drifted off again.

***​

Dutchess glared at the doorway as the cell door swung open and one of three men she’d come to meet stepped inside and slid the door closed in place behind him.

“Hey puta, you’re awake?” He grinned, his silver teeth flashing in the low light. She still couldn’t tell if it was simply dark because they’d removed the bulbs and only let the light seep in from the door when it opened, if she was having vision problems, or if it was night. Some time ago she’d been able to think again, recalling where she’d been. At the school, she’d killed Jose and then Xander had shot her. The slimy fuck had blasted her ass out in front of everyone. She’d never trusted him, had told Cabrera enough times not to give him any leash and this is what she’d got. A belly full of lead and now the MS13 gang nursing her back to health. “Nursing” being used loosely here. The trio had shared their thoughts about her openly, not that she cared. The trio hadn’t been fans of their daily task, speaking in Spanish to one another, presumably because they believed she couldn’t speak it.

Fuck them for being dumb. She knew why she was here, knew exactly how she’d come to be here and now knew exactly what her new goals were. Toni and Neve had somehow figured out that she hadn’t died but had fallen unconscious due to blood loss. Evidently, Neve had been an EMT once upon a time: information tucked away. She’d kept that quiet from the bosses for a reason and it had to be a fucking good one, considering she was a low-ranking enforcer instead of in the medical wing. Secrets had value here.

She watched the gang member stride across the room with confidence – something she would remedy in the future. Not one of them was going to be breathing once she got free. “Good news from the Doc,” he went on, dropping a tray on the table beside her bed. Her daily dose of gruel. “No more piss bag.” She knew better than to believe that anyone but Toni or Neve had sent those orders; if anyone knew she was here, outside of MS13, she wouldn’t have been here alone this long. At least she’d hoped that were the case. Certainly, Wesley wouldn’t have left her in the rat-infested cell at the hands of Toni and his men. Right?

He gripped the sheets that covered her, tugging them upwards over her nude form. “Said it’s simple enough just gotta…”

She didn’t hear anything else he said as she felt him pull the tube from her bladder. Uncomfortable but not painful. Dutchess said nothing, gritted her teeth and bit back the words she wanted to say. He tossed back the sheets, shoving the bucket beside her bed aside and bent down. She could hear the jingle of keys and soon felt him remove the cuffs from her ankles, then her wrists.

This was the moment she’d been waiting for. The second that final cuff was free she pushed herself up ready to grab the gangster and grapple with him but instead, she cried out in pain, hands clutching her stomach as she collapsed back down on the bed, shuddering.

He chuckled as he grabbed her ankle, pulling it harshly over the edge of the bed where he re-secured the cuff. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” he stood, stepping back from the edge of the bed, regarding her. “Macario said you had the fight in you. He saw what you did to that man back in the riots.” He made a sucking noise between his teeth. “Betta watch out for you, hey puta?”

He turned and meandered back to the cell door, sliding it closed behind him when he left.

***​

Dutchess couldn’t tell how long she’d been there, a couple of weeks, at least, since the school. There was no night or day in the cell, only a change in the noise she could hear outside of it. When she could finally sit up and then stand, she explored the cell as much as her stamina would allow her. The bars were covered, inside and out, with sheets, boxes and pallets. All to keep the noise dampened. From inside and outside, was her best guess. They didn’t want her to know where she was and they were keeping her hidden from their own people. Another detail locked away.

Silver Teeth visited in a rotation with the other two. Mercario was the other, older gang member. He said nothing to her but Toni’s scripted words in broken English. Toni did a favor to you. Now you will do a favor for Toni.” Nothing ever else followed. Silver Teeth elaborated little, Toni would need something from her eventually, and she would give it as repayment for saving her life.

Andreas was young and foolish. It was clear, in the immediate shift after her freedom from the bed, that he was far more interested in her than just keeping her fed and passing a message. It started in the form of a slice of white bread with the bowl of gruel. A can of Coke he smuggled in. A pack of cigarettes he made her promise to hide from the others.

The more time passed the stronger she was getting but it wasn’t enough. Eventually, she’d need to get out of here and that would be through one of her guards. In the downtime, in the hours she was left alone, she worked at rebuilding her strength, pushing through the pain to sit up longer, to stand longer.

Later still…​

It had been at least a month since she started counting the days or trying to count them. So far as she could tell, Silver came first thing in the morning – there was the noise of activity that hummed through the covered cell bars. Mercario came midday, when it was quiet but people’s voices could still be heard and Andrea's in the evening. It was always quietest when Andrea arrived, and his lingering in her cell told her no one was waiting for his return.

Andreas was their weak point, but she needed to be sure Toni hadn’t set her up. If she were in Toni’s position it would be what she did. Send in the hardasses, and one weak one and wait for her captive to work the weak link. She’d be expecting it.

One morning she’d been standing over the sink when Silver arrived. She’d been examining herself in the mirror, her gaunt face, ribs showing and the nasty purple wound on her belly. Andreas had told her it had taken time for the “doctor” to find the bullet, making the wound larger and deeper than it had been. She hadn’t missed the fact that her hair had grown considerably since the high school, enough that her dark brown roots were exposed.

“Hey, puta.” He dropped the tray by the front door. “Let me help you with that.” He sneered, flipping out a butterfly knife as he approached. Dutchess turned to face him, only a sheet from the bed wrapped around her but she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

They grappled for a pitifully short length of time, she had no strength and even if she had been healthy, she doubted that she could overpower him. He had her pinned, face down on the cold cell floor, his hot breath in her ear, his knee in her back. “I’m just trying to help, Blanca.”

She gritted her teeth as he took a fistful of her hair and sawed the knife through it. Over and over again he repeated this, purposely dropping it where she could see. When he was done he stood, stepping back and waiting for her to sit up.

Dutchess looked over the strands of blond hair. She reached out to touch what was left on her head and burst out laughing. Silver looked shocked and then angry. He dove at her, driving her back down to the floor as hit her, open-handed, over and over again and when that didn’t stop her laughter he closed his fists.

He left her, on the floor, coughing up blood and spitting out teeth.

Mercario never arrived for his shift, no tray left behind. Andreas much the same. Clearly, she was being punished, but now she knew who of the three was the leader…

The same for the following day. Silver never arrived in the morning, Mercario did not come in the afternoon and Andreas never appeared at his set time in the evening.

Dutchess startled awake late in the night, or maybe early in the morning. A warm hand covered her mouth and she inhaled deeply through her nose, on instinct she’d reached for the hand and arm that touched her but forced herself to relax when she heard Andreas' voice hushing her, trying to calm her.

“Shit babe,” he murmured, moving his hand off of her lips to cup her cheek and tilt her head towards him, a light of some kind in his other hand. “He really fucked you up.” Dutchess hadn’t bothered to look in the mirror, she could tell that her lips had been split, that half of her face was undoubtedly deeply bruised and one eye couldn’t open.

Andreas looked almost saddened by it. “I brought you food.” He whispered. “Real food,” turning the light to something on the floor before back on her face. “Can you eat?”

She nodded, and he moved off the bed, giving her room to sit up. Dutchess waited as he picked up what had been on the floor and deposited a plastic cafeteria tray on her lap. In front of her was a feast – at least compared to what she’d been eating recently. A can of Coke, a small bowl of mac and cheese, a sandwich with some kind of lunch meat in it and a god damned fucking brownie. Heedless of her broken lips and missing teeth Dutchess devoured the tray, not bothering to savor a single bit as she shoveled it in, finishing it off by drinking the Coke like it was life itself.

When she’d finished he’d taken the tray and set it aside, standing over her and cupping her chin to tilt her head up to look at him. “See baby?” He grinned. “See how good I can treat you? I can get you more, whatever you want. Anything under the sun, I’ll be good to you.”

***​

Dutchess knew it wouldn’t be much longer after the beating Silver had given her before they deemed her healthy enough to participate in whatever it was Toni needed. She had limited time to act. She spent her free time searching the cell for anything that might help her; certainly, some former prisoner had a stash here, right? If they did, she hadn’t had any success in finding it. She silently cursed whoever they were for either being too stupid to hide a stash of anything or so crafty in doing so that she couldn’t find it now. Either way, she hoped they were dead and wandering endlessly somewhere out in the world. She had to resort to other means and after a few days of searching, she was able to unscrew a flat metal piece off the bottom of her bed.

It would take time and effort, but she knew it would work, so every morning after Silver left she moved the bed aside and ground the edge of the metal against the concrete floor. Then again after Mercious left in the afternoon and then as long as she could every evening after Andreas left.

She was exhausted, but after several days the edge was sharp enough to cut flesh. It would be enough if she could get the drop on one of them.

Bullyboy Squad Safton Good_Morels Miaow Tool Not Meat BeyondDandy Crono Aegis​

MS13 Cellblock
The Dead Rise​

Dutchess eyes flitted to the cell door, dim light bled through as Andreas stepped in and gave her a lopsided smirk. It was later than his usual time, it meant that he’d come with more than just the usual meal and short conversation. Sometimes he lingered, watching her eat, asking her questions and asking her for more… She hadn’t seen another meal like the first he’d brought and she knew it wasn’t because he couldn’t, it was because he wanted her to give in to him to be rewarded.

He shuffled in, tray in hand. She could smell the food even at this distance. Bacon. Her stomach growled and cramped as her mouth watered. He lifted the cover and set the tray down, out of reach. “See, baby?” He crooned, watching her. “See how good I can take care of you, if you just take care of me.”

Dutchess fought the urge to spit at him and instead swung her legs over the edge of the bed, tilting her head. She could see her reflection in the mirror; brown hair short unevenly cropped to her skull, sunken cheekbones and hollow eyes. She was someone new. “I guess you're right, Daddy.” She spoke softly, her voice gravelly.

His grin widened and he took her response as agreement – consent – and headed for her, hands on his belt. “You'll see, baby. It's for the best.” As he stepped in, Dutchess stood, metal shank palmed. He came within reach, letting his pants fall open as he reached out for her and wrapped his arms around her slim frame.

She moved, faster than even she thought she could, the shank slipped easily into his throat and out the other side, hot thick rivulets of blood pumping out, through her fingertips, down her arm.

He gurgled, trying to step away but she held herself against him, fighting to keep his hands away from the shank in his throat. He went swiftly… enough. Far faster than her husband -- late husband – had gone, faster than the man who’d attacked her during the riots. The gurgling slowed, and his eyes darkened until he fell limp onto the floor, nearly dragging her down with him. She searched his pockets for the keys to her shackles but had no luck. Unfortunate, but not a problem, she assumed that only Silver would have the keys if any one of them. She pulled the shank free from Andreas' throat and padded back for the bed, dropping to sit on the cold floor beside it and followed the chain to the leg where it was attached. She'd already worked the screws loose and it only took a few extra minutes to unscrew the leg and free the chain.


She stood and took up the slack of her chain and wrapped it around her hips so it wouldn't drag as she moved. She knew she had limited time, but the bacon was too tempting. At the sink she washed her hands and arms clean then immediately went to the tray, stuffing the slices of bacon, toast and fruit into her mouth as fast as she could chew.

Her hands shook as she chewed the food, jaw aching with use, her stomach already churned and growled as it was filled with more than she’d consumed in longer than she could recall. With the plate empty, every crumb collected, Dutchess looked back at the youngest of her guards. She didn’t bother with damaging the brain, she wanted him to rise and she was testing her luck now that she lingered longer than she should have.

Dutchess snuck to the cell door and cracked it open just enough to peer outside. It was dark but she could make out the figure of another guard in a chair, his back turned to her cell. She couldn’t tell if this was one of the other two that usually checked in or a fourth she’d never seen, but she didn’t have time to wait. Already she could hear Andreas reanimating behind her, the wheezing noise escaping from the slit in his throat.

She slipped out of the cell and padded up behind the guard, and, like his partner, she shoved the shank through his throat. He stood, violently, shoving the chair back into her and sending her reeling. The man turned, grasping at the shank, both hands attempting to hold the wound, but she could tell she’d hit an artery by the way the blood arched feet away from her.

He took a few, staggering steps in her direction before dropping to his hands and knees, reaching for her but the moment he was within reach she drew back and kicked at the shank, shoving it further down his throat. No further noise gurgled from her second victim as he sank to the floor in a pool of his own blood.

Dutchess took a moment to catch her breath, just the little bit of work she’d done thus far was exhausting, her body screamed to lay down, to sleep and rest, but she pushed on. Listening, she didn’t hear anyone raising the alarm but as she rose, intending on recollecting her shank she could hear the moan of the cock jockey in the cell. He was already at the cell door, faster than she’d anticipated.

She hurried herself, scrambling across the slick bloody floor to retrieve her shank as the dead caught sight of her and started in. His bloody maw opened but nothing more than a gurling hiss of air was heard escaping his torn-out throat and she thanked God and the Devil for her good luck. Back on her feet, Dutchess started away from her cell, the dead shuffling behind her; she knew she would need to set him on another path if she hoped to create the distraction she needed to get out of the MS13’s cellblock.

Two cells over she found her next victim, she didn't know who they were except they were asleep and alone. She slipped into the cell and slit this man's throat as well. She didn't fight to keep the shank in place, instead, she pulled it out swiftly and let the dying man spring out of the bed and break for the cell door.

There, he was met with the grasp of the dead and let out a short gurgling yelp before both tumbled to the floor. Dutchess snuck to the covered cell door and slowly slid it mostly closed, sitting back in the darkness and listening to the hissing groan of the cock jockey and the sounds of teeth gnawing on flesh…

Later​

Dutchess woke with a start, the cold floor of the cell seeping through the back of her thighs and calves, making her shiver. She looked around the empty cell in momentary confusion, trying to recall exactly how she’d come to be there when she heard movement outside the cell. The thumping of feet running down the hall.

“Biters! Fucking Biters!” Someone shouted a distance away.

Everything came back quickly then; she was escaping! Or at least had been. She cursed herself under her breath for even sitting down for a second. She had to wait for the cock jockey to move on and then wait for her third victim to rise and move on before she was sure she could move forward. She’d sat down for a minute – a second! – while she waited and she must have drifted off.

With the noise she was hearing now, some sounded more distant than others, she knew she needed to continue on her escape or get caught by Toni or the dead. In the cell she pilfered a set of clothing: oversized pants that she had to cinch around her waist with a piece of rope and a baggy t-shirt. She stuffed her feet into boots three times too large for her feet and tucked the chain inside the pant pockets.

Carefully, Dutchess slid the cell door open and peered out down the corridor one way then the other. No one was nearby for the moment, but the noise of people alarmed was rising. A cell a few down from hers slid open and two men rushed out, both dressing quickly and charging past her, one of them with a radio and it cracked noisily as they passed.

<<Enforcers to the MS-13 cell block! We have dead inside!>>

Dutchess half-jogged, half-limped behind the duo charging towards the noise and as she reached the day room she was surprised by the chaos already enveloping a floor below; the dead, now dozens of them, pushed against a haphazard barricade of overturned tables and chairs as gang members fought to keep them pushed back. Occasionally the dead would be within reach and a gang member would stab a knife or pipe through its skull, but just as often the opposite would happen. A stray leg or arm would be within reach of the horde and said gang member would be dragged, screaming into growing death.

At the security door, she could see people – mostly women and children – fleeing. She knew this would be her opportunity. She descended the stairs weaving between people as they shouted at one another, everyone attempting to give orders. She followed the wave of those fleeing into the prison proper and away from the cursed cellblock.

There was only one place Dutchess could go, only one person she could trust in any of this and she knew he wouldn’t be in his room with all the enforcers being called in to help.

Dutchess took her time getting to Wesley’s room, not by any choice of her own. If she had the strength and stamina she would have sprinted there first thing. The little action she’d taken already this night had been draining and now, every few dozen feet she had to pause and catch her breath.

By the time she’d reached his room, her legs felt like jelly and she thought the burning in her lungs would never cease.

She took a glance around herself quickly to ensure no one was watching before she slipped inside into the darkness of his room.

​

 

[Miaow]

Lincoln
The Cafeteria​

Life had returned to almost normal for the Font-Dam household... The three were alone once more, living together in one room just like they had at Northview while Nari stayed with her new hubby. They played boardgames and made puzzles and watched Momo chew on any of the books the two picked out from the library. In a way, it felt like Northview again...

Well, apart from their new stepdad. Sure, he wasn't a real step dad, Nari had admitted to that. It was all a ruse to keep her and her baby safe, which Minnie could understand... but it still meant playing nice with Cabrera. Most teenagers hated their new step parents, but threatening to kill her step-dad wasn't exactly "laying low." The occasional spat, sure, but she'd had to put a pause on her stew throwing... for now.

Nari had had her transferred to engineering, anyway, firmly separating her from Cabrera during the work day which was likely a good thing... Now surrounded by much sharper, heavier weapons, she could do much more damage in a fit of rage... Not that she really wanted to hurt him. She kind of wanted to, but... she knew it wouldn't get her anywhere other than the pit. She knew she was just angry, and that anger wouldn't be cured by kicking Cabrera's butt.

The two had gone to sleep as usual, with Haewon on the top bunk and Minnie on the bottom. Since Xander's return, it seemed that Haewon's anxiety about sleeping between her and the door had subsided. They'd have to get past Xander, first... and by that point, Haewon could be awake and spring from above. That was what Minnie assumed, anyway... Even if he had gotten his ass kicked countless times since the two had met.

As the lights abruptly switched on and the air was filled with screaming alarms, Minnie sprung from her bed, frantically searching her covers for Momo... The Samaritans had a farm set up and she'd moved him to spend more time with the same species, though she still awoke expecting for him to be in her bed. She flinched as Haewon hopped down beside her, her movements concealed by the wailing alarms.

"Shit-- Stay there" She murmured, holding her hand out to motion to her sister. She jogged to the door and stuck her head out... A few of the other families were doing the same, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
"EVERYBODY-- STAY IN YOUR ROOMS!" A voice yelled, though was barely audible over the alarm, "THERE ARE BITERS INSIDE THE PRISON. STAY IN YOUR ROOMS!"

Haewon pulled the blankets back over their door, turning back to Minnie.
"Put your shoes on," She instructed as she did the same, "Grab a coat, pack your backpack."
"Where's Xander?" Minnie yelled over the noise, shoving her messy fringe out of her face.
"I don't know, but he's not here and we're not waiting for him!" Haewon responded, tying the laces on her shoes, "He's meant to be looking after us, right? He can't do shit if he's not here. He can catch up to us."
"What-- What are you talking about?!"
"This is our fucking chance, Minnie, we need to get the fuck outta here." Haewon explained, lowering her voice just enough to still be heard over the chaos, "There's gotta be a scav entrance or something, people leave here all the damn time."
"What about Xander? and Nari?" Minnie argued, her eyebrows furrowed with concern.
"Minnie-- This might be our only chance. Shit like this doesn't happen often. We can't just waltz into Cabrera's bedroom and we can't waste time finding Xander," The longer Haewon spoke, the more it sounded like a lecture, "We gotta find an exit. There's gotta be a-- a scav entrance or something, right?"
"There's-- there's a door in the kitchens, I helped bring supplies in a couple times-- it goes outside," Minnie explained with hesitance in her voice. She didn't want to be here anymore, she wanted nothing more than to go back to Northview, no matter how gross it was, and rebuild... but not without her mom and dad. Why couldn't Xander just be in his room? In his bed? Ready to spring into action when the alarms went off? He didn't have to do his early morning patrols anymore, they probably wouldn't let him do them.

---

By the time the two were dressed, the school had devolved into chaos. The wails of the alarms intermingled with the screams of people, Samaritans and slaves alike. They all yelled to each other, families desperate to keep their children, lovers, parents, alive. Haewon clutched her little sister's hand in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, leading her down the corridor and joining the fray.
"Don't let go," She warned her, maintaining a vice-like grip on her sister as they weaved between people. They stuck out like a sore thumb, surrounded by geared-up Samaritans and civilians in their pyjamas. The two still resembled civies, their clothes still somewhat colourful and lacking an entire armoury strapped to them, but seemed suspiciously prepared in contrast.

As the two approached the cafeteria, a flood of people burst from a cellblock, stumbling into the open corridor. A few were bleeding, clearly bitten but trying their damnedest to cling to life. Haewon tugged Minnie in front of her, both hands on each of her shoulders.
"Go go go," She told her, keeping her voice low to avoid upsetting an enraged, half-infected Samaritan. She ushered her forward and through the cafeteria doors, shutting them behind her in hopes they wouldn't be followed.

The carcass of the old cafeteria still smelled of smoke, everything charred black up to the ceilings. Chunks of ceiling tiles had collapsed in the fire, the ones that survived now scattered across the floor, the rest left as ash. Haewon carefully stepped over the piles of rubble, returning her hand to Minnie's and taking the lead. Now she was sure there wasn't anyone behind them, it was safer for her to be in front... but if she could, she'd somehow clone herself and be a human shield from all sides.

Minnie gave directions to the back storage room and the pair ventured inside, shoving away layer after layer of tarp to protect the renovated areas of the kitchens.
"Is there a key?" Haewon whispered, scanning the room, her head ducking and dodging as she peered between the charred remains of shelving.
"I don't know-- I think the head chef has it," Minnie responded.
"Fine-- It's fine, just keep watch," Her big sister murmured, reaching for the screwdriver in her shoe. She leaned in, squinting at the screws as she carefully loosened the lock...

Bullyboy Squad Safton Togy BeyondDandy Safton NanLia Crono Aegis Namazu Good_Morels Fluffy-Kat Tool Not Meat​

 

[Not Meat]

FLASHBACK
Lincoln Dining Hall, just after the fire.
Collaboration with Good_Morels

​

Wren more or less stopped thinking as burst of heat hit his back. He acted instead on instinct, yanking Sapphire against his chest and clutching her there as they were surrounded in searing heat.

It was over as soon as it began, the ceiling bleeding down on top of them, iron seeping into his skin. It stung, but he tried to ignore it, at least thankful he'd gotten his tetanus booster before the apocalypse. The rust cleared into cool cleansing water, a mercy against his singed skin.

"Are you ok?" he asked quietly as he let her go, taking a moment to fret over her arms out of fear he'd bruised her. He could have been angry, he could have yelled at her for being reckless and stupid and getting them both hurt, but he didn't, the only emotion in his gaze being solemn concern. He didn't acknowledge the enforcer as he strode past, far more concerned with the woman in front of him.
A warbled gasp pressed from her lungs when she was pulled against his chest. Sapphire buried her face into him, grasping onto his shirt like a life force as unbearable heat surrounded her. She breathed heavily, trembling against him as he held her there.

The water felt cool against her skin, painful as it soothed the burning sensation but she didn’t much care. Her mind was focused on one thing: get to Dieter. She had to know. She had to know if he was alright, to confirm if he was dead. The outward pain had nothing on the shattering sensation of her heart.

Sapphire barely heard Wren speak, barely acknowledging that he had protected her. It wasn’t because she was selfish or because she wasn’t grateful, she certainly was, but her mind was one track. She needed to see him. She needed to know.

Wordlessly, Sapphire pulled from Wren, ignoring the sounds around her, the people who tried to tell her to stop. She could still feel the heat lingering from the fire as she stepped into the charred remains of a room she was so familiar with thanks to the man who had protected her and saved her throughout the end of the world.
Wren followed close behind, more or less on her heels as she walked into the room. His heart sank when he saw it. The entire room looked like charcoal, as if someone had dumped the dining hall into the fireplace. He took another moment to realize someone had.

He flinched as the enforcer yelled at them, but considering he didn't make any move towards them, he simply put himself between Sapphire and him as best as he could.

"Sapph, he's not in here, let's-"

The words died in his throat as he noticed a charred human figure splayed over the dull metal counter. He'd never met Dieter, never known him personally or even seen his face, but he knew the moment he laid eyes on him. The geode that his skull had become only worsened things.

It was far too many moments before he grabbed Sapph's hand and tried to wordless pull her out of the kitchen, unwilling to lie to her and unable to tell the truth.

She knew. She knew before she even got a good look at the body. It was almost as if an emptiness took over her. A hole ripping through her chest and destroying her. In a place where she once felt Dieter the most she no longer felt him, now just a hollow, black shell of what once was and would never be again.

Somehow she moved, ignoring Wrens pleading, ignoring the enforcer yelling at them. How she managed to make a sound she didn’t know. Her throat fell as if it had closed up. Horrified, strangled screams left her throat, consuming her as she stared at the lifeless, charred remains of her companion. Her person. Her father. The man who saved her life time and time again even before the world ended and continued to do so afterwards.

Her legs shook, knees threatening to collapse as her tears blurred her vision. It wasn’t an accident. He didn’t die trying to save anyone or trying to save himself. Dieter was already gone before the fire had started. That much she knew.

Shaken knees finally gave out as a searing pain shot throughout her body, leaving her breathless as she let out heartbroken sobs. She held onto Wrens hand, collapsing at his feet, unable to find the strength to hold her own weight any longer.

Wren dropped with her, pulling her back against his chest, the only thing he could do in the face of such hellish conditions. He hugged her just as tightly as he did when the fire hit them, a wave of sorrow for his friend washing over him like a tidal wave.

There never was anything to say in these situations. The words always died in his throat despite the many empathetic words in his head. Instead of speaking immediately, he moved his hand to gently direct her head away from the charred corpse.

He tried to ignore the enforcers chatter as they disregarded the cadaver, instead focusing on holding Sapph as tightly as he could.

"I'm sorry" he murmured after what felt like hours. "I.. I'm so sorry Sapphire. This never should have happened. He was a good man."

Sapphire tried to breathe. Shaken, heaving breaths laced with pained whimpers. She couldn’t speak, barely able to form together words in her mind let alone speak them. The lump in her throat grew to an unbearable size. Choked sobs escaped her as she buried her face into Wren, trembling.

“Who would do this?” She croaked, her voice barely an audible whisper. “Why? Why him?”

Wren didn't have the answers she needed, though the graffiti on the wall nearby caught his attention.

No more kings

That meant...

"What the Fuck is this?"

Wren stiffened as Marx's venom laced voice boomed across the room, his flashlight fixed securely on the two of them. He gave Sapphire a solemn apologetic look and let her go only seconds before Marx's hand locked around his arm and pulled him up and against him.

"It's not what you think, her father just died-" Wren began to argue quietly, but Marx's grip just tightened on his arm. He glanced down at Sapphire with hatred in his eyes before lowering his voice so only Wren could hear him.

"You are my fucking fa-ggot, understand? Not hers. I don't want you touching a goddamn person like that. She's damn lucky I don't kill her."

Wren nodded silently, glancing back at Sapphire for only a second before returning his whole attention to Marx, who pulled him into a rib crushing hug. He raised his voice enough to be audible to the rest of the room. Wren flinched as his arms squeezed his fresh burns.

"I was worried sick sweetheart, when I didn't see you come out of the dining hall I thought I lost you-"

He paused, only then noticing the burns.

"Fuck, darlin, we gotta get you looked at." Marx pulled away, still holding Wren by the shoulders. He shouted over him to the other enforcers.

"Hey, my boy's hurt, I'll be back." He promised before gripping Wren's wrist and leading him away, Wren looking back towards Sapphire and mouthing 'I'm sorry'

Bullyboy Squad

​

​

​

 

[Aegis]

Lincoln
Medical Supply Room​

There was hardly a more perfect time to execute on their plans of treachery than now when the prison's gaze was set on a fight for which King demanded attendance 'or else'. Or else, what? A direct consequence of his insistence on a grueling spectacle meant to weigh down the spirits of the populace was that everywhere else was very lightly guarded, and the crowd at the Pit was so thick with faces--one could never know who was really there. When Connor volunteered for patrol duty, nobody batted an eye. They were all-too willing to let someone else take their shift so that they could go see the 'show' because--after all was said and done, the Penitent Man had shown his true colors, A Samaritan Enforcer through and through.

Connor smirked to himself as he set down the hallway toward the Medical Supply Room armed with an AR-15 and a perfect alibi. The scene practically wrote itself, after all. Victor and himself happened to be right where they needed to be, didn't see anything, and they carried on their merry way all the better for it. Now, Victor... Victor was a man he had gotten to know in increments: a caretaker, a prick, a dutiful man, a comrade. He didn't know if he would go as far as saying 'a friend', but the ex-Soldier had been spending a lot of time in the Infirmary visiting both Madison and Huey at times. Although Connor and Huey's relationship was a passive one built mostly on a shared trauma of things that had long passed, his presence there may have had some effect on the surgeon turned combat medic. Victor was a complex man and he couldn't get a read on whether or not the Good Doctor kept helping because he took an oath or because it kept him alive, yet--no matter the answer, Connor wouldn't be able to blame him.

Not that it mattered.

As The Penitent Man stalked down the Lincoln Corridor, he laid eyes on a dim figure before the door whom he assumed to be Victor, but he needed to be sure. He kept a casual stride as though he never intended to stop at all. Drawing close, he confirmed that it was, in fact, his sleep-deprived compatriot. At last they had arrived and this was now the point of no return.

Connor's breath hitched as he parted his lips--the weight of what was to follow settling on his nerves, and he swallowed deep. His heart picked up as the reality of everything hit him but he kept an outward cool.

Here they were, two people who belonged. The perfect alibi. The chance to make a real difference here. A chance to fell a tyrant in a world too cruel to ever allow another chance.

Their one shot.

Connor stopped dead and turned with a seriousness to his face as though he was attending a funeral, and in a way he was; a passing of this era. The ex-Soldier locked eyes with the Good Doctor and he gathered his mettle for those words which carried the hopes and courage of many people this night, "Good to see you, Vic."

It was time.

His jaw clenched and he looked up and down his partner in crime with a potent whisper, "No More Kings."

Namazu Miaow NanLia Good_Morels Fluffy-Kat Crono Bullyboy Squad Tool Safton Togy BeyondDandy Not Meat​

 

[Aegis]

Lincoln
Prison Corridor​

Tanner had wanted to watch the fight in the Pit just as much as any of the other hardcore Samaritans, but he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to impress Cabrera--even if it meant Hadley stalked along after him as she had been doing lately. Over the past couple of weeks, Cabrera had pushed him a bit toward the wayside. It wasn't to say that he was through with him, but the Man had continued to change and cut people off. Maybe it was too much to have Tanner hanging on his every word, attached to his hip, unable to adjust. Fortunately, though, despite his new mentor's callousness he had been accepted as a 'part-timer' and whatever invisible floor he had been standing on fell through to sink him into the depths of the system. Tanner met new people every day, learned new things, changed silently in ways that nobody could've expected. There he met someone who gave him a bit of perspective on how he probably made his mentor feel, Hadley.

Honestly, he had no idea why they even talked. The woman had seen him and at once her eyes lit up as she sunk her verbal hooks into him, and it was much the same any time they crossed paths. Hadley talked and talked and talked with no signs of her every stopping. It was all Tanner could do to watch her with silent indifference until she finally brought up something he could talk about and talk he did.

Tanner really struggled to put it all into words and even more so with the long-winded concept of fighting for something abstract and bigger than himself. Yada Yada... On paper, he saw the Samaritans as a pillar of strength in a world that ate the weak. The fact that they were still here was proof that they were wolves and the weak among them were sheep to be consumed for the benefit of the strong; the worst among them never having had to last a week out there in the real world. That was the greatest sin of them all, and they needed to pay back every meal, every medical checkup, every moment they breathed the air of the prison. They needed to pay their debts to the strong and do it with gratitude.

They were strong and everyone beneath them was weak. The Samaritans earned the right to live, and everyone else was only doing so at their mercy, they were people without true value--most of them. It was survival of the fittest pure and simple.

Hadley seemed to be a good listener, but he felt in his heart that she was giving him the same treatment of 'tolerance' that he was giving her; neither of them really wanted to talk to each other but here she rambled. There he listened and occasionally provided commentary. He had stopped trying to explain it to himself a long time ago, so it was refreshing to try and get it out even if it was mostly just a bundle of frustration as he struggled to articulate exactly why he felt so strongly.

She did her best to take on a sisterly role as she tagged along to his firearms training as a 'part-timer' and pestered the every-loving hell out of him. It was a mental struggle for him, accepting her at all after he had given up on Chloe. Chloe was a nice woman, a great woman. However, she was also a liability. Chloe was one of the people who had ended up here out of sheer chance before she really had to survive, and her only skills were entertaining other people. As much as he struggled to kill her in his heart, it was a necessary task. Lately, he had even begun to resent her. Tanner watched as she talked to Connor, broke him down, made him feel safe, and changed who he was. The Boy knew his father-figure was acting. All the patrols, the Enforcer performance, all of it was half-hearted. He knew Connor too well to ever accept who he was now as the hardened survivalist that had carried them both through hell for the better part of a year. Chloe was poisoning Connor. All Tanner wanted was for his father to see--really see, the opportunity they had stumbled upon, and she was preventing that. There were days where Tanner would go and watch outside the bar peeking at Chloe through the windows; his pistol weighed heavy in his holster on days like that. One squeeze and Connor would be back to the way he needed to be, the animal he COULD be, the man who could murder and not blink twice. This world was a place only for the strong and being wicked was just a higher form of strength.

Speaking of Connor, Hadley seemed VERY intent on asking questions about him whenever there was an avenue to do so. She would reach and reach--the conversation facing total whiplash as she consumed every scrap of information he would give her about the Man.

This line of thought sent him on a whole spiral.

Haewon drug down Minnie the same way Chloe drug down Connor. Minnie was young, but in the basketball court that night he had SEEN that she had what it took to survive, kill, thrive. It was just this sense of family that kept her from dipping into places where she could be molded into someone stronger. Haewon. Another person that made his pistol seem like the answer to every problem when he was around. Truthfully, they all needed to go; Tanner wished with all his heart that Xander had died screaming in front of them in the Pit the other night. That, that would've put a smile on his lips.

Truth be told, Cabrera had talked to him a lot about respect, but the more he learned about Lincoln--the more he realized fear was king. King was fear. Tanner questioned whether respect was worth anything at all.

Tanner was torn from his internal musings as Hadley once again pressed about one of the times he was out on the road with Connor, and it took every ounce of self-restraint he had in order to NOT roll his eyes--giving a smile instead, "Yeah, sure, which story do you wanna hear about?"

He had been able to block her out for so long, but now she was prying her way in again. Truthfully, it ground him down almost to his deepest parts. There were moments where nothing ELSE was happening and he wanted to take a pipe wrench to her and figure out what kind of noises she would make as he caved in her skull; the thought of that made gave him a much-needed hit of dopamine and sparked adrenaline in his fingers. Regardless, patience overcame the bubbling hate she was fostering inside of him. Tanner's only option, for now, was to endure.

At least, it was. It was until they spotted two people huddled around a the door to the Medical Supply Closet--one of which he identified as Connor, and his eyes darted over toward Hadley, "Hey, there's Connor, himself. How about we go ask him instead?"

Thank god for a scapegoat.

Namazu Tool D Dovie.Darling NanLia Bullyboy Squad Miaow Crono Safton BeyondDandy Not Meat Togy Fluffy-Kat Good_Morels​

 

[Namazu]

LINCOLN
Medical Supply Room​

Victor had been thinking a lot about dying.

Not about causing his own death, or even anyone in particular. More like the deaths of faceless Samaritans that all looked alike behind their tacti-cool getups and gang regalia. The deaths of the unprivileged people who got worked to the bone until they keeled over from dehydration, illness, malnutrition, or beatings. The deaths of people in the pit, or who were found in their beds having been strangled or stabbed in the night. The people who… opted out.

Victor sent two bodies out that morning to be buried. He wasn’t convinced either one would actually get buried in a single grave of their own. At best, they’d get put in a mass grave. At worst, they’d … no, he didn’t want to think about it.

The first body once belonged to someone who he’d never met. A middle-aged man, once a little portly around the middle, now skin sagging and empty. In another life he probably stood in front of a grill wearing sandals and socks, flipping burgers and talking about sports and his lawn and can you believe the price of gas these days. Now in this life, at the end of his life, he was carted out on a gurney with bruising around his neck and a single stab wound through the temple. It took enforcers a few minutes to cut him down from where he’d been found dangling. He’d been told a little kid had found him first.

The second body once belonged to an older woman who had been incarcerated here from the beginning. She was serving a life sentence for murdering her abusive husband. The great state of Ohio had decided that because she took a day to plan how to off him, it became first degree murder, rather than self-defense. Lesson learned - kill only in a fit of passion when you’re a breath away from death, or just curl up and accept the end, according to politicians, lawyers, and cops. Victor knew her - Maureen, was her name. Maureen had smoked since she was fifteen. Now, at sixty three and a few hours cold, she too was being carted out. Lung cancer. Nothing to be done about that here and now. She knew she was a goner, and hadn’t left her infirmary bed in days, breathing too difficult to move anywhere.

Victor sat on the broken-down couch at the front of the infirmary with a half-eaten bowl of warm stew in his hands that he was polishing off. He’d eaten all the bits and chunks of unidentified things already and was now just draining down the juices. It didn’t taste great, but it didn’t matter. This was dinner. It was more than he was due, too. More than he’d earned. He’d already eaten his can… but Maureen hadn’t touched her’s. So he took it.

He also smothered her first so she couldn’t complain. So he didn’t have to listen to her coughing up a lung and drowning in her own disease. So he didn’t have to hear her beg for him to do something, anything, for the pain. So he didn’t have to hear her crying at night while he tried to sleep because he couldn’t do anything for her anymore.

But mostly, he did it for the can of outdated generic-brand stew in a can that he could eat in goddamn silence.

Once he was done, he stood from the couch and paced over to the sink, giving his bowl a rinse and a bit of a hand-scrub so it was good for the next meal. He stashed it back into his office-slash-bedroom and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, pausing a moment to stare at the white doctor’s coat tossed onto the back of his office chair. It used to be white, a long time ago. Now it was blood-stained, yellowed and grey from a lack of proper washing and bleaching. It looked like how he felt. For now, he was just in an old grey t-shirt and jeans. Just as dark as the circles under his eyes.

Correction: Victor had been thinking a lot about food, and dying.

Movement outside the door caught his attention, and for a moment he tensed - his brain sensing enforcer, trouble, danger, before registering the face. It was Connor - and this was a relief.

An enforcer, but not a real enforcer, if one would catch the drift of what he’d never dare say out loud.

“Hey, Connor.” He gave the man an up-nod with his chin in acknowledgment, eyes glancing down the hallway each way.

“No more kings.” Victor said, barely above a whisper. While he kept his eyes on Connor’s to make sure the man knew he meant it, he was reaching into his pocket to pull out something.

Victor held out his hand, offering up a semi-crushed half-consumed pack of smokes. Menthols. Maureen’s. He flipped the pack open and offered one to Connor.

Aegis Bullyboy Squad Crono NanLia Safton Good_Morels Miaow Tool BeyondDandy Not Meat ​

 

[Good_Morels]

LINCOLN
Marx's Quarters

​

"Haaa.. f-fuck, yeah.. r-right there. That's it."

Wren winced as the medic examined the purple and red nebula that painted the copper of his skin, the gentle pressure of his finger against one of them sending shockwaves of pain through his body. He sucked in a hard breath through his teeth, his grip on the bed sheets hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

Marx stood still as stone by the door, his gaze fixed on him in a manner not dissimilar to a house catch watching birds, though Wren caught him occasionally tracing his figure with his eyes. He had needed to take his shirt off for the medic, Emmanuel, to look at him properly, something that he knew Marx was both horribly bothered by and yet appreciated all the same, especially with the pained whimpers. Wren felt sick and terrified every time he saw that wicked glint in his eyes, the evil smirk and satisfaction Marx got from bruises blossoming under his skin well burned into his memory and nightmares.

Marx would kill him one day, Wren was sure of it.

Wren watched as the enforcer's gaze flicked to Manny, stern and cold as his captor determined whether or not Manny liked what he saw. He didn't make any kind of comment, which Wren appreciated. They would run out of doctors if Marx decided that they were all queer and/or attracted to him. The medic himself seemed nice enough. He hadn't asked how Wren had cracked his rib yet, which was a relief. He knew the question was coming, but answering it was always hard, especially now. Wren had earned this beating by pushing his luck; He wasn't Marx's room the night before last and had no good excuse as to why not. A beating was better than the truth in any case, he had been distributing the copies of his field manual that included the cipher for the rebel code to the head rebels. That neatly folded piece of paper had to stay hidden, no matter the cost.

However, Jesus *fuck* was it a painful price to pay.

"It ain't broke, is it?" Marx grumbled from the doorway. Wren looked away from him to avoid accidentally rolling his eyes or glaring at him, already in enough pain as it was. It for damn sure *felt* broken, of all the times Marx had hit him, that particular kick to the side was the worst of it, and Marx's rough handling of him afterwards didn't do it any good either. Wren may not have been a doctor, but he was pretty damn sure the rib was cracked.

At least he was still alive. For now. God knew how long it was until Marx flew off the handle and choked him a little too long or hit him a little too hard. Wren had a feeling it would be soon, a sort of heavy dread in the pit of his stomach that screamed he needed to run and run fast.

The sound of the alarm made Wren jolt, resulting in another hiss of pain and a hand clamped to his bare side. Marx jumped in a similar manner, quickly grabbing his gun before looking between Manny and Marx, his brows furrowing. He hesitated, but then focused on loading his gun.

"Visit's over, we'll get your diagnosis when this's over... I don't care where you go but you can't stay here. Not when my boyfriend's half naked." Marx barked in Manny's general direction. Wren didn't bother to argue with him, instead shrugging back on the oversized button up he had commandeered from Marx's closet.

"I'm sure they'll let you in to one of the other rooms, if you aren't going straight until the fray." He offered quietly. "I appreciate you coming, thank you."

​

​

​

 

[Tool]

Lincoln
Infirmary​

The penny went tap.

The penny always went tap. What mattered most was where it went tap.

Madison had passed a million billion a week or two ago, and she was still getting better. How did one get better after getting shot in the back of the head? One penny at a time. Madison still spent way too long sleeping (by her measure), but she'd be damned if she was going to end her days alone in some gurney, spending her last hours contemplating her bellybutton lint. So, whatever time Madison was both alone and unwatched - most of it - she spent trying to get better. What the hell else was she going to do with her time? After the fire, she'd been summarily re-cuffed. Whether her special bracelet was in preparation for the Pit or out of a sense of caution, Madison didn't know and didn't much care.

In the beginning, she spent her time trying to touch her fingers together, her blind left to seeing right, learning in the very smallest of ways to compensate for the loss of half her sight. According to the doc (and her own annoyed prodding), the eyeball was still in there, rolling around in its socket, following fingers or pen-lights, and Doing Its Best.

It wasn't good enough.

If this had been some exotic horror novella or more eldritch tale, her unseeing eye would reveal some dark secret or give her visions of the dead or prophecy or something useful, but no. The bullet had taken away light and color and replaced it with an uncompromising, relentless black that fucked with depth perception and made her vulnerable on that side, to say nothing of the beauty pageants she wouldn't be winning these days.

After the great mastery of touching two fingers, Madison had started in on the pennies. It amused her, using the visage of Lincoln to practice throwing and catching something so that one day another Lincoln, this Lincoln, might be brought to rights. She was aware they'd probably kill her before she got the chance, but if she could take someone deserving down with her...... there were worse ways to go.

Considering it was the hand that she could see that was cuffed to the railing, tossing and catching a penny was no small feat. At least the medical staff trusted her enough to escort her shamble of pain to and from the bathroom a couple of times a day. Small dignities. She'd been upgraded to a man's big'n'tall undershirt so her undies didn't flash at random, but sure enough, the pants and the boots she'd worn on fire-day had disappeared from whence they'd come, mostly to make undressing and dressing easier on the nurses. Small dignities denied. Whatever. The hard erosion of a chronic, nearly constant migraine might have worn down the edges of a softer woman, made her more reliant, more doe-eyed, more pliant and grateful for what meager food and rest and soap Lincoln had afforded her.

Nay, fuck that.

As what few curves Madison did have melted away with hunger, she seemed to grow tougher, a girl of gristle and glittery-steel brambles and fire in her gaze. Fury drove her now more than ever. Fury that some genius had thought it wise to blow up a store of food as a political statement. Fury at scum sucking raiders that stripped the hope from people's souls. Fury at any who divided human beings into usable, used, and enemy. Fury that the scavengers were apparently too scared (or simply too inexperienced) to wade into places where food lay in abundance. Gods knew she'd lived on the road on her own and had never lacked for a meal. These blessed United States had some of the highest rates of obesity on earth, some of the most processed, shelf-stable, unhealthy, caloric diets anywhere, but in order to get at where people ate....... you had to go where people were. That meant going where they'd died. Braving zombies had a very high risk-reward ratio, but hell, there were still twinkies well within their expiration date, and they weren't being eaten by the walking dead.

Sometimes, her anger was a diffuse, furred thing, pricking claws into her arms and dragging her down into sleep, where there was just teeth, and teeth, and teeth, forever. Other times, the rage in her eyes could have ignited paper. It burned away parts of her soul that nobody had ever seen. That was alright. The Chamber of Unreasonable Stubbornness had been a permanent part of her mental architecture since her mid-teens.

So....... penny.

Aim for the popcorn ceiling above her head, toss, tap, catch.

She'd taken to only doing it when she knew the doc wasn't around. Madison could swear she saw the guy's eye twitch every time her penny clicked home.

Madison wasn't a complete asshole, just a resourceful one.

Namazu ​

 

[Namazu]

LINCOLN
The Infirmary​

Thirty minutes earlier…

Standing in front of the mirror above his dresser, Weston pulled on one of his favorite t-shirts - black, with a simple Metallica logo on it. The neck was a little stretched and loose, and the hem was starting to fray. There was a hole torn in the side from where he was shot during that horrible race to Northview when they ran into - literally - the Fallen Angels. He’d since patched it with a bit of black fabric from something else, but looking at it reminded him of the fear he felt that day.

A long time ago, one of the scavengers brought the shirt back for him. It was a special request. While he could have just taken it, given his position in Lincoln, he didn’t want to completely abuse his privilege at the time. No, instead, he’d traded favors for it. The kind of favors that resulted in the two of them in a dark unutilized corner of the prison and him on his knees. At the time it meant nothing. He was just doing what he wanted to do, having a bit of reckless fun because he could, and making up for lost time after so long spent shoving those interests down deep and not letting them surface. Now, he wasn’t so sure things like that could simply mean nothing. He wondered if anyone at Lincoln knew just how often their second in command ended up on his knees, silently wanting something that wasn’t nothing and never finding it.

He showered yesterday. That was good enough. He was running a little low on soap and was trying to stretch it. Scavengers were looking for food, not necessarily toiletries. He’d stopped shaving at some point, just pulling his hair back and saying ‘fuck it’ to doing anything else. At least when he pulled on jeans, they didn’t have any large bloodstains - he could ignore the old stained splatter on the lower part of the left leg, around his shins. He tried not to think about what that came from but it came back to him immediately. Andrew’s blood. That blood never really came off him.

Lacing up his combat boots, the end of the right lace snapped mid-tug. Sighing, he pulled the broken lace out along with the so-far-okay one from his left, added them to the pile of the other broken or mismatched laces he was somehow collecting atop his dresser, and took the second to the last package of new laces from a drawer out and put them on his boots. His hands shook a bit as he laced them up. Sometimes he couldn’t get them to stop shaking.

Today was just another day in a string of days that were often much like the previous and much like the next. A calendar that had become useless after last December hung crookedly on the wall. He mostly kept it for the pictures - landscapes from around the country - and to remind himself what calendars looked like once upon a time. He wondered what day of the week it was. It was another stupid dance club night at the bar for those of sufficient rank. He hated the club, hated its noise, hated how people kept trying to hang all over him. Did that mean it was Friday? Saturday? There was a pit fight too, but that was less illuminating. They happened just frequently enough that all they signified was that it was a day ending in ‘Y’. Thankfully, he didn’t have to preside over this one. Tig had asked him to come and he made it clear, in no uncertain terms, he’d rather stick a fork in his eye and twist it than to lord over the fight today. Weston couldn’t even remember what the point of this fight was, and he felt no obligation to show up.

After doing one last check of the handgun he had holstered to his side - of course they had ammo, they had plenty of fucking ammo, all they had was ammo, and at this rate soon they’d all be eating the goddamn ammo because it was the only goddamn thing left in this hellhole - Weston sat down on the edge of his bed, wrapped his arms around himself, and closed his eyes. He needed a moment to arrange his face into something akin to passive annoyance, and not any of the other myriad things he was feeling in waves.

It was entirely for show at this point - striding down the halls, joining enforcers for patrol, checking in on people and places. Here was the Second in Command, an iron grip over the populace, making sure shit didn’t get out of hand, making sure those fucking rebels didn’t cause another catastrophe, putting the fear of god and hot iron into the hearts of his lessers. At least, that was the story. That was what the outside world was going to see. That’s what those who were not in the know were going to think. True, he was making sure shit didn’t get out of hand like when the fire gutted their food supply and set them all on the fast track to dying a miserable death, but he was not out here being King’s Second in Command. Quite the opposite.

Later…

“Knock knock, Princess Pistols.” Weston announced himself as he entered the infirmary, neither knocking nor stopping at the doorway before he beelined for Madison’s bed, ignoring the doctor who was curled up on the sofa by the door and guarding a bowl of food like he was Gollum but with a thousand yard stare. He was carrying a small shoebox, which he promptly slid the lid off and plopped it in Madison’s lap.

“I brought you something, in case you get tired of the penny.” Weston parked himself on the edge of Madison’s bed, offering her a tired smile as he motioned towards the box. It was half-full of random contraptions that required the use of hands - whether fine motor skills, brute strength, or a mix of the two. Rubic’s cubes, flexing grippy things for working out the hand muscles, a small bag of mismatched marbles, beads on strings, a small tub of silly putty (hot pink!), even a fidget spinner. It was not exactly a physical therapist’s array of perfectly crafted devices, but it had to be better than just a penny. There were also a few pencils and pens, a small pencil sharpener, and two books full of crossword puzzles.

Also, a fun-sized chocolate candybar. A little stale, but what wasn’t these days?

“How’s it going?”

Tool ​

 

[Tool]

Lincoln
Infirmary​

Madison stilled the bird wing of her hand at the clomping of boots, but the sound of Weston's voice tugged at what remained of the person behind the purpose, and the nickname drew a wan smile to her lips and gave them extended parenthesis before fading. She shifted to rest on her right elbow, wrapping her fingers around the metal and getting herself a little better than pillow-prone. A cardboard box was summarily plopped in her lap, even as Weston tried out a new name for her: Pistol Princess. Could be worse. The edges of the box were a different enough texture from the metal gurney railing, sour blanket, and frigid floor that she took pleasure in its novelty, just as she took pleasure in Weston's visit.

Things gave a hollow rattle in there, and she peered down at what might as well have been a treasure chest with open curiosity. What in the world..... puzzles and hand-strength flexers, one of those toys she'd seen her share of teens whirl around their fingers, what felt like marbles in a demure felt bag, a bright plastic container of silly putty reminding everyone it was Easter, a piece of chocolate Madison mentally put aside for one of the kids if they ever came around again........ and a couple of pencils and (more importantly), pens. Plus crossword puzzles? Madison was shit at puzzles that didn't involve yellow crime scene tape and a dead body, but after a month with the demon of boredom pressing in on her ribcage, anything that gave her mind relief was a welcome balm.

Now those pens were an interesting addition. Pencils too, though less so. Pens could be unscrewed. The metal spring could be straightened and used to pick cuffs or errant locks. Pencils could be used to stab through the eye and into the brain, if they were long enough. For use against the living, pencils could be punched through the neck or eardrum, no problemo. The violence was inside her.

Waiting.

Did Weston intend to give her a means to her freedom? She wasn't sure. If it was unintentional, she wasn't about to ruin it. The last time they'd seriously talked about this place, he'd waxed poetic about how the Samaritans were his chosen people. A few hours before asking how to murder Kings, if she remembered right. Things at the school were still jumbled, and she wasn't sure what was memory and what was metaphor.

Her gaze traveled across Weston's stained clothes, upwards past the weapon at his hip, across the Metallica shirt, to land on a face that looked happy to see her, even if she couldn't rightly call him Lovelylocks any more. Milo was too private. The prison fire had come and gone a few weeks ago, if counting days was anywhere close to accurate. She was glad to see he was doing alright; one of her few friends could bite the dust in the world beyond the infirmary, and unless someone thought to inform her, she wasn't going to have any idea. It was a reality Madison tried not to think about.

"Y'playin' Santa? And you're doin' it pretty well, it seems."

After having seen them so often, the blobby plastic triangle-thing got picked up first, and Maidson gave it a spin between thumb and index finger. Surprise flashed across her ravaged features at the liquid-smooth twirl of it, the simple whirl so frictionless there was barely a vibration, the presence of a phantom circle in cherry-red. No wonder this was the it thing for the minor crowd. The expression lifted the shadow of what Madison had become from her face and allowed the echo of who she'd once been to shine. It was not an expression often seen, and despite the scars and the lurid bruising and vengeance..... she was beautiful. This time, the smile showed teeth and it was accompanied by a raspy chuckle.

"I'll be damned. Better, now. I can see why th' were s'popular. Never made th' time for 'em. Before."

Before was enough to indicate a time when toy popularity mattered, when there were enough kids and teens to have toy popularity. Something inside Madison's heart gave a flashbulb sputter, and she stopped the spinner with her palm before running her thumb along its edge, feeling the seam where the plastic had been molded. The ghost of a far more innocent girl slipped back beneath the waves, and when Madison lifted her chin, the appreciation was still genuine, albeit more bittersweet in timbre. By all rights, this was the sort of cardboard box that should have contained erasers shaped like fruit; a hard plastic, glittery pencil case; and a comp book with some aggressively cute rainbow shit on it that had always struck Madison as a little forced.

"Doc says I'll live. These'll come in handy. Thanks, Weston."

Handy for what? One day at a time. She'd get out of here. People with something to fight or die for were shockingly difficult to dissuade.

"Been a while. You alright?"

Namazu ​

 

[Namazu]

LINCOLN
The Infirmary​

Weston had been trying to make a point to visit the infirmary more often. Specifically, to visit Madison more often. Although a more logical mind would say it is thanks to him that she’s alive, in his mind all he could think of was that it was his fault she was trapped here in Lincoln.

“Ho ho ho.” He said a little flatly, before snorting a laugh. “Thinkin’ I ain’t old, grey, or fat enough to play Santa. Good to hear you’ll make it though. I’d hate to have to bury you after lugging your ass all the way out here.” Given enough time, none of them would be fit to play Santa, at this rate, but he tried not to think about that. The way Madison’s smile lit up her face at the sight of the fidget spinner spinning around sans friction or noise made him smile as well. Had he ever seen her that amused, if not happy? Maybe back when she had a gun in her hand and a boot on a corpse. She was pretty then, and she was pretty now, even if some asshole had tried to shoot her face off. He still swore he’d somehow, someday, find out who did that. That person deserved a slow, painful death. Madison would get the lion’s share of the swings in, of course, but he wanted to contribute heavily to that beating.

“Yeah, I can see why kids liked ‘em, especially the ones that can’t sit still without doing something with their hands.” Weston reached into the box and pulled out the tub of silly putty as he spoke, holding the bottom of the container to his knee as he peeled off the bright plastic lid. The silly putty inside was a ridiculously hot pink in color, and was stretched across the container from side to side, sticking to the insides. Tilted this way, the top of the container was facing Madison, giving her a clear view of the inside - and of the oblong shape behind the putty that slid a little as Weston moved the container.

“It’s ball bearings, y’know.” Weston commented idly as he peeled the silly putty off the edges of the container, nodding his head towards the spinner. Underneath the silly putty was a pocket knife. It was a small one - it had to be, to fit sideways in the container - but the putty had helped keep it in place so it didn’t rattle suspiciously in transit. “There’s little ball bearings in the middle of that thing. That’s how it keeps spinning around so smooth. Till they wear out, of course. That makes me wonder if that’s how one of these Rubik’s cubes works. The little one, not the big one - the big one is made of magnets. Fancy shit.”

Weston glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the infirmary. The doctor was standing in the doorway, chatting up Connor, a pack of cigarettes in hand. The other patients here were in no shape to be of concern - one woman’s fever was so high she was deliriously fading in and out of sleep. Another man was unconscious and looked like he’d been beaten half to death. A third man was asleep with a cast-clad leg propped up on a pillow, but Weston didn’t care about him waking up. He knew the guy; he was profoundly deaf and as long as nobody found replacement glasses for him, couldn’t see clearly beyond his arms either. This was as good a time as any.

Weston settled the silly putty container next to Madison, pocket knife within reach so that she knew it was an offering to her. He idly rolled the silly putty between his hands, forming it into a long pink squishy snake-like shape as he lowered his voice.

“Eh. I’m hanging in there. Patrols have stepped up after the fire. People are restless. Scared. Angry. Hungry. Scavengers are out looking for anything edible. I’ve heard some teams have been gone longer than anticipated and haven’t come back. No idea if they are coming back at all, or what happened to them.” He frowned, flattening the pink-putty-snake between his hands. It remained flat for a bit, before it started pulling itself together again and plumping up once more.

The snake gets squished, the snake returns to its old form. No point in just squishing the snake.

“I’m not sure yet who started the fire. All signs point it towards being set on purpose. Someone angry enough to take down all of Lincoln and everyone in it to get what they want.”

Weston paused for a moment and glanced over his shoulder. Nothing suspicious, no lookie-loos or eavesdroppers. He looked to Madison again, then down at the pink-putty-snake in his hand. He slowly pinched off the end of it and pulled - removing the head of the snake. The blob kept a thin string of putty between the head and the body, which eventually thinned and broke with enough distance.

“It would have been smarter to target something else other than the food. That just fucks over all the regular people. Gets them caught in the crossfire. That pisses me off. Completely wrong target.” Weston smushed the putty all back together.

Weston lowered his voice a bit more as he leaned closer, hovering over Madison as he tucked the formless pink blob into the container.

“Do you remember what we talked about in the library?” He paused a beat, then looked embarrassed. “Northview. Not… the… other one.”

Tool ​

 

[Miaow]

Lincoln
Outside the Prison Walls
​

The two stumbled from the building, the cold, night air hitting them like a truck. The stink of sweat and panic was gone in an instant, replaced by pollen and fresh, fresh air. Haewon had expected to find a horde, similar to that of Northview. There had to be a weakness in their boundaries and, somehow, a horde had collected and made their way inside, probably in the same way they had at their last home. However, the outside was... quiet. Empty. The chaos from inside the prison, the cries of the alarm and the people still trapped inside, was still audible, but muffled by the walls. It felt... amazing. They were allowed outside in the old exercise yards, but... this was truly outside. Haewon felt a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"C'mon," She whispered, taking the lead as she ushered for her sister to follow.

Minnie shrieked as fingers intertwined with her hair, yanking her backwards. Her back was pressed against the stranger's chest, the barrel of a gun shoved up against her jawbone, forcing her head upwards. Her hand slipped from Haewon's as she was pulled back into the doorway of the kitchen's supply room.
"I knew you Northview fuckers would try something," The man growled, tugging on Minnie's scalp, "Where the fuck do you think you're going, huh?"
Haewon turned, freezing at the predicament before her. She had to approach this carefully... She couldn't be argumentative or aggressive, she couldn't piss this guy off.
"There's infected everywhere, we don't wanna die--"
"Oh, and you just happened to find a door leading you outside, right?" The man argued, "You're just in the cafeteria in the middle of the night. Looking for a midnight snack?"
"No-- Everyone's fucking panicking out there, we needed a place to hide!"
Haewon took a sharp breath in, her hands shaking by her sides as she tried to think of an excuse. Fuck, she hadn't thought this far. She should've planned for this. How the fuck could she expect to get outside without encountering a single Samaritan?! For a moment, her eyes were drawn to movement distantly over the shoulder of the Samaritan... A biter, shambling through the kitchens, its throat gaping open. The thing could only wheeze as it's eyes locked onto the enforcer... Haewon looked back to the man.

"What should I do with you two, huh? We're supposed to shoot deserters on the spot..." He mused, digging the barrel further into the crevice of Minnie's jawline. She whimpered, her eyes shut tight.
"Buuut... I can't hand you in. I don't know if you noticed, but, we're a little busy at the minute. I guess I'll just have to deal with you myself."
"Ah-- We're Cabrera's kids! You saw what he did to our leader, right? If he finds out about this, he'll be pissed."
"Cabrera? You look fuck all like 'im."
"You seen his new wife? He has a thing for Asians," Haewon explained, her eyes flicking over the man's shoulder.
"I bet you've seen your share of pit fights, huh?" She rambled, her eyes darting between the man and the space just behind him. She was just biding her time.
"You like 'em? Bet you wouldn't survive a second if our dad put you in the pit. That's exactly what he'd do-- GO!"
Suddenly, Haewon lunged forward, one hand grabbing onto the collar of Minnie's jacket, the other shoving the man backwards. The gun fired, fragments of the bullet whizzing past Haewon's face as she yanked her sister past her, turning on her heel and sprinting towards the woods. The infected clamped its teeth on the man's shoulder, ripping a chunk of flesh from bone. He screamed, whipping his gun around and slamming it into the skull of the infected. As it stumbled backwards, he shot it through the skull, before turning towards the girls.

Minnie was just a few steps ahead of her sister, her footsteps clumsy over the uneven ground.
"GO! GO! GO!" Haewon yelled, her sneakers pounding against the ground as she sprinted away from the compound. As the two approached the tree line, gunfire filled the air, sending a spray of bullets into the forest.

​

 

[Tool]

Lincoln
Infirmary​

Madison watched her visitor fiddle with the silly putty and reveal a small pocket knife nestled against the plastic in the modern-day equivalent of baking a file into a cake. A brow cocked at that one, but she otherwise made no obvious moves. Apparently the pens had been on purpose. Good to know.

She took a fresh look at the items in the box, from cube-puzzles to marbles. Could any of this be combined into something significant? Not without something explosive, no..... though the marbles could easily come in handy against the dead in confined, concrete hallways. Marbles were useless in the dirt, but zombies didn't have the best hand-eye coordination. In any place she'd stayed for longer than a night or two, Madison always set up trip-traps for the dead, obvious and useless against the living but life-saving against the shuffling and hungry. Hell, early on, she'd carried marbles herself for a while, before she'd made for herself a functionally bite-proof suit. There weren't enough marbles in this bag to make a huge difference, but in a pinch? Against just one of the dead? Sure. A container of dish soap and some marbles and this infirmary would be nigh-on impenetrable by the dead. From the outside, anyway.

The reminder that Weston had been the one to bring her here was a mixed bag. She was trapped in Lincoln, but she was alive. Where there was life, there was hope...... and should hope ever fail, spite made for a perfectly acceptable substitute. The pink putty was molded and re-molded in Weston's hands, breaking apart and re-forming in tempo to his words, and Madison silently agreed with most of the man's commentary. Setting a fire in Samaritan food stores had been a monumentally stupid move on nearly every imaginable level, but then the Samaritans had not shown themselves to be top-tier on the long-range planning, and if there was dissent in the ranks, well malcontent was pulling from the same mental pool as the Samaritans themselves. Common sense had become painfully rare in the post-Collapse world, and there was no way a Samaritan slave would have had free and open access to the kitchen or pantry, ergo...... it had been a Samaritan to strike that particular match.

Weston drew darkly near and pushed the pink goo back in its shell, re-covering the knife and asking her about the library at the high school, and not the other one. The mention of it brought those memories to the fore; their initial meeting had been in a County Library over a year ago, and had been the harrowing site of a very particular crucible. The clenched fists and bullets and swollen bruises had burned themselves into Madison's mind, though she hadn't thought of them in a while. Those images visibly played themselves in gruesome detail behind her eyes over the course of a few heartbeats.

She'd saved his life, then. He'd saved her life, now.

With a mental push, Madison looked away from the past and into the present. Was this him trying to be subtle? Weston was bad at this. Then again, Madison herself wasn't really adept at pussyfooting around. Once upon a time, he'd asked how to kill Kings, and she'd given..... some kind of answer, and though Madison couldn't remember the details, she remembered the desperation in Weston's voice, even if the details were obscured by time and trauma.

"You were askin me how to hunt turkeys. I 'member. Don't rightly recall what I said, but I 'member you askin." The index finger of her free hand was waved in the general direction of her skull.

"Things got knocked loose in here. I don't even 'member if I said thanks for scraping me off whatever fryin' pan I was in. Saving m'life."

She nodded. "But I 'member you asking 'bout turkeys. I take it you still want to go huntin'?"

Namazu ​

 

[Miaow]

Lincoln
Outside the Prison Walls
​

"WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GO?!" The man's voice echoed throughout the trees, "I'LL KILL YOU! YOU FUCKING BITCH!"

Haewon laid on top of her sister, crushed into a ditch and out of view of the prison. Her breathing was quick and unsteady, blood oozing from the wound in her upper arm. She couldn't move it. No matter how much she willed it to move, it hung limply, uselessly, from her shoulder. Her other hand covered her sister's mouth as whimpers erupted from her chest, unable to control her own voice.
"Stay down," Haewon whispered breathlessly, pressing down on her sister's jaw as her chest heaved beneath her. She couldn't decide if the blood on her hands was from her own wound or the deep gash across her sister's jawline.

"Get... get the FUCK back here..." The man demanded, though his voice was beginning to fade... He groaned, his feet stumbling over the uneven ground. He fell with a thud.
"I'll... kill... you..." He groaned, before finally falling silent...
Haewon rolled off of her sister and onto her back, clutching to her arm.
"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck..." She hissed under her breath, squeezing her eyes shut as she considered their options... "Shit!"
Minnie slowly sat up, a little dazed... Her breathing was frantic, swallowing a gulp of air as she tried to compose herself...
"Shit-- We gotta keep going-- We can't stop, we gotta go--" Haewon announced, attempting to push against the ground to get to her feet. She groaned as a sharp pain shot up her thigh, falling back against the grass.
"No-- No we have to go back," Minnie pleaded, each word excruciating, "Please!"
"What, so they can put us in the pit?! If we get caught, they will fucking kill us!"
"You'll bleed out! Or-- Or get an infection or something! We'll-- we'll just lie, make something up!" Minnie begged.

Haewon grunted, her back arching as pain coursed through her. Fuck, she was right. She couldn't even get up... if they did find somewhere safe, she'd be pretty much useless. She couldn't lead her sister out to the middle of nowhere, only to die on her. She had to get her back inside at least. She took a deep breath, hissing through her teeth as her torso trembled.
"Fuck-- Fine, fine," She relented, shutting her eyes tight, "Help me up."
As the two got to their feet, using each other for support, the enforcer came into view... Now reanimated, blood oozing from the gaping hole in his shoulder. Unaware of the girls, he shambled aimlessly, his toes dragging through the grass...
"I can't get past him," Haewon whispered, practically resting her entire weight on Minnie's back. She was hunched over in pain, clutching to her gut, "I'll distract him... you grab his gun and kill him, got it?"
"I can't--" Minnie protested. She'd had a few gun safety lessons since the outbreak at Northview... Madison's words had gotten to Haewon, she needed to teach her sister what Madison had taught her... but she hadn't actually shot anything.
"I'll distract him... you go round him, grab his gun, shoot him point blank," Haewon explained, using her sister to get herself to a tree, "Take me closer."
"I don't know if I can," Minnie murmured, hooking her arm under Haewon's arms and supporting her weight as the two edged closer to the biter.
"You can, and if something goes wrong, you run, okay?" Her sister instructed, wincing with each step.
The two edged closer to the biter until they were on the edge of the tree line. Haewon propped herself up against a tree, grunting from the movement. She ushered Minnie ahead who, though hesitantly, began to circle the infected, giving him the widest berth she could...
"HEY, ASSHOLE!" Haewon yelled, her body convulsing as she coughed, "THINK YOU CAN KILL ME NOW?"
It was as if the infected's ears pricked up as the woman yelled, his head turning toward her. He began his slow, clumsy approach, arms hanging limply by his side, body hunched over. He stumbled over his own feet, his neurons misfiring as the infection took control. In between hurling insults at the infected, Haewon had a moment to take stock of her injuries. Her arm, obviously. That certainly felt the worst, like it would drop off if she wasn't holding it on. She was scared to look at the damage, clutching to the gaping wound to try and stem some of the bleeding. Her thigh burned, the pain radiating towards her hip and down to her knee. Putting weight on it felt like hell itself was opening up in the meat of her upper leg. She couldn't stand up straight without a sharp stabbing in her gut, something must have hit her in the abdomen, she just wasn't sure what.
"TASTY BRAINS OVER HERE!"

Minnie approached from behind, finding the spot where he had collapsed and collecting the handgun he'd left behind... She swallowed, trying to remember all she'd learned in the two, very brief lessons she'd had from her sister. There was still a magazine locked into the bottom. The safety was already off, the dying man not exactly having gun safety as his priority... She pulled the slide back with her thumb, only halfway. Empty. She pulled it back further, loading the chamber. She kept her finger on the trigger guard, keeping her body low as she approached the back of the infected. As she approached, her sister raised her voice, making herself look much more interesting than the little girl creeping up behind him. Minnie raised the gun up above her head, aiming for the back of the biter's skull. She braced her arms, took a deep breath in, and squeezed the trigger.

​

 

[NanLia]

The Scavengers​

Nevaeh lounged in the back seat of the truck, the collar of her shirt pulled up over her nose to avoid smelling the reeking, rotting scent that poured through the vents and only got worse by the house. She loathed behind here, being under the direction beneath Denise for this trip. In the weeks since the fire there had been losses, of people and roles that needed to be filled and then, with the insistence of Toni, she’d been reshuffled off out of the Enforcers and onto the scavengers.

He’d been adamant she’d love it, that she would have first dibs at whatever they were bringing in, that she could control and decide what, where and all that it had been was long, boring, hungry drives listening to Denise.

“Anything to get the fuck out of here.” She half hissed, half-whispered at Denise’s suggestion. The woman was trying to sound confident and open to suggestions but all Neveah wanted was for her to take fucking control of their team. This wasn’t a popularity contest. She shouldn’t be trying to make friends, she should be telling people what to do and when not asking for their permission. Or at least that’s what she would do. But of course, she wasn’t Denise and wasn’t leading this team.

Namazu ​