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

[Namazu]

FLASHBACK
Collaboration with Crono and Bullyboy Squad ​

Toni strutted into the medical bay, his usually casual swagger scarred with rigid motions. His hand briefly hugged his side as he tried to hide the pain etched on his face. Every shallow breath sent a jolt of agony that kept slowing down his urgent pace.

He wrinkled his nose at the stench of disinfectant and sweat. Fucking hospitals. His eyes darted around until he zeroed in on the medic. Doctor what was his face? Tending to some dude that Toni vaguely remembered but wasn't sure where from. Whatever.

Without a warning, the enforcer approached and snatched the edge of the curtain. With one swift tug the metallic rings rattled, hopping along the rail. The sound echoed throughout the quiet, cavernous room.

Concealed from the prying eyes Toni gritted out. "Yo, doc, I need some meds and I need 'em now, aye?"

Victor had been busy doing a basic checkup of Hughes, checking his blood pressure in stony silence. Though there was a frown on his face, it wasn't because of his patient. At least, not because of his vitals. The sergeant was doing fine, all things considered.

Hearing Toni's voice made him sigh and rub at his forehead - god-damned loud obnoxious bastard - but when Toni shoved aside the curtain and burst into the little semi-private area where Blake lay in his bed, Victor could not help but jump.

"God damn it, I'm with someone already, can't you see that? What's wrong?" He furrowed his brow at Toni, watching the way he held his side, moving closer to either guide Toni out of the curtained area and into his own damn bed, or lift the man's shirt to see what was going on. "Did you get injured?"

Hughes was in the hospital bed letting Victor do his checkup. He still didn't understand this place, not fully. But the Doctor had deceived him, it had been days since everything had come back to him. Including the realization that Victor was one of them. He'd grown distant since then, purposefully, left to his own thoughts on what to do and how he and Jamie could get out of this mess.

The sight of Toni brought a mixture of emotions, but mainly anger. He watched as Victor left to speak with him. Blake's jaw clenched, it was moments like this where he wished he was healed. Give Toni the beating he deserved and leave Victor to pick up the pieces. Instead he sat in the bed, listening to a conversation he'd rather not with clenched fists.

The enforcer's hand fell off his side as soon as he realized he was holding it. He didn't look remotely ready for anyone to pull his shirt up even though he often paraded shitless. Not this time.

"Just give me the meds, mierda." He barked. "Some painkillers." Drugs. What the fuck ever. Toni was in pain. In a lot of goddamn pain. And he couldn't afford anyone seeing it. Not now when he had a job to do. He couldn't fail.

"Not unless you tell me what happened. I can't just hand these things out like candy. Painkillers are in short supply and hard to get. They don't grow on trees. When we're out, we're out." He pulled the blood pressure cuff off Hughes and sat it aside, once more trying to guide Toni out of the curtained area.

"Come on, take a seat over here on one of the empty beds, and tell me what happened, hm?"

Toni's heart was pounding in his ribcage, pulsing in his protruding ears. He could feel the sweat forming on his forehead, gathering at the base of his spine. His entire body was tense with a searing ache on his right side. Briefly masked by anger when the man refused the demand.

Toni grabbed Victor by the collar and shoved him down onto the bed with passion that ejected a pained rumble from his throat. "Mira, doc-" One of his hands kept the man pinned down partially over Hughes but he didn't seem to notice or care as he drew a blade out.

"I don't need to tell you shit. You want to keep yo' pretty face-" He flipped open the butterfly knife just inches away from Victor's eyes. "You'll give me those pills and keep your mouth shut about it."

Victor's breath caught in his throat as he was shoved against the bed, a mix of fear and embarrassment that this had to happen in front of a patient - and not just any patient, but Hughes. When the knife was shoved in his face though, that's when his heart really started beating out of control.

"F-Fine, fine, l-lets not do anything rash, okay? You got it. You can have your pills. Just put the knife away and let me back up, and I'll get them for you. Okay?"

Hughes continued watching the confrontation unfold, not completely sure what to make of it. He had no plans to get involved until Victor was pinned down onto the hospital bed, Hughes was jostled somewhat. Toni seemed to not even notice or care that he was there and it was all the opening he needed.

Reaching over with one hand to the small table beside his bed he grabbed the pen from Victor's clipboard and thrust it forwards to press against Toni's neck. Hughes nostrils flaring, "Listen to the doctor." He threatened flatly. It didn't matter that his hand wasn't steady with his muscles so tense, he could still get the job done if need be.

Toni's side throbbed with pain that dulled his senses. So he didn't see it coming until he felt the cool tip of a pen pressing against his neck. He turned his head slightly to see Hughes holding it with a determined expression.

It was only then that the enforcer put the face to the event. Fucking Marines.

He let go of the doctor and raised his free hand in a gesture of surrender, but his grip on the weapon remained firm. "Easy, cabron." He grunted, waiting for the pen to be pulled away before he would take away the blade.

Victor gritted his teeth, still trapped in this uncomfortably exposed situation. Even though Toni had let go of him, he still had that knife in his face, right in front of his eye.

"Lets all just stay calm, okay? Nobody needs to get hurt." He swallowed hard, wondering if that gulp was audible to anyone but himself.

"How many days worth of pills do you need?"

Hughes narrowed his eyes at Toni, he didn't like the idea of backing off first but he'd play ball given the situation. Pulling back the pen so it no longer pressed against Toni's throat, the marine kept it held close but eased off a few inches.

The Samaritan straightened up and flicked the knife closed in a practiced manner like he was playing with it since he was a boy. "Next time you try shit with me, gringo? I'll get a hook for you too." He sneered before focusing on the other man. "How much can ya give at once so nobody knows?"

Toni's pushed him over the edge, his calm exterior melting away. "You want to run that by me again you piece of shit?!" Hughes said with a growl, his arm already reflexively moving to stab Toni with the pen in his hand.

Victor flinched at the situation that was not being diffused, sliding a step to the side and away from Toni. Clearing his throat and trying to calm his nerves as he straightened his shirt, Victor shook his head a little. He'd heard stories of the hook. That was something to be avoided.

"Its going to come out eventually when we do inventory, and we wind up a few pills short." He cast a quick glance at Hughes. "Feeling any pain, Sergeant? Yes? I think you do." He felt guilty using Hughes as a cover, but it was a completely plausible one.

"I'll give you enough for three days. Don't take them all at once." Or do, he didn't fucking care. It'd probably be easier if Toni overdosed on them and never came back.

Toni took a quick step back, expecting retaliation. So soon he was simply out of Hughes' reach and dismissed the man. His hand once more mindlessly hugging his side. Labored breaths and paler, sweat covered face insinuating the physical struggle against the pain.

"No. A week. Next convoy I'm out. Better stock me for the trip doc or I'll come back angry." He gritted his teeth, hardly able to think straight.

Victor let out a heavy, frustrated grunt of a sigh as he shoved is way out of the curtained area. Making a beeline for a particular storage cabinet, he fished a ring of keys out of his pocket to unlock the cabinet door. They had to keep the good stuff behind lock and key precisely because of idiots like Toni.

"Fine. A week." He turned a few bottles so the labels faced him, reading over his selections, before picking one off the shelf. He then grabbed a small empty pill bottle, its label long since peeled off, and poured in some pills, counting them off carefully. Once a full week's worth was inside, he capped both bottles and put the larger one back in the cabinet, locking it up tight.

"No more than four a day as needed, and not all at once. Don't drink while using these. If it makes you sick to your stomach, take them with food." He held the smaller bottle out to Toni to take. "Any you don't use, bring them back to me. If you're still in pain by the time you come back from your convoy, let me take an actual look at you and see what we can do about the underlying problem, alright?"

Toni snatched the pills and instantly swallowed one, clearing his dry throat when the thing scratched it. Then he glanced around, slipping the small bottle to his pocket.

"Yeah yeah, just don't talk shit about it or I'm gonna put you in the bed like I did this loser, comprender?" He motioned his hand towards Hughes.

"I'm not always going to be stuck in this bed, you best not forget that." Hughes spoke while still glaring at Toni through the curtains they'd moved through. His grip on the pen hadn't changed.

Toni stared at Hughes before his mouth curved into a smirk, pain hiding in his eyes. "Yeah, ya gonna clean my shitter once you can walk." He was about to leave but his gaze cruised to the cover-concealed, missing leg and he paused. "Whatchu got here." He reached for the edge of the blanket to pull it up.

Victor instinctively smacked his flattened hand down onto the bed, just below what remained of Hughes' leg, pinning the sheet down in place. He didn't need any of his patients humiliated or embarrassed. Especially Hughes.

"You got your pills. I don't think you need anything else here today, do you?

Toni licked his lip, staring into doctor's eyes like he was mentally debating whether to punish the man for this or not. But the rattle of the drawn curtain and the guard poking his head in stole his attention.

"Hey, doc. New supplies arrived."

Victor was incredibly thankful for the interruption and the distraction. Keeping his hand on the bedsheet just under Hughes' leg, he nodded at the interrupting guard.

"Thanks. I'll be right out to help sort and carry. He was just leaving." He nodded his head to Toni, glancing to the tattooed man now.

"Thanks for your help, I think I got it from here." He was trying to cover for the man in front of the guard - maybe if he helped save face a little, Toni wouldn't come back later and deck him for the trouble. Maybe.

Toni looked over to the guard before glancing to the doctor and the patient. He focused on Hughes after Victor prompted him to leave and he pulled his hand up. Fingers curled except for the pinky and the index one. Those outstretched into the devil horns he showed the Marine under his chin. In the ultimate sign of Mara Salvatrucha.

Then the Latino turned and briefly patted Victor's chest. "See you when I'm back, doc." A promise. Or a warning.

Victor felt like he'd been holding his breath the entire time that rat bastard was in the room. After Toni finally left, and the enforcer trailed out after him, Victor exhaled heavily and took a seat in the chair next to Hughes' bed, running a hand through his own hair. His right leg was already bouncing up and down, nervous tic returning.

"Fucking scumbags, wasting supplies. I hope he overdoses and chokes on his own vomit." He muttered, to nobody in particular. He cast a glance aside at Hughes, offering an apologetic look.

"Thanks. You were pretty quick with that pen."

With Toni's exit Hughes frustration needed some sort of release after being trapped in his unmoving form for the encounter. "Dammit!" The Marine hissed, his left arm lashing out and slamming the pen back down onto the table with the clipboard causing it's already unsteady balance to careen over, crashing to the ground below. He'd never felt so useless in his life, one of the men responsible for the deaths of the people he cared about had been at his fingertips. And he couldn't, not only because he wasn't sure if he could finish the job before more harm came about, but because he'd started getting a grasp of this place and if he'd killed Toni then he'd likely be a dead man, and who knows if Jamie or Victor would get wrapped up in it..

There was a pause as he slowly reigned it in, his breathing becoming more calm and Blake looked over at the apologetic Doctor. "How have you survived here this long Doc?" His question mostly rhetorical, some of the emotion and tension still in his voice and on his face but not directed at Victor. The words were more than he'd spoken to the Doctor at all in the past few days.

The fact that Blake was even speaking to him again - something more than simple yes/no answers in response to medical questions - caught Victor off-guard. It was a damn good question. Leaning back in his chair - leg still bouncing, he couldn't stop it now - he folded his arms over his stomach and let his shoulders sag.

"I don't even know." He said quietly. He sounded, and looked, defeated.

"It gets easier if you just... let them take from you without putting up a fight. Keep your expectations low. Don't get attached to anything valuable. I try and keep my head down and show that I'm more useful alive than dead, I guess." He shrugged a shoulder, looking away from Blake and down at the ground. He was keenly aware of how pathetic that sounded.

"I keep telling myself that in here is better than out there, you know? I'm not starving or dead in a ditch somewhere."

But some days, he wondered if it would be better to be dead than to be stuck here with the Samaritans.

​

 

[Crono]

Lincoln
​

Hughes was seated in the wheelchair with his eyes closed, face tilted towards the suns rays. The outdoor courtyard with the gym equipment wasn't always a peaceful location, but he tried to enjoy it when it was. He and Victor would come out here every so often, just for some spare time outside beyond the physical therapy. Over time Blake's cabin fever had grown, and he'd take any chance he could get to go outdoors. Not that Victor ever really let him escape on his own, often.

He heard the soft footfalls of stone and dirt being pressed against the concrete, and opened his eyes while turning his head to see Nari. The marine flashed her a smile and slid the camo hat back onto his head, "Ma'am." He greeted in return. Since she insisted on calling him Mr. Hughes of all things he went out of his way to be overly formal as well. Mostly because nobody ever called him Mr. Hughes, it reminded him too much of his father, and the only times it was ever used was in certain civilian official matters. Hughes and Nari had met purely by accident, but found they shared a similar story. Both of them brought here against their will, and unable to leave. Blake knew somewhat of what it felt like to be alone in this place, even if he had Jamie and Victor. But at the time he'd simply wanted to be someone she could talk to if need be, and a part of him easily wanted someone else he could speak to that wasn't one of them. While he'd grown accustomed to the Samaritan's he didn't like dealing with them, and avoided it when he could.

"It's been about the usual really." He replied plainly to her question, the days did occasionally blur together. Without Victor around and the occasional visit from Jamie he'd likely have gone insane. "Though Victor here had some excitement this morning." He commented, leaning his head to the side so he could look up at the other man. "Another amputation, at this rate you'll be a professional in no time." His eyes dropped back over to the woman, "What about yours? They still treating you alright?" He couldn't help but ask, it was in his nature. Once Blake likes you, it's difficult for him to not be invested in your well-being.
​

Namazu NanLia​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

collab with spoilers

Middle East, ten years earlier​

He could feel the grit in his teeth, breathing hot air that even there on the vantage point tasted like smoke and metal. His prone body remained pressed to the hard, heated ground for two baked hours when the sun was at its peak. Wet under the armor and fatigues that blended in with the central Iraqi plains. At least he wasn't freezing like throughout the night.

Cabrera turned his head, biting the plastic tube over his shoulder and sucking on it. The professionally cleansed Tigris water was shit after sitting in the bladder too long. Lukewarm, tasted like plastic. But he still welcomed how it sloshed down his desert dry throat and spread in his chest.

Static-cracked words disrupted the drone of the wind in his ears, "Sucking like a champ, Tonto."

The other man clicked off the radio with a light smirk, his eyes honed in on Cabrera's form through the binoculars in position before moving to his own men. Two of them setting up on the near side of a hill just to Cabrera's east.

The sweat dripped from his brow into his vision, the man reaching up to wipe at it. Taking his eyes from the binoculars and looking to the blonde male who had taken up twenty feet from his own position.

Cabrera recognized his best friend was set up and observed him and the rest of their team from afar. The comment made him smirk against the Camelback's straw before he retorted.

"Can't take your eyes off of me, Conejito?" Tasting sweat on wet lips he put his tired eye back to the scoped rifle. The horizon sizzled in his lens, distorted by the heat and dotted with the scattered buildings of a stray village.

"Only when you're wearing pants like those." The man replied through the radio while keeping an eye out through the binoculars, scanning the nearby ridges and peaks. The last thing they needed was to be spotted. "All quiet down there?" He asked in regards to the village.

Cabrera's huffed chuckle picked up some dust in front of his face. "No movement in my pants if that's what you're asking." He barely constrained laugher, grinning to himself even though majority of his brain continued to focus on the view and their task. Dirt billowing where the desert met sky drew his attention and his tone instantly shifted. "Devil 5, this is Pitbull 36. I have visual on the convoy, over."

 

[Crono]

summary by Crono with input from MokaChan and Bullyboy Squad

The fight at the end of the day when Samaritans invaded Northview​

Nate stood with his feet firmly planted on the infield mix-covered ground. Eyes set on Cabrera, brimming with anger and fear. Betrayal seared in his chest, regret for his own stupidity throbbing under skull. He knew what it was. Not a fight. A death sentence.

The enforcer turned his attention to the two men on each side of him, his body taut and ready. The air was thick with the raw, primal energy, both terrifying and exhilarating. Lowering his stance to a fighting pose he scowled. "Bring it, you pansy fucks!"

As dumb as it was, it was clear that this Nate wasn't going to go peacefully into the night. Kurt glanced around at the partially illuminated crowd, momentarily shielding his eyes from the blinding car headlights until they adjusted. Despite the circumstances, he was the odd man out. Those from the school would be wanting Arthur to make it out, and some of the Samaritan's probably wanted their garbage back, the rest probably just wanted action. But Kurt was used to have nobody in his corner, he'd always made out just fine.

"Hey shit for brains." Kurt said moving closer to Nate but still keeping at a distance, then nodding towards Arthur, "He's the one we need to watch out for. The guys had training or something. If anyone's walking out of this ring my money's on him."

Nate was clearly suspicious by the way he was looking at Kurt then back at Arthur. But a man backed into a corner was a desperate one. "You do anything I don't like and I'll gut your ass, got it?" After Kurt nodded, Nate's attention turned more heavily on Arthur. And both men moved forwards slowly, closing the distance on the man with small defensive steps. "Well then big guy, let's see if this training saves you from the both of us." Nate growled at Arthur.

As they grew closer however, Kurt let Nate get a step further ahead of him. And once they were close enough he took his shot by shooting forwards and sliding his arms underneath Nate's armpits, his arms reaching up and around the back of Nate's neck and his hands locking together. Immediately Nate was resisting and sputtering but a head lock like this one wasn't the easiest to get out of, the downside was Nate had a little more size to him so he wouldn't hold forever. "Get to it!" He called out to Arthur through grit teeth while trying to keep Nate locked and still, knowing Nate would now have a hard time defending himself or retaliating on Arthur much if it all with his arms being out of place.

The deal had been made hours before as Arthur and Kurt were locked away in the school bathroom cell, they'd deal with the human garbage together before turning on each other.

Arthur wailed on the man for as long as Kurt could hold out, inevitably Nate would break free by throwing his head back into Kurt's nose. Kurt stumbled back holding his bloody nose for a moment while Nate pushed Arthur back, lashing out with the anger and fear of a cornered animal. Kurt didn't wait to jump back in. And the three of them fought a seemingly never ending battle. Nate's survival instinct was what kept him fighting. For Kurt and Arthur it was different, the loss of Miyu had locked a number of painful emotions inside either of them. And in the heat of the ring where they bared their lives and souls to the world, they used those emotions. Hate, hurt, instinct it all played a part in bringing Nate to the ground.

There was a brief moment when Nate hit the ground with his eyes still open and unmoving where the two paused, bloodied and exhausted. They locked eyes and descended on each other, the truce over. It left two men in the fight for survival, a fight that neither asked for. Arthur had the advantage, raining a series of violent blows on Kurt and forcing him on the defensive. The moment Kurt tripped backwards over Nate's body and hit the ground below, Arthur descended on him, preparing to end it. Before Kurt could even react he saw the small moment of hesitation as the man readied the blow.

"Stop!" Cabrera hollered and gestured sharply for his enforcers to go inside. "Take this one to the infirmary." He pointed at Kurt. "The other goes back to solitary." The leader has just learned something that changed his view on things.

The guards followed his demand while Cabrera turned to look at the crowd. "Nate was a reliable fighter." He admitted. "But he betrayed Samaritans by breaking our rules. Anyone who goes against my orders from now on will be tied and thrown to the cage with Nate."

The reanimated corpse began to slowly come back to life. Come morning the familiar moans and shuffling in the batting cage blended with the sounds of the waking up nature surrounding it on all sides. It became a nasty warning and a symbol of barbarian justice.

 

[Crono]

collab between Crono and Namazu

Few weeks after the fight...​

Hughes sat in the hospital bed of the medical wing like any other day, as he waited for Victor to finish up whatever he needed to before they left for the outdoor gym area. The marine had a love hate relationship with physical therapy. On one hand he couldn't be more ready to be on his own feet and walking again with zero assistance. He'd probably do more physical therapy if he could but the doctor kept the time limited, some crap about not overexerting and relapsing that he'd read in a book. But on the other end of it, the physical therapy could be grueling. Which was something he was used to in the Marine's but it was a different when your body was broken down.

With a sigh, the man's impatience was getting the better of him and he slid his legs over the side of his table. "At this rate I'll be ready before you are Doc." He told the man whilst grabbing the prosthetic leg and sliding his stump into place. The man got to work with the straps and adjustments. The prosthetic wasn't exactly the best, it had apparently been someone else's before they'd died. Hughes hadn't asked for details, already dreading the thought of using a dead man's leg. It could be a pain to adjust, since it hadn't been made to fit him. But they'd made do. Though, like now, sometimes Blake would have a hard time getting it set up and start getting frustrated.

Victor was scrambling trying to put away supplies that some dumbass drunk Samaritan had scattered across the floor earlier. Thankfully it was nothing that needed to remain sterile, but it frustrated him nonetheless. He was just about finished when he looked over and saw Hughes fighting a losing battle with the straps of the prosthetic.

"Shit - Sorry Blake. Hold on, let me help." He quickly shuffled over to Hughes' side, leaning over to help get the straps on right. It was somehow both a crude and complex device at the same time, and if not adjusted well enough it would cause the man pain sooner rather than later. He'd spent enough time hovering over Hughes trying to get this just right that he could understand the man's frustrations.

When he finally had it on right he offered Blake a grin, still leaning close.

"Remember, if you run off without me, I'll take your leg away. Just be happy I won't make you sit in a corner." He winked.

"C'mon, we ought to get outside, its nice out."

Hughes grumped a little when Victor leaned down to finish the job. The moment of *I'm a grown man, I can do it myself.* overwritten by the fact that he knew the doctor was just doing his job if nothing else. "Thanks." He'd offered in replied. "But if I'm actually able to run off without you then you've done your job and I'm *able* to run." He joked back.

He'd gotten used to being wheeled out to the outdoor gym at this point. The wheelchair squeaked, always drawing the attention of anyone along the way much to his annoyance. But Victor claimed it didn't make sense for Hughes to wear himself out before the physical therapy had even started. The outside always felt like a whole different place, after being cooped up as much as he was.

Hughes made to stand once the wheelchair came to a halt near the fence line out at the outside gym, as soon as he'd peaked to stand straight up the marine wobbled slightly with his balance. A hand clasped his own raised and slightly flailed hand, unsurprisingly to give him something to steady himself against. His light concern fading into a small chuckle, "You just can't keep your hands off of me today Doc." He joked while getting his balance fully and turning to face the man with Victor's hand still in his own.

Getting outside for some physical therapy and exercise was a very welcome change of pace. The prison was an oppressive, dreary, depressing space that made it hard to keep track of the time of day - and that was even before adding the Samaritans into the mix.

Grasping Blake's hand as he started to wobble, Victor couldn't help but laugh at the comment. He squeezed that hand reassuringly.

"Not just today." He grinned back, stepping a little closer to Blake. His free hand lightly brushed against Blake's side - still acting like he was merely making sure his patient was steady on his feet. Totally innocent. Promise. Nevermind the fact he moved in even closer as he wrapped an arm around Blake's waist.

"First thing's first, a bit of a warmup. A lap or two around the yard? How's that sound?"

Hughes simply smiled as Victor wrapped an arm around his waist. With the two now in closer proximity. "How about a different kind of warmup?" Hughes teased as he leaned in to kiss the doctor.

Movement caught his eye as he did, just beyond Victor's head in the distance and he'd paused, initially because Victor always wanted to avoid being seen by anyone. But as Hughes eyes focused on the person, he couldn't prevent the audible breath of surprise.

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

collab by Crono , Namazu and Bullyboy Squad

Few weeks after the fight...​

Ignacio stood by the vehicles parked near the yard. He watched his men load the materials he needed for Northview and occasionally helped with the packing.

"C'mon boys." He spoke with that easy smile that usually stayed on his face. "I can't wait for the…" He tapered off when his attention was snatched by an unusual sight of two men locked in an embrace. It took a moment before he realized what he was seeing.

He was seeing the impossible.

"Conejito…" Cabrera mumbled and took a few steps towards them on pure instinct. Then he froze just as abruptly when he saw his old friend was about to kiss the Samaritan doctor. Something glitched in Ignacio's brain. Like realizing Hughes was alive was already enough and the new information just overheated the system.

Hughes pulled back to get the full view of the man, still hesitant to believe what his eyes saw. The man's face looked different. Older and more weary, like most seemed to given the world having fallen apart. He imagined his own mirrored that same state, with the added scars from the accident. There was only shock mixed with joy at seeing that Cabrera was alive.

"Ignacio!" He'd said aloud. A momentary attempt to move around the wheelchair with Vic's grip on him faltering because of the speed only led a small stumble where he caught himself by reaching out one hand, clutching the nearby chain link fence. Blake knew he could walk, had done it many times without assistance by this point. He pushed off of the fence to stand upright once again and held his balance, by this time the man was already on his way over and so Hughes decided to remain there despite his brain wanting to move.

Victor was not entirely certain what just happened there. One moment Blake was leaning in for a kiss, and the next he was shouting someone's name and attempting to run off. He blinked, confused, turning to see what exactly was going on. He was just a little too slow to catch Blake as he stumbled, but thankfully the marine caught himself on the fence.

"Blake, what-" Victor started, lifting a hand to rest it on the small of Blake's back, only to go quiet when he saw Cabrera approaching. He kept that hand on Blake's back to comfort himself, not sure if he dared step away and leave Blake with the Samaritan.

Ignacio's chest briefly filled with warmth before being ripped open as he approached the two. He thought Hughes was dead. He mourned him. Buried him in his heart. Sometimes he just cradled his best friend's pilot jacket to calm himself down to sleep.

And now there he was. Alive. In the arms of another man. Fucking doctor.

Cabrera's jaw clenched and his movements were stiff. Partially due to shock and the unnatural jealousy, but mostly because of the sight of Hughes' injuries. The wheelchair. Fuck. How long was he there? What did they do to him?

Cabrera swallowed thickly against the bile in his throat and finally stopped a few feet away from the two. His mouth curled on the side into a halfhearted smile. It never made it to his eyes, tinted by guilt, hurt and uncertainty. He wasn't sure what to say, nor if he'd find his own voice. All he truly wanted was to snatch the other's wounded form and hug him close.

"Never thought I'd see you again." He glanced at Victor. "Getting nice and cozy with the doc, huh."

Hughes glanced back over his shoulder at Victor when the man spoke and placed a hand against his back, his mouth opening to speak but unsure of what to say and he simply gave an apologetic look before turning back to Cabrera's form closing in on them. This was the man he'd crossed half of the country to look for. Sure, he'd done it for his brothers no doubt, he wanted them to find their loved ones. But Cabrera was the other selfish reason, and when he'd entered that home and seen the blood stains and the body? Blake had taken that truck and driven away, focusing on the mission of getting the others to their family's because it was all he could do.

Watching as Cabrera stopped just out of reach brought about the the confusion, because he could tell it wasn't without reason. And it wasn't until Ignacio had spoke that Hughes's brain truly comprehended what was in front of him. The man in front of him was stiff and keeping his distance. Not to mention he was here walking freely. A million questions popped into Blake's head but he did what he always did when he got overwhelmed and focused.

"I could say the same. Never thought I'd find you here of all places." He'd followed Cabrera's glance to Victor and glanced at the man himself. "He's the reason I can walk at all, or even survived for that matter." Blake said, flashing the man a smile because it was true.

Hughes turned his attention back to Cabrera, "Don't tell me you work for these assholes?" His tone not accusing exactly, more concerned than anything.

Victor had to resist the urge to pull back and physically shrink away as Cabrera approached closer and looked at him. He always tried his hardest to stay out of the line of sight of these goddamn animals, especially the higher-up ones. He didn't trust any of them, not after watching what they did to each other on a regular basis - let alone to random innocents that had the misfortune of being in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and crossing paths.

It was highly concerning that Blake seemed to know this guy. There was literally no reason a man like Blake should associate with someone like Cabrera.

At least the smile that Blake offered him quelled his nerves a bit. He returned the smile, even if it was a weary one.

"Do... you two, uh, need a moment...?" He had no idea what he was supposed to say or do here. Maybe if he was lucky the ground would open up and swallow him and solve the problem.

Cabrera's gaze didn't waver when the doctor asked the question. He ignored it. Solely focused on Hughes. Tracing the contours of the familiar face, the beard, the curve of the other man's lips. For a moment he was back there in the barracks. Pinning his brother against the wall, hard body driving into him, battling his tongue.

But Hughes' question pulled him back from the fantasy he replayed in his head a hundred times. It took everything in him to keep his expression neutral, to hide the pain and longing that twisted in his gut.

"Something like that."

The holler from behind him shot through the air like a sharp slap. "Hey boss!" The driver of the front truck patted the outer side of the door. "We're ready when you are!"

Cabrera could feel his facade slipping. The idea of leaving now was hard to handle. But staying and being confronted by his brother was even worse. He grasped the sunglasses that rested at the back of his neck and put them on, finally shielding his gaze from Hughes'.

"Good luck with that, Marine." He flicked his fingers in the direction of the wheelchair and turned around to walk back to the vehicles. His steps were heavy, feet like lead.

Victor's presence and question wasn't entirely lost on Hughes, but he couldn't bring himself to answer the man's question as he stared at Cabrera.

Hughes could feel his insides twist when Ignacio answered his question, only to be solidified by the man calling over from the truck. Blake's confusion led to anger is usually did with him, especially these days. He thought to reach out and grab the man, to get his questions by force, not unlike days in the past that would sometimes lead to something more intimate.

But before he decided to react Cabrera wished him good luck and was leaving. Leaving, just like that. After all of this time, and the sleepless nights Hughes laid awake worrying about him even before the dead started walking. Fuck that. Hughes started to give chase, starting with a step forwards on his good leg, "Don't you walk aw--" His warning was cut short as he immediately fell forwards. Because learning to walk an entirely new way took focus. And in that moment he'd lost the focus, so when his body had moved it defaulted back to the way he walked for thirty plus years.

Hughes crashed to the ground below with a light grunt, ignoring the scuffed elbow as his face looked forwards to see Cabrera still walking. It wasn't the first time he'd left Hughes behind, that made it hurt worse. "Tonto!" He yelled after him, his tone both pained and angry.

Ignacio's heart clenched as Hughes stumbled. The sound of the man's wounded body smacking against the ground set his muscles ablaze.

Go back you fucker! You stupid son of a bitch!

Every fibre of his being screamed and pleaded for him to turn back. To help Hughes to his feet. To pull the man into his arms like Ignacio dreamed for so many nights. To hold him. Just to hold him.

It took every ounce of self control to keep walking. Until he heard the name. His name. The one only Ignacio's family used. It pierced him like a fucking bullet straight through the battered soul.

Cabrera stopped, body taut. His breath shattered, the mask of indifference cracking. He couldn't let it get to him. He couldn't let feelings jeopardize everything he was working towards for so long.

Cabrera couldn't bear looking at his brother but he put all he had in him to sound like his heart wasn't splitting.

"Don't call me that. Tonto is not here anymore."

Few more stiff steps took him straight to the side of the truck's cab and Ignacio jumped into the passenger seat. "Let's go, boys!" His gaze set on the opening gate and the road ahead.

"What's that guy's deal, boss?" The driver asked, pulling off.

But Ignacio didn't register the question, his head was spinning. Huey… Conejito… He was alive and Cabrera was leaving him behind. Again.

 

[Togy]

collab between Togy and Bullyboy Squad

The morning after Samaritans raided Northview...
​

The light of dawn was gloomy with the gray clouds hanging above the high school ground and showering it with drizzle. As if the sky mourned the events of the night. The metallic clatter in the empty room was jarring. Buster huffed and hauled his leg up to lean it oven the chair. Standing like a crane he used the scissors, slowly cutting the thing off his thigh. Dismissing the tools that fell to the ground.

Buster sloppily made progress before the infirmary the door swung open, Mackenzie bumping it open with his hip as he carried a box of Samaritan medical supplies inside. The moment his eyes fell on Buster, he stopped, and for a long moment he just stared.

Greg paused and glanced over. Their eyes met and he looked at the box but didn't make a move to help. Probably wouldn't bother even if he wasn't just balancing on one leg either.

"Sup, doc." He looked back to his leg and continued cutting through plaster.

"No," Mackenzie hissed, dropping the box and speedwalking across the room, "No, no, no, no, what the hell are you doing?" Slapping the man on the top of the head, Mack pried the scissor from Buster's hands and held it out of reach.

Buster let him do that and stared for a few heartbeats before calmly asking with a raised brow. "You gonna do your job and help me take it off, doc, or do you rather I use an axe to chop it open?" The noisy joker in him seemed a little too quiet. But the glint in his eye indicated determination. He was taking that shit off one way or another.

"No? Why the fu-We decided on another month, keep the plaster on or the leg will set wrong and we'll have to rebreak it," Mackenzie said as he began to pile the spilled instruments onto a tray, "Then it'd be another 4 months with the cast on instead of one."

Greg huffed and hauled his leg off the chair, propping it to the heel of his casted foot. "You wanna help me one last time before my trip, doc, or should I go find something else to open this with?"

Mackenzie tsked at that, seeming to understand but still unwilling to cut the cast. "Is that what this is about? Well, if you want my honest opinion, you're fucked either way," Mackenzie shrugged noncommittally. "Keep the cast, you're fucked. Lose the cast, you're still fucked. Whole world of options there, I know."

His mouth slowly curled into a cocksure smirk. "Ain't getting rid of me that easy, doc. I'm gonna check on Dorothy, maybe say hi to the Wizard. Then we'll be back."

"Cocky shit," Mack snorted, setting down the tray next to Buster. Rubbing his chin, he stared at the half-cut cast. After a long moment, he seemed to internally weigh a set of pros and cons before hesitantly shrugging.

"Well...I can't screw you over any worse, so...maybe I could rig a leg brace out of some splints and joints. Best case scenario, you can at least walk without fucking up the leg more. Worst case, it does jackshit and you're still fucked."

Buster rolled his shoulder. "Whatever you say doc." He supported to the counter and took a seat before grabbing his leg to prop it up for McKenzie to work.

"You good?" Greg didn't look the brightest but he was very observant. Plus it didn't take a genuis to recognize the shit the medic had to handle since the new neighbors arrived.

"One dead kid, one comatose hillbilly, and a preschooler whose arms got stuck through a blender," Mack muttered as he grabbed the scissors and began snipping through the cast. "Doing great. Took up bird-watching recently. It was that or alcoholism. Here-" Mackenzie finished cutting before pulling the remnants of the cast-off and feeling the leg, "How's it feel? Still hurt like hell?"

He listened and watched. His deep green eyes filtered the early sunrise that briefly peeked through the nearby window. Making them look almost shamrock green.

"Nope." He didn't lie, his back was also rarely reminding him of the terrible fall he took back in Knox. The one that saved dozens of people and got his leg in a cast. "Tickles." He smirked.

"Then maybe you're not as fucked as I thought," Mack hummed, stepping away momentarily to grab the needed supplies. "So, was that all bravado or do you really think you're ready to face the wicked witch?"

"Y'know me, doc." Or at least most of them could get a good idea about big guy's antics by then. "Got bored with your happy bunch." Buster was an eternal nomad. Never staying in one place longer than a few months or years. But he'd lie if he said he didn't feel at home among these people.

"Shame you need to leave just when things get interesting," Mackenzie said offhandedly, and it was probably the closest thing to a goodbye Buster was going to get from him. Setting down the requisite supplies next to Buster's leg, Mackenzie nodded to himself as the idea came together. "Alright. Bear with me here, I'm making this up as I go."

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

The morning after Samaritans raided Northview...
​

Buster stepped outside. The first time on his own two feet in months.

Few shy sunrays braved through the gray rain clouds racing the sky. Casting a timid glow upon the patch of ground before him. He looked up and sharply inhaled the petrichor. The scent of wet earth, mingling with the promise of rain, stirred something within him. Fucking primal. The beast was dormant for too long and now it aroused with hunger.

Greg zeroed in on the group of Samaritans and their leader. Cabrera was gesturing around the place as if already remodelling it in his head and sharing his vision with his thugs.

No second thoughts. Greg strutted straight at the man in charge.

Some of his local friends worked outside, watching and frowning, confused about his intentions. Stan who was once more stationed on the roof swore despite his usually good manners and picked up the walkie talkie.

"Mr Font. Greg is outside and I don't rightly know what he's fixin' to do next but he might be stirring up a storm."

One of the Samaritans looked over and a grin split his face. "Busteeeer. How's that…" He trailed off when Greg went past him without looking.

"What's the rush, ma-" He never finished his sentence, eyes shooting wide. "Hey!"

His holler tugged on Cabrera's attention and the leader looked over right when Greg's fist whooshed through the air. Too late to avoid it so his hard knuckles smacked straight into the side of Samaritan's jaw.

Ignacio stumbled, taken off guard but instantly bracing for more. Reflex shoving his frame into a lower stance to counter. But his men already swarmed the local. Buster threw hands and got a few licks in before the superior number of armed men took him down. Few blows and kicks in and Cabrera barked at them like you tell a dog to heel.

"Stop."

He came over to the fallen male, glaring. Greg met that gaze without a falter and the leader recognized that look. It wasn't defiance in Buster's eyes. It was something much more feral.

He hesitated before articulating loud and clear. "Pack him up. He's going to the real cage." After North was killed Lincoln could use new entertainment. "He wants to act like an animal, we'll treat him like one."

The words echoed in the leader's skull. It was the same phrase he heard when he was first captured by Samaritans over half a year earlier.

He'd never forget those words.

 

[Aegis]

Two Days into Operation: Archangel
Indianapolis, Indiana

Connor sat curled up next to the blood-stained tan chassis of his Humvee-- his back propped against the rear left tire as he stared through a hole in the concrete wall between the overpass road he sat on and a twenty foot drop onto a highway bloated with the dead. Strange, just two days prior the comfort of twenty feet wouldn't be soothing at all against the enemies he thought he may one day have to fight. Such was the era that they were presented with: what many considered to be the end-times for all of man. At least, that was what some of the guys had started to sat, and that hurt more than any of the two dozen people they had lost since coming into the city. The moans of the dead was the delirious Soldier's only distraction from his thoughts-- morbid as it may be. They were different. The fuckin' Zs-- as the soldiers had begun to call them, stood shoulder to shoulder filing an entire eight-lane highway for as far as they could see in the twists of the road and the towering bodies of buildings in the city, but they had at least calmed down. At first, they had been jumping, running, screaming as though they were on the biggest adrenaline high anyone had ever experienced. Now? The fuckers just swayed and moaned in place as though they couldn't be bothered. As though they would get their chance, soon.

Connor sat-- the afternoon sun hammering on him, with his kevlar under his ass so he wouldn't have to be on the scorching pavement directly. The man picked at a Menu #14: Creamy Spinach Fettucine. He had gotten the short end of the stick on that one seeing as how Sergeant Heckler was on the radio-- their turn to monitor the net, chewing at a Chili mac and Morales had gone to bed just a few hours earlier with a belly full of Beef Stew, but he had done it to them in the past and given their situation it seemed a little rat-fucking was the least of their problems. Knowing Morales, his was just luck of the draw, though. Connor's slight annoyance was quickly dispelled by the cold sliminess of the noodles and how the cheese ran down his throat like spoiled milk; he couldn't use the red pepper either because he was trying to save his water, and knowing himself and his tolerance with spices...

Well, he'd be drinking a lot of rather meager supply that consisted of two canteens and a mostly-empty Camel Back. The stuff seemed to practically disappear on blistering days like this.

A few other cars were parked up here with them-- all from First Platoon, Crossroad Blues. The guys either stood on guard on either side of the road behind the makeshift car barricades, or lazed about in their vics. Either way, nobody was doing much of anything except waiting. Soldiers were good at waiting. Patiently.

Despite the despair in their ranks, everyone knew what was talked about on the radio. A bunch of SWAT guys downtown. Some police on the eastern side. The Third Platoon of Crossroad Blues in the West. Them in the South. People were still here-- still fighting. Civilians called for help from around every corner and in every building. The regular pop and crack of firearms and the occasional detonation of explosives was evidence to that. It was humanity's roaring cry: 'WE ARE STILL HERE!'

For now, at least. You know what happened to Second Platoon... A voice lingered in the back of his mind spitting the horrid truth of how those over two dozen deaths had come about.

They had gotten ahold of them on the radio, and in the next few days they were going to start a joint operation to clear out all the Zs in certain predetermined routes around town. The routes being the closest, clearest pathways between the major groups of survivors still in Indianapolis. Once they did, then they-- the police, the soldiers, the desperate, would pave the way forward in bones and blood.

In the meantime, though, it was time to rest and wait. Not much else to do.

Connor slammed his main entree into the MRE bag and fished out the Honey Mustard Pretzels, a fucking delicacy, for later. Then, he popped up off his helmet-- the M4 slung across his chest slapping against his MSV, picked it up, and clambered up into the popped trunk of the Humvee. If you positioned the lid of the trunk just right, you could block out the sun while still getting AC flow from inside the vic. Assuming, of course, you had a working AC. They were lucky in that regard.

He wasn't really sleepy, but he needed every ounce of energy he had for the times to come. The dark of rest swept over him with naught but the moans of the dead and the scream of bullets following him into his dreams.

​

​

​

 

[Namazu]

LINCOLN
​

“Well, hey there, Miss Nari.” Victor always called her Miss Nari, as long as she insisted on being so formal with them both, since he hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of pronouncing her last name without butchering it six ways from Sunday.

Somewhere along the way, Victor had gotten ahold of one of those collapsible camping stools - the kind with a fabric seat stretched between metal poles that extended out - and he’d taken to bringing it outside on his trips with Blake to the outdoor gym area. Sometimes it was just nice to sit next to Blake instead of hovering over him - especially if it was sunny out. He felt like they were a pair of cats sometimes, seeking out a nice sunny spot to just exist in. It was a welcome change compared to the inside of the prison.

“Uh, yeah, excitement, you could call it that.” Instinctively, Victor looked down at his shirt - dark blue with a bass and fishing rod on the front - and checked to make sure he hadn’t missed any blood. He learned quickly to put on a smock before doing an amputation; there was just so damn much blood no matter how well it went. Still, he had a brief moment of fear Nari would see the blood on him. Thankfully, he was clean.

“One of the scavengers lost a hand. The amputation went fine. He should be okay.” Nevermind the fact the man was nearly in screaming hysterics about it before passing out in pain, and Victor hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out if he came around again. He did not like amputations. It made him feel like a butcher.

Victor had just about snuck his hand into Blake's when Nari approached, but instead attempted to make a smooth recovery and act like he wasn’t - instead pretending to check the wheel locks on Blake’s wheelchair while he chatted with Nari.

NanLia Crono ​

 

[Namazu]

Collab by Crono and Namazu
A few weeks after the fight...​

"Oh shit-" Victor sprang into action as soon as Blake stumbled and unceremoniously hit the ground. It made him wince - the man could have been seriously injured, could have fallen face-first, could have broken something, could have lost teeth. And all of that could have happened on his watch, while he stood by, just letting this reunion play out. It was hard not to stay out of the way though - the air was thick with things unspoken and an apparent complicated relationship he had been totally unaware of. This was not for him to interject himself into - until it came time to peel Blake off the ground, at least.

Kneeling down at Blake's side, Victor started to slide his arms under Blake's to help him up. The man would probably need more than just an offered hand to get back up on his feet. Something about that whole exchange made his stomach churn uneasily - and it wasn't just the stupid nickname Cabrera retorted with.

"Hey, Blake, its okay. Come on. Maybe its time we go back inside? Get some rest?"

Blake could only watch as Cabrera walked further away, and just like that he was gone. Mixed emotions flowing through him. Tonto is not here anymore. What the hell was that supposed to mean? The marine started to move, to try and get back up, a small hiss escaping him as his elbow scraped further at the movement. A small amount of blood running down his arm and dripping to the concrete below, the area on the ground smeared.

Victors arms slid under his own to help him and he could only lift with the help of the doctor to get him back up and steady. But Victor's words had him wheeling on the man, "I don't need to be coddled like some kind of fucking child Victor!" He'd shouted, and nearly had immediate regret cross his face. His mouth slapping shut before he lashed out at the wrong person again, his eyes looking elsewhere in a moment of shame before returning.

"I need answers." He started, his voice back down to a conversational volume. Though his tone still held the hints of his emotions. Hughes eyes and face however likely held the most amount of noticeable anger, fresh emotions he was trying to keep from spilling over again. "I need to know who that was. To you and to this damn place." He threw up a hand gesturing at the prison and those within it.

Victor absolutely anticipated being snapped at. Whatever that was, it was clearly difficult and emotional for Blake. That was something raw and painful, and Victor felt a pang just watching it. Pity, maybe? He wasn't sure, but he felt bad for Blake. He also knew there was really nothing he could do to help this particular injury.

"I'm just trying to help." He muttered quietly, letting go of Blake and taking a half step back once the man was steady. The words I'm only doing my goddamn job also went through his head, but he didn't speak it. No sense in getting into a pissing match. Besides - it had been awhile now since time spent with Blake was merely him doing a job.

"Who that was?" He furrowed his brow, following Blake's hand gesture back to the prison. He took a breath, running a tongue over his teeth as he thought on that question.

"I really want to say just another bastard like the rest of them. Just another person doing what they need to do to survive, but..." He trailed off, glancing down at the ground.

His mind briefly wandered back to before all this, when he needed to give a patient bad news. He liked to be sitting when he did it, so he could hide the nervous bounce in his leg. But, when he couldn't, and was caught standing, he'd always shove his hands in his pockets and squeeze his thumbs. It kept the nervous shakes under control.

Shoving his hands into his pockets and squeezing his thumbs just like old times, Victor looked up at the prison, eyes searching the windows. He was bad with directions, so he wasn't sure if the one he found was their leader's window, or the second in command's window.

"I don't claim to really understand the chain of command here, but he's close to the Samaritan's leader. Really close. King's right hand man." He glanced at Blake, then looked down at the ground again, staring at that bloody spot on the ground.

"Cocky fucking bastard. King's muscle really like him. Not sure if anyone else does, honestly. I steer clear. Like I've said before, I like not being dead." Victor winced at his own words.

"It doesn't make sense..." Hughes wouldn't have believed Victor's words if it weren't for the fact that he'd just seen Cabrera and the man had passed him by like acquaintance. Some part of him wanted to call the man a liar, but he didn't believe that was the case. Vic's words echoed in his head, along with the sight of Jax and Packer. His stomach felt like it was in knots. And then all of the tension just drained out of him.

"I'm gonna walk back." He said, his voice lacking the bite from before. The marine started his steps slowly towards the prison doors they'd come from. Hughes needed to grab a moment of control back after what had just occurred.

"Not a lot about life makes sense anymore, Blake." Victor offered gently, following Blake back to the prison, regardless of whether he was invited along or not. He didn't offer to lend any physical support, figuring Blake needed and wanted to do it on his own.

"My turn then. Who the hell is he to you then? I saw that look in your face. Nobody just runs after someone like that unless they meant something. Unless they were worth running after."

Hughes glanced over his shoulder briefly to see Victor following him, he hadn't expected any different. Though the question had him hesitating on how to answer. Not only because Blake wasn't actually sure anymore, but because he also didn't know what he should tell Victor. "He was family." Blake said simply, pausing in his steps as they made it back to the entrance where he could momentarily pause and turn around. "Is family." Corrected questioningly. "I don't know."

"He was my best friend, my brother, and I loved him." Hughes admitted.

Victor winced a little, studying Blake's face. It was hard to imagine that jackass being anyone's friend or brother, being anyone someone would care about, but he was admittedly biased.

"I'm sorry to hear it." He bit his lower lip and looked over his shoulder, back towards where the vehicle had been parked before Cabrera and his cronies drove off to go do...whatever it is they do out there. Terrorize people and loot whatever was left to loot was what he always assumed.

"I don't have any advice here. Not that I think you're asking for it. Everybody's changed. The people that are still alive, anyway. I know I did, and I'm sure you did too, even if you don't recognize it. Him?" He gestured out away from the prison vaguely.

"He probably changed a lot, if he used to be someone worth... loving." There was hesitation in the way he said the word, uncertain exactly what Blake meant by it.

"If you need closure here, you know what you need to do."

Hughes mulled over Victor's words that everyone had changed on some level. And it was true, nobody stayed who they were from before the dead started walking. But the thought that Cabrera was one of these people, it was a hard pill to swallow.

But when the notion of closure was brought up he shook his head, "No not closure, not yet. At least I hope. I need the chance to talk to him and actually look him in the eyes, where he can't just run away like that." Hughes nodded out towards the area they'd walked from. But maybe that was denial, maybe Cabrera truly wasn't the man he knew. But he wasn't ready to make that decision yet, not with the small interaction they'd just had. Even if it had spoken volumes.

Blake had grown close and cared for Victor, but seeing Cabrera not only alive but here. It had stirred up feelings he'd laid to rest. He looked Victor in the eyes with a soft sigh as he rubbed a hand roughly at the back of his stiff neck, "I'm sure the last thing you expected was a whole suitcase of baggage on top of the already stitched up bag you had to put back together."

Offering Blake a gentle smile, Victor chuckled and shook his head. "To be more accurate, the last thing I expected to find in this place was a good person like yourself. I expect plenty of baggage. I have my own. Everyone does." He shrugged a bit, studying Blake's face.

"I hope you get a chance to talk with him then, and get some answers. Just... promise me you'll be careful, yeah? And I'll understand if-" He stopped himself, mid-gesture once more to where the vehicle had at one point been parked. He suddenly wasn't so sure about the words that were coming out of his mouth.

"If... uh. Ah. Wow. I have no idea what I'm trying to say here." He let out a nervous laugh and looked down at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. "I understand that this is difficult. That's all."

Blake's face softened when he realized Victor was worried about him. He wanted to reassure Vic but kept silence. Whoever Cabrera was now, he knew the man wouldn't hurt him, at least physically speaking. The rest he couldn't speak to now, not fully.

"You worry too much Doc. You've seen me at probably my worst, twice now. But I'm a little tougher than you might give me credit for." Hughes moved across the walkway entrance, walking up to Victor. "I don't know what's going to happen, but I can promise you that I'm not going anywhere."

The marine reached up his left hand and clasped the side of Victor's neck as he tried to lock eyes with the man. "But if I do go somewhere. Well, you're coming with me Doc." If Hughes ever got out of there, he wasn't sure he could just leave anyone to the hands of the Samaritans that didn't want to be there. The sentiment was there, but afterwards Hughes hardened eyes faltered a little and he turned to walk in through the opened prison doors.

Victor couldn't help but smile back as Blake took hold of him, leaning in a bit closer and meeting his eyes. He nodded his head, content with that promise.

"All you'd have to do is say the word, and I'd follow." His face reddened a bit, blushing at what he'd just said, but it was true. He paused a beat, then his grin grew wider.

"Someone has to make sure you don't trip over yourself." He winked, standing up straight again as Blake let him go. Maybe it was a bad time for humor, who knows - but he had little else to offer as he followed Blake back into the prison.

Bullyboy Squad ​

 

[NanLia]

LINCOLN
​

Nari smiled at Hughes as he greeted her in kind. He had been a surprise and delight to have met - a highlight to her imprisonment. She had met a few people, mostly families from where her cell was but no one she had made any kind of connection with. They seemed content, happy even, to be here, she had learned that they were Samaritans, or married (or hooked up with) a Samaritan and she found herself purposely disassociating with them. She knew she should give people the benefit of the doubt, that she should believe the best in everyone but after weeks of being kept from her family and friends, she was wearing thin.


She dropped down to a squat, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her knees on her chin. A look of disgust crossed her features, not because of the act but because of the thought of the blood. She buried her face in her knees, squeezing her eyes shut to force the image out. Victor added that the man would survive and at least there was that.


"I'm sorry." She spoke after a time, to Victor. "That you had to do that, but I'm grateful you were here to help them." Even if it was a Samaritan, it didn't mean they deserved to die. "Hopefully you'll have an easier day tomorrow." Victor seemed kind enough, even for a Samaritan but she simply couldn't trust him. He wasn't like herself or Hughes, captives to keep other people at bay. She had noticed a subtle shift in Hughes over the past few weeks and she wondered if it had to do with Victor.


"Any plans for the rest of today?"

Crono Namazu​

 

[Miaow]

&



SCENE ONE
Northview
A flashback
A collab with Safton ​

It had been just over two weeks since the incident, and Minnie had spent most of that week in bed under Pandora's orders. She was on a heavy dose of painkillers, courtesy of Cabrera, and had lost a decent amount of blood. It simply wasn't safe for her to be on her feet until she could prove she could stand without falling on her face.

Once she was beginning to recover, she was prescribed short walks along with her medications, with the goal of making it the distance equivalent of the nurse's office to her bedroom and back again. Then, she could go home, if she promised to keep up with her check-ups and appointments. She had to go back to get her stitches removed, to make sure her wounds were cleaned properly, to get a dose of painkillers... Though Pandora had made sure Xander had these checked into his schedule in the hope at least one of them would remember.

"Okay, come get me if you need anything, okay?" She told her, though seemed to be addressing Xander just as much as Minnie.
"Just radio me or Mac if anything seems wrong," She insisted, giving Xander a stern look.
"And no gardening or rolling around in mud or anything like that until your stitches are out," She smiled at Minnie, to which she nodded. No gardening... Though, maybe if she put Gene's long gardening gloves on, Pandora wouldn't even notice...

She carefully hopped down from her bed, hugging her folded pile of pyjamas to her chest as she pushed the infirmary door open with her back. She waved to Pandora as she left, holding the door for Xander.

"Appreciate it, Doc," Xander said with a smile, giving a small wave to Pandora as he strolled toward the exit of the infirmary. Seeing Minnie holding the door open for him, he turned the smile on her, ruffling her hair as he passed. "Thanks, Min-Min."

Xander waited for her to fall in stride alongside him, strolling down the corridor at a lackadaisical pace. "I'm going to have my eye on you," he said with faux warning, turning to give the girl an arched brow. "...making sure you follow Pandora's orders. She catches you outside in the dirt and it's both our heads, y'know." His grim facade finally cracked, giving way to a toothy grin.

Minnie frowned, puffing up her cheeks as she gave it a thought.
"Can't I just..." She began in an attempt to bargain with him, though wasn't quite sure how to finish that thought. She'd been in a brain fog since the incident, just thinking was difficult.
"I'm bored, but I'm too tired to do anything," She muttered, adjusting the pile of pyjamas in her arms. She was sick of sleeping all the time, but no matter how much she slept, she was still tired. She rubbed her good eye, trying to get some of the sleep out of it.

Xander gave Minnie a sympathetic sigh, reaching over to gently pluck the clothes from her arms, tucking them under his own as they walked. "I know that feeling, lovebug." And he did. He couldn't relate right now, of course. The stress and anxiety he felt with their community having been invaded by interlopers, losing Miyu, Nari being taken... it was too much for an idle mind to ever enter the equation. It wasn't even on the horizon. But before -- in "simpler" times -- he had felt that way.

"This is all temporary, I promise. You'll be back gardening in no time. And, well, don't tell your sister but I may have a surprise for the two of you. It's from Nari and me, actually. But if you want it, you're going to have to promise to follow Pandora's orders for the next few days. Okay?" he turned to look at her expectantly.

Minnie paused, weighing up her options. She really wanted to garden... but what if Xander and Nari's surprise was better than gardening?
"Okay," She responded, keeping her arms across her chest even in the absence of the clothes. Pandora said to keep them raised while they healed and Minnie always noticed they hurt a little less when she did, so she followed orders.

She hated doing nothing. Doing nothing meant her brain wasn't occupied and could run wild with whatever she'd been ignoring. When she was laying in bed with nothing to do, she was thinking about Nari, wondering what she was doing, whether she was okay, whether she missed them, whether anything had done anything horrible to her.

She stepped into their makeshift apartment, a room she hadn't seen in almost 3 weeks. She missed sitting at their table and playing board games, or sharing snacks with everyone. Haewon had brought a deck of cards to the infirmary a couple times, but it wasn't the same knowing Nari wasn't there.

As her eyes met with her bedroom door, she stopped in her tracks. She felt sick. The idea of not being able to see what was in there, what was hiding around the corner, filled her with dread. She fidgeted with her hands. Had someone cleaned it up? The room began to tilt as she imagined what her mattress would look like. A big blood stain in the centre, tufts of her hair...

She spun on the spot, turning her back to the door. She avoided meeting Xander's gaze, her fists clenched as she stared at the floor.
"I can't go in there."

Xander was just a few steps away from Minnie’s bedroom door, intent on holding it open for her, but immediately came to a halt as he realized that the girl was no longer beside him. He turned, glancing over his shoulder and spotting the girl as she spoke softly. His mouth opened to question her words when he saw her demeanor: the hunched posture, hands balled into fists at her side as she averted her gaze from his own... and from the room. His mouth snapped shut and he nodded once -- as much to himself as to her.

His hand slipped away from the handle as he turned and marched back to Minnie, kneeling down in front of her and setting her clothes aside. He took her hand gently into his own – mindful of the still-healing cuts – before giving it a soft squeeze. “You can stay in me and Nari’s room, okay? For as long as you want. Haewon, too.”

Minnie was prepared to fight her case, to argue with him. She wasn't going in that room, no matter what Xander had to say. She felt him walk around her, looking away as he knelt in front of her. Her demeanor changed as he spoke up. Her shoulders relaxed as some of the tension left her body. She wasn't going to have to fight over this.

She finally met his gaze as he held her hand... before throwing her arms around him. Her grip was loose, it hurt when she squeezed him too tight, though she wanted to hug him as tight as she could.
"I won't get in the way. I'll sleep on the floor, I promise," She told him, her eyes shut tight as she held onto him.

Xander returned Minnie's hug, holding her close against his chest. It was hard not to, being back in this room: the place that just days ago had been a place full of happiness and laughter. Hours had been spent in the living room with the four of them playing Monopoly or Unoor some other game late into the night -- accusing the others of cheating (with no evidence to speak of, of course) or forging desperate truces. They had been like a real family.

Now that was gone.

Xander's throat tightened hearing Minnie. "No, you won't," he said. His tone was gentle, but firm. "You get the bed. I'll move the sofa inside."

Minnie hesitated before nodding. She was too tired to argue, and Xander sounded serious about this decision.

She finally let go, though she was reluctant. She never wanted to let go, what if they never got to hug again? What if he went away, like Nari had?
"Thank you," She told him, fidgeting with her hands. She felt uneasy in their apartment, knowing her bedroom was right behind her. She was hyper aware of the mark Haewon's knife had left in the wall as it was tossed out of the room. She swallowed, quickly glancing over their shoulder, though found herself unable to look for long.
"Can we go?"

Xander nodded quickly. He stood up, gathering the clothes carefully under one arm while offering his free hand to Minnie. After she took it, he crossed the makeshift "living room" to he and Nari's bedroom. It would be his first time entering the space since his partner had been taken. In the weeks since, Xander had spent much of his time at the infirmary to watch over Minnie and Haewon -- catching precious bits of sleep leaned back in his chair. When Pandora and Mackenzie inevitably kicked him out, he had taken to sleeping on the couch in their impromptu little family's "living room". He couldn't bring himself to stay in the bedroom he had shared with Nari.

Already Xander could feel his heart sinking steadily into his gut as he turned side-on to maneuver the hand balancing the pyjamas to push the handle down before shouldering the door open. He wasn't sure what he expected to find on the other side. Maybe some recognition granted by the world toward their collective loss? An answer to how to return Nari home to them? The answer to world hunger? Instead, all he found was a stuffy bedroom -- undisturbed since he and Cabrera had last set foot in there -- a thought that sent a shiver up his spine.

Xander pushed the thoughts aside, forcing a smile as he looked down at Minnie before walking forward to place Minnie's clothes on the bed. "You let me know if you need anything, okay? Out of your room or anywhere else."

Minnie nodded in response as she followed after him, perching on the side of the bed. Despite Xander's bedroom being just a short walk from the infirmary, she felt exhausted. She crawled under the covers to keep warm, her body beginning to shiver.

"Can we play cards tonight?" She asked. Xander was so busy trying to keep their home afloat, and Haewon had taken it upon herself to fill Nari's role while she was gone. It felt like she hadn't seen the two of them in the same room since it all happened.

Xander smiled at the request. "Sure thing, lovebug. Once your sister gets back we'll talk her into it." He assented to her with a casual ease, but deep down he felt a stabbing ache in his heart, knowing full well that sitting down to partake in something like a game of cards would make Nari's absence all the more apparent.

He hadn't missed her shivers, either, and now moved across the bedroom to pick up an old quilt folded up atop the storage chest that had served as he and Nari's chest-of-drawers. Xander brought it over, lifting it up and letting it fall open under its own weight before laying the thick cotton thing across Minnie's covered form and drawing the hem nearly up to her chin -- effectively tucking her in. "You need anything else? Water? A snack?" he asked.

Minnie got comfy under the covers, curling her knees up close to her chest to warm up faster.
"No, thank you," She told him with a small smile. She'd perked up at the promise of a card game, even if they wouldn't all be there to enjoy it. Nari would be back eventually, then their card games would be even better.

Haewon arrived back at their makeshift apartment minutes later and was immediately "ambushed" and drawn into a card game with Xander and Minnie. She acted reluctant in the moment before finally acquiescing and it wasn't long before Xander caught glimpses out of the corner of his eye of her smiling whenever her younger sister cheered at a favorable hand or otherwise lit up the room in her typical fashion. Once the game was over, Xander packed up the cards before once again asking Minnie if she needed anything to which she responded she did not.

He then turned toward Haewon, speaking softly. "You can stay in here too, you know. You don't have to go back to your room. It's okay." He was well aware that the trauma Minnie had endured had been shared by both sisters... but unfortunately, while Minnie was willing to let him remain at his side and comfort her in the past weeks, Haewon had done as she had always done: withdraw into her shell. Aloof as always.

Haewon let out a soft sigh, leaning back as she sat on the edge of his bed.
"I've always shared a room with Minnie. Must be weird for her to sleep on her own," She told him, deflecting to her sister as she often did.
"I'll get my pyjamas," She told him, accepting his offer without explicitly saying it. She got to her feet, stretching her back to ease the aching from being hunched over electronics all day.

​

 

[Aegis]

Three Weeks into the Skip
Chloe's Bar (Part 2)​

Chloe sat at the end of the bar slumped over, leaning heavily against the bartop, steaming coffee just below her nose. She could barely keep her eyes open; in the days since Connor’s debut fight there had been almost daily whispers of rebellions or mentions of more graffiti about no more kings. None of this directly impacted her, in her safe hole behind the bar, but it did draw crowds of people to drink. Their “home”, for lack of a better term, was destabilizing and she wasn’t certain that anyone had a backup plan, herself namely among them.

More people drinking led to later nights, less rest and far earlier mornings as most nights she was dead on her feet before closing, electing to just get up early to clear up from the night before and get ready for the night to come. She’d been promised more help, but that had yet to amount to anything, or anyone, and she was left to handle it all on her own.

She bolted up in her seat as she heard the door open, surprised by the noise, she knew she must have started to doze. She turned to face the visitor, readying a We’re Closed smile when she spotted Tanner stepping in. “Well hello!” She smiled, slipping off the stool and picking up her coffee. “I was hoping you’d come back!”

Surprised by the sudden welcome, Tanner froze in the doorway for a moment before issuing back a beaming smile, “Chloe! How are yo–”

The boy had taken a few steps into the room only to be greeted by the clear exhaustion that ate at her expression and movements. Without skipping a beat, Tanner started to grab a few of the used glasses from the tables and carry them over to the tired woman, “Well, need some help?”

Chloe paused at the offer, watching the boy … young man, wander from table to table gathering empty bottles and used glasses from the night before. As much as she knew she should refuse, she knew she needed the help more. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” She smiled warmly, taking a long drink of her hot coffee before setting it aside and getting to work herself. “It’s been a few days since you’ve been here, did you get to see Connor yet?”

Tanner felt the seeds of a smile sprout on his lips as she thanked him. It was the first thanks he had gotten for doing a job here so far– most other times it was just expected as a matter of being able to live. This was nice, felt nice.

As Chloe brought up Connor, though, the smile blossomed fully, “Yeah! We saw each other just last night. He’s supposed to start working today! Although, he was busy with Mr. Weston last night and earlier this morning, so I’m not sure when that is!”

He was very happy to be on this topic, “You remind me of him– a little. He’s a guy, though, and also a little more… straightfor…? A ‘straight-shooter’. That’s what one of the people who work at the infirmary called him.”

Tanner sat the last of the dirty glasses down near Chloe as he scouted around for a broom.

Chloe paused as Tanner mentioned that she reminded him of Connor, something she never thought possible, given what little she knew about him personally. She knew he meant it as a compliment, that it was unlikely he knew what the fighter had done in the pit to his opponent … but what if he did? "Cleaning supplies are in the back." She swung around the edge of the bar and pushed open the paneling to the back room.

"Don't mind the mess, I haven't had much spare time to clean up." She waved away the unmade cot and precious few personal items she had, clearly where she lived. "Here," She dragged out a janitor cart with various bottles and implements attached, wheeling it between the narrow space between shelves stocked with alcohol.

"So where is Connor working?"

Tanner began to hum a tune that sounded like an off-key version of the Star Wars opening as he entered into the backroom, “It’s not a big deal. I’ll be back out in a second!”

At first, he was a bit confused as to where to go from the sheer amount of things crammed into the space, but before long he found something that looked like cleaning supplies. His footsteps were replaced with the sound of broom handles smacking off the tile and a few things tumbling off shelves from the clutter. Silence engulfed the back, and then was replaced by the sound of Tanner trying to replace things to the best of his ability, “I, uh, I’m not sure. They said something about ‘light duty’. Which– that really sucks, because honestly I wanted him to come out to the wall with me.”

The backroom went silent for a bit, “I guess he’s still a little hurt.”

Tanner emerged from the doorway with a broom, a mop, and some other cleaning utensils and supplies.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine soon.” Chloe offered, smiling sympathetically. She wasn’t sure how injured he was after the fight; it had been a bloody affair and she hadn’t a clue if Connor had been punished afterwards for what had happened. He’d started, unintentionally, a rebellion. She’d heard the whispered No More Kings endlessly in the bar and he’d become their symbol.

After an hour of hard work the bar started to look closer to what she liked to see it nearing opening. She turned to Tanner, still busy at wiping down tables. “How about we call it quits for today, yeah? I think you’ve done enough work to deserve a treat.” She nodded towards the bar. “I’ve got something you might like.”

She abandoned her cloth on the edge of the bar and slipped behind. She knelt down out of sight for a moment, rummaging behind a few items to her stash before standing again and displaying several full sized chocolate bars on the bar top. “Take your pick!”

Tanner nodded solemnly, “I hope.”

It seemed at that moment he exposed himself to Chloe– truly, for the first time. The boy was swarmed with shadow as though it was stapled to his soul. His face was dark with the moody atmosphere of the bar, and his thoughts seemed to trail off somewhere equally as devoid of the light of hope.

The hour passed in relative silence as the boy seemed to have withdrawn. However, that same closeness remained within him– a victory for Chloe that seemed to cost Tanner a lot of his social battery. Starting toward the bar, Tanner picked up, “Okay, sounds good–”

His eyes widened as the candy was presented to him, “Uh, a-are you sure? This is a lot…”

The kid may have been vocally hesitating, but his actions didn’t lie: Tanner snatched a snickers bar from the pile.

“Thanks, Ms. Chloe. I’m gonna have to go, though. My shift starts soon… sorry.”

Chole grinned at Tanner's surprise, that smile only widening as he selected the bar he wanted to pocketed it. “No apologies needed - thank you so much for the help today, Tanner. Hopefully the next time you visit we’ll be able to hang out and not clean.”

She walked him to the door, setting him free back into the prison and to get to his shift, smiling as it filled her heart with warmth to know there was at least one person here she could stand to be around, even if he was a child. With a sigh, she turned back to the bar and, with resignation, returned to finish restocking for the night to come.

​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

Around the end of the skip in Lincoln.

collab with Aegis ​

Connor was tending to what chores he had been assigned in the bar.

While the light duty was nice, he could feel that his bones were eager to get out and do something more substantial. Plus, it was clear that his value was dropping to the Samaritans with each day he spent being a glorified busser for the bar-- at least, that's what he thought. He hadn't been here for longer than a month, but he had grown to like his routine working with Chloe in the bar-- especially Chloe. The Solider hoped that The Bartender didn't notice him stealing glances when he got the chance. After all, he didn't want her to think he was some kind of creep. However, on this particular day, Chloe was out somewhere and he was sweeping up broken glass after a particularly wild night that landed an Enforcer in the infirmary; Connor knew that someone was gonna have hell to pay with King for that one, but it wouldn't be them. It was some kind of infighting if the man had to guess.

Chloe, Tanner, and him-- they were some kind of family unit. The kid had come in here and gotten to know her far before Connor was back in the fold, but after he got assigned here by luck the three of them had practically spent a few hours in here together every day. It was incredibly pleasant, fulfilling. Hell, they even celebrated a birthday together in here. Although, the presents were still to be found as Connor asked Weston to find a couple pairs of rebel helmets, Luke's from Star Wars: Episode IV. Connor was incredibly grateful that he went out of his way to get that out to the scavengers.

Things were... blissful. At the cost of sounding too content, things were actually fine. Sure, everyone lived in oppressive misery, but he had found people to put his mind towards and that made it bearable. Connor still wanted to leave-- sure, but he didn't want to risk anything happening to those he cared about. Recently, he had been having nightmares where a bloodied Weston would drag him from his room only to find Chloe and Tanner dead in the bar-- the place alight like a wildfire.

Yes, if things could go like this then he wouldn't mind it.

Then, reality came knocking.

"Hey, buddy." Cabrera stopped by the bar, tapping the wooden top and scanning the selection of bottles behind Connor. Usually patrons visited in casual clothing but he was wearing his full gear with the Vickers sling going across his vest and a drop leg holster straps wrapped around his thigh. It seemed he was either a fresh arrival or about to depart.

"A shot of Jack." He pseudo knife-handed the whiskey bottle.

Connor's brow shot up as he wondered what the hell this guy thought of himself to strut up in here like this, but he knew better than to question someone with the balls to do so-- especially if he didn't recognize him, "Sure thing, boss-- coming right up."

The Soldier turned to the shelf and removed the bottle from its spot in line amongst the others as he fetched a shot glass from under the counter with his opposite hand. Even now and then, Connor shot an upward glance to the man before him as he did his work.

He seemed well-equipped-- he knew what he was doing, at least. Although, it was concerning that he seemed better prepared to kill other people than he was to fight any Zs.

Connor dipped the bottle forward and poured the man's shot before sliding it across to him in silence.


Cabrera watched the other man closely. His expression was friendly but there was something in his eyes. Unnamed intention.

He grabbed the glass and knocked back the contents, feeling the fiery liquid burn down his throat. He slammed it down and took a second to catch a breath before asking.

"Connor, right?" He licked his moist lips, not waiting for an answer. "I'm taking your kid for a school trip."

The Soldier sat in awkward anticipation of the man leaving. After all, it was just the two of them in here, and there likely wouldn't be another soul around for at least another hour or two. Connor tapped his fingers against the wood for a second and went to go back to sweeping before the man across from him spoke, "Uh, I sure am. Why do--"

Then, he licked his lips and said the words that left The Soldier's heart thumping in his chest.

What?

Connor's eyelids twitched in violent anger as he spun full around to face him, "Excuse you?"

"My bad. Guess it's gonna be more like a student exchange program." He nudged the glass towards the man.

"Pour one yourself and let's go. The kids are all packed so you can say bye before we leave."

Connor's eyes scanned the bar top for some of weapon with which he could smash this man's audacity into a pulp along with his skull. The man's eyes swam with violence like blood suspended in water, "W-who--"

Connor struggled to wrap his mind around what was happening, but it made him emotionally volatile nonetheless. Fists bound themselves tight into weapons, "Over my dead fucking body."

It looked like the man was about to launch himself over the counter at his nemesis.

Cabrera cocked his head, his expression easy but his body braced. "How about that drink. Before you do something we both will regret."

That was it. The man's unwillingness to back down-- while expected, sent Connor screaming over the edge of his patience. How could this man just come in here and expect him to respond with, 'Oh, okay' to something like that? He already had to fight to be able to see the kid, and he would be DAMNED if someone took him away again.

The Soldier snatched the shot glass from the table and hucked it full-force in the man's face before he sunk his palms into the table and speared his body toward his opponent-- his mind envisioning his hands around the guy's neck coiled like barbed wire.

"YOU SON OF A FUCKING--"

As soon as he pressed the full of his weight against his hands, his head spun and his ears rung. He wasn't ready for another fight like this so soon, but he would rather die right here than just give Tanner up.

"--BITCH!"

Like a flicker.

The glass caught light in its flight. But Cabrera was ready. His eyes on the Soldier as he smacked the thing with a cat-like reflex and it crashed aside into a million splinters. The Samaritan was already shifting his weight to respond to the oncoming attack.

The hurling body sidestepped. He pivoted while their sides grazed and he thrust the flat of his palm into the man's back. To shove him into the wall off balance.

He wanted that anger. That fire. Because somewhere deep in his subconscious it was Cabrera who was raging. He wanted to see how those feelings explode. He craved that fucking release.

Connor smashed against the wall already unsteady on his feet as his lungs crammed as much oxygen as they could into his blood-- his mind afloat with the light of saturation and numbing rage. Ripping himself from the wall, his eyes were burning with a wildfire that sought to consume the would-be kidnapper in their pointed malice.

The Soldier unleashed a wail of sheer fury as he began to swing wide, unsteady, powerful.

He wouldn't take him. Not over his dead body.

Cabrera thrust his frame into motion the same time the man boosted himself off the wall. Like to meet him. But he swerved from the hurling punch and plucked the oncoming strike at its apex. Turning himself to face Connor's charging body half from the side, to snatch the other flying arm in the process. Which messed with the already unstable Soldier's balance and gave Cabrera the opening for a swift takedown.

Jerking the younger man's arm to redirect him while bumping him with his hip he planted one foot down to make Connor trip and as he stumbled Ingacio whipped around and shoved him face down. Hard.

Dropping his own body, hands and knees, he immobilised the furious male. He could lock his arm or head but instead he just pinned him down like you'd do to a rookie trying to swing fists at a seasoned professional. To humiliate. To force the submission.

Ignacio's breath came out a little faster but his growl seemed far from winded. "You done?"

Connor was made a ragdoll as each of his strained movements only gave his opponent more and more chances to thrash him about and manipulate the fight to his advantage. His brain bashed against his skull as he planted chin-first into the floor of the bar, and his entire body ran slack for a second following the impact.

There was the crushing plant of a knee in his spine, and the overarching feeling of defeat. Yet, he wasn't done. What Connor currently lacked in coordination he was supplementing with tenacity-- maybe not enough. The Soldier wrenched back and pressed his unsecured limbs into the ground with enough force to lift himself a foot from the ground even with the full weight of himself and the wretched man.

Still, he was wounded, and unsteady. Connor collapsed back to the ground despite his display.

Huffing warm breath along the surface of floor that gushed back to sweep his face, Connor grunted in wasted effort as he tried to stand once more to no avail, His face was red with the remnants of blunt force.

Gritty, hateful he spat, "You better kill me now, or you wont live to regret it in the future."

Cabrera wrapped his arm around the man's head and yanked it back to force Connor to look Ignacio in the eyes. "Are you done?" His gaze stern like a disappointed superior.
"Or do you want me to kick your ass until you can't walk and you don't get to wish your kid a fun trip. How's it gonna be?"

The Soldier still burned with defiance, but his face seemed to calm as though Cabrera's choke was snuffing out the flames. He remained silent even as his face burned red-- the remnants of blunt force and overstimulated emotions, and it seemed he truly wouldn't relent. Then, The Soldier remembered the pain on Tanner's face as he saw him hurt. Connor had been willing to die up until this point, but now a flash of clarity crossed his mind.

"...Fine. I'm done. I'm done."

Cabrera stared into the younger man's eyes for a good moment. Like to test him, to make sure he would remain docile. Then he finally boosted himself up on one arm. He dusted his palm off and offered the other to Connor. Still looking serious. Cautious of another potential outburst.

Connor's eyes were blue voids of utter anguish and violence. Their hatred toward the sight captured in the adrenaline-constricted irises and bloodshot veins creeping through the white of his eyes. It was clear that he wanted nothing more than to tear this man's throat out and watch the life fade from his movements, but he knew he wouldn't win right now. The Soldier's body language was tense but not combative.

As the bastard man extended a hand, Connor ignored it in favor of clambering to his feet on his own-- nearly tripping from the sudden rush of blood, but contented to take another paltry injury if it meant he didn't rely on the other man.

"Y-you'll," The Soldier huffed as he struggled to catch his breath but ultimately decided against any further antagonizing, "re--"

Silence on his countenance as his eyes searched for something in the middle-distance he would never find, "Take me there, then."

Cabrera pulled his hand back and reached for one of the pouches by the belt, retrieving something everybody was used to before the world ended. But now it was a rare sight. A smartphone.

"First you gonna take a look at something." He clicked the side and the screen lit up. Few touches and swipes later he passed the phone to Connor.

"This is where I'm taking your kid." Connor could see green gardens, farm animals on the field by the well maintained school building. Kids helping with easy labor, reading books, playing. Elderly people, a cute couple hugging on a swing bench in front of a bon fire. One of the pictures had a young teen girl posing with Cabrera. He looked different on the picture, wearing no gear or armor. Both were smiling.

"If you behave you will join him there in a few weeks. I need trained men. I have a lot of them but most are brutes, not made for such community. They're loyal and I appreciate them as they come but if you prove your worth and show more skill than emotion next time I see you fight? You might get a cozy security position there." He cocked his head.

"So how about you stop looking at me like you want to kill me just like you killed my injured fighter and show some fucking respect."

Connor was struck by the sudden appearance of a working smartphone. However, the more surprising thing was the almost utopia that was pitched to him, yet it seemed too good to be true-- like a travel brochure for some obscure resort. The Soldier's face spun wildly from rapt awe to doubt to confusion and all around again. One picture stuck out from the rest: the girl and the man before him. All smiles. People have lives outside of what one knows of them-- it was easy to forget sometimes when they came at you sideways like this.

That picture provided some credibility to everything as he said it was. Again, Connor wasn't exactly sure who he was, but this had made it clear he was someone of considerable influence and he just made a mistake by attacking them. What was his end goal? If the man was a bloodied pulp on the floor, where would he go after that? It was a fool's errand from the start.

The bigger thing here is that if he did better he would be able to go there-- with Tanner. His heart sank. Connor knew he was feeling a certain type of way about Chloe, but he didn't know what was on her mind. The Soldier was normally good at reading people. However, it seemed the more he focused on her the less he understood. Having to choose between the two of them would hurt, but his answer was obvious if it came to that.

"Okay. I understand... sir."

The last bit may as well have been ripped from his teeth, but it was said.

Cabrera scanned man's expression while Connor studied the pictures. He gave a slow nod when their eyes met and Connor at least aknowledged the situation for what it truly was. An opportunity.

"Good." He reached for the phone and once it was handed to him he slipped it back to the pouch. "Let's go to the kids."

As they moved Cabrera seemed causal once more compared to the serious side he presented moments earlier. "It's just a few hours away so the radio signal is decent most days. If anything happens, emergency or other valid reason, he'll be allowed to call you and vice versa."
They strolled down the stairs and passed the pit on their way to the main exit. "Anything I should know about Tanner? Something I can do that will help him assimilate to those good folks from the pictures?"

Connor listened in a silent state-- docile as the man had hoped. However, defeat was a bitter pill to swallow and surrender doubly so. The Soldier had detached a bit from the conversation nodding along to the most important bits, but upon being prompted about Tanner he spoke up, "The kid hasn't ever really had anyone but me. Maybe in the past, but we don't talk about it much. He's gonna have a hard time getting along with them regardless, but mostly just nudge him along into things. Tanner gets curious enough after a while."

"Yeah it's gonna be hard but I heard he seemed pretty codependent when you two got here. Maybe such a break will do him some good. Help him build the base for the man he will become." He spoke calmly like he was giving advice to a buddy, not the man who was dead set on killing him moments earlier. Truth be told Cabrera was used to it. People wanting to kill him.

They exited the building into the orange glow of the afternoon sun that flooded the parking lot. The kids were hanging out around the trucks. One of the boys was sitting in the gunner's spot and pretending he was shooting at the zeds. One of the girls, a few years younger than Tanner, had tears in her eyes. Hugging her mother and asking if she could come with her. But most children didn't have parents. They knew Cabrera becasue the man used to visit the family unit every now and then. Sometimes bringing stuff he got from other communities they raided. So most of them didn't seem distressed, quite the opposite.

"Ready for adventure?!" The raider hollered, flashing his teeth at the happy response.

Connor remained mostly silent as his nemesis hinted at a life for Tanner apart from him. Of course, that was a natural evolution of parenthood, or in their case Guardianship. The cold, forced nature of the affair was what hurt The Soldier the most.

His heart twisted itself into a coil as though it were a spring primed to burst as the children called out in response to the man with ignorant glee. Connor knew at once that this man was dangerous. Very dangerous.

Tanner, on the other hand, didn't seem as swept up in the atmosphere and instead walked up to Connor to hug him, "So, you'll be coming too. Soon, right?"

Cabrera didn't impose on their private moment, gesturing to the children who weren't with parents to start entering the vehicles.

"C'mon guys. It's time. Get down man, let's go." He waited by one of the vehicles holding the door open for the kids. Eventually his gaze cruised back to Connor and Tanner.

Connor rubbed at the top of Tanner's head-- his heart ripped in two at the man having forced this outcome. He had tried to fight, but that hadn't been the most well thought out plan. For now, he had to keep holding out in hopes of being able to get to Tanner or vice versa.

"Alright, time to go, kiddo. Keep your chin up, Tanner."

Tanner nodded as he turned and started toward the vehicle. Connor felt his heart twist into knots; a sickness began to brew in his stomach as it took every inch of his willpower to keep from running after him.

Tanner hopped in the truck as Connor waved him goodbye. After the boy was out of sight, The Soldier's eyes stung with grief-fueled tears, and in the moment he ran off to cry alone in the back of the bar. Hopefully, work would keep his mind off things once he got around to it.

 

[Aegis]

Three Weeks into the Skip
Chloe's Bar (Part 3)​

Man, this was a bit confusing. Connor had spent the better part of twenty minutes wandering back and forth along the halls looking for the bar in the building. Nothing particularly stood out to him except the piercing glances as eyes followed him wherever he went. Honestly, that was more than likely the reason he had been having such a hard time, the pressure of their expectations.

He was familiar with how they were beginning to perceive him, and that was far from who he was. Of course, he wanted to kick, scream, and shoot his way out of here until they could crawl over the wall atop a staircase of Samaritan corpses. He knew better. They had Tanner, and so he needed to be exceptionally careful in how he carried himself.

Connor sallied up to the door after rather meek– for an enforcer, man pointed him the way he needed to go. Tanner had told him about the woman, Chloe. She seemed nice, and she took good care of the kid. However, he didn’t have the faintest idea what she looked like or what her specific position was in the bar. Oh well, only one way to find that out.

The Soldier opened the door, “UH, hello?!”

Chloe jumped at the sound of a voice inside the bar - it was still early enough in the day she wasn’t open! The upward motion cracked the top of her head on a shelf beneath the bar where she was restocking cleaned glasses. “Shit.” She whispered, reaching up with both hands to press on the stinging flesh, taking away one to tentatively glance, no blood, thankfully.

She reached up and hauled herself to her feet only to stare in surprise as Connor stepped through the doorway. At no time did she expect to ever see him here, at least not unless Derek was parading him around for winning a fight. He’d often done so with North and she knew, via Temma, that Derek kept his fighters on a strict regimen. “Hi.” She called cautiously, but didn’t move from behind the bar. “We’re not open for another hour, if you’re looking for booze, you’ll have to come back then.”

Connor sat still as he heard the bump, and simply waited until the voice registered a face behind the bar. The Soldier sat stunned by the sudden appearance of the woman– not by the surprise, but by her beauty. Awkward moments of silence and eye contact passed as the man waded through these long dormant emotions; out in the real world it was as though things like this no longer existed. Sure, there were carnal times. Connor had shared a few of those dirty, detached nights during the first month of things when people still had hope to drain, and– of course, actual people were more plentiful. Regardless, genuine beauty was something he had grown unaccustomed to in his time.

Bountiful brown hair, Dazzling dark eyes, Body like she belonged in a Hollywood blockbuster before things went to shit. Yet, more importantly, her demeanor held a certain intelligence and maturity to it that struck him with a silence that sent him stumbling over his thoughts. If you combined that with what he had heard from Tanner, god– it just wasn’t fair.

Connor’s eyes glimmered with a giddy, child-like passion that contrasted an ever-hardening sternness to his jaw like his body was reacting to a sickness. If one were looking from just the outside, it would even appear that her assertion had angered him in some way, but that was far from the case.

“Errrm, no. Sorry. That’s not why I’m here. Weston assigned me to work here while I get fully on my feet. You must be Chloe, right?”

Chloe watched Connor as he stood, staring at her from just inside the doorway. She thought to speak again but the slow but steady shift in his gaze made her pause. Had she angered him by denying him alcohol before she'd even opened for the day? There were rules, and while she was fine with turning a blind eye here and there, she was not going to lose her head because he needed a fix.

Much to her surprise, he answered far differently than what she would have thought and it was her turn to simply stare at him, as her mind processed what she'd been told. "Oh, uhm. Alright. Well, thank you." What other choice did she have? She had been begging for help at the bar and here it was.

"Have you ever bar-backed before?" Chloe asked, waving him into the room to join her behind the bar. "Or any sort of serving experience?" She paused, laughing softly. "Sorry, that's really up front. Nice to meet you, I've just been so busy and my head is in a million directions." She extended her hand in offering. "I've met Tanner. He's a great kid, especially given what he's had to endure."

Chloe’s nervousness rubbed off on Connor as they exchanged quick pieces of dialogue back and forth, but it was business first and then he’d get toward that. The man crossed the bar toward her, “Of course! You’re welcome.”

Going behind the bar for the first time in his life, Connor grimaced at the sheer quantity of different alcohols, “Errr, no. I haven’t really done this before. Served chow a few times in basic, but I get the impression that’s different.”

Social whiplash hit The Soldier as she got to work addressing him about himself instead of the work she had opened up with at the start. Connor smirked a bit as he shook her hand firmly, “He’s kept me together through all this! Tanner is my rock even if he doesn’t realize it.”

The man’s face beamed a modest positivity as he scratched at the back of his head, “He’s tough. Tanner will be okay, but I’m sure this’ll be a nice change of pace for him. The kid has told me a lot about you as well.”

Connor left the contents of that discussion up to her imagination. However, it now seemed appropriate to ask a question that was scratching at the back of his thoughts, “Do you have something against me? You seem a little hesitant.”

Chloe smiled hearing Connor talk about Tanner like the boy was his own flesh and blood, it was endearing, especially after hearing Tanner speak the same way about Connor. His swift turn of topic caught her off guard and she opened and closed her lips, trying to find the right words.

She sighed, cheeks heating with embarrassment. "No, sorry. It's just … you're not what I expected - as a fighter, I mean. You're different from the others." She shrugged impotently. "Nor - the other fighters are full of themselves and brash, they have a self important attitude and I kind of expected you to be the same." She winced. "Sorry."
“Hey, no– it’s okay!”

Connor almost reached out to assure her that he wasn’t offended, but thought better of the act and held his hands out in submission to his own surprise at her answer. She thought he was a serious pit fighter, or that was what he gathered.

“I didn’t– I’m not a fighter. They just… made me prove myself. I didn’t want them to take Tanner from me. I– didn’t want to kill him.”

Contrary to what she may have expected, Connor seemed wounded. Hurt bled through as he stumbled and choked on the final part of his sentence. It was true– The Soldier didn’t want to kill him, but things don’t always work out that way. Connor retreated back from her a step and cast his eyes sideward in a frown, “I wasn’t there because I wanted to be.”

Chloe's eyes widened as Connor explained an entirely reasonable explanation why he was in the Pit fighting and why he was nothing like the other fighters. She felt ashamed for making the assumption in the first place. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea, I couldn't understand why Tanner was so attached to you, but you weren't around." It made sense now, and she felt foolish for not seeing it before.

"It seems they do the same tactics to everyone who ends up here. Make you a deal you can't refuse." She sighed, looking out of the bar before coming back to Connor. "Well, I'm glad to have met you, the real you and not the you from my head. Let's get you caught up, we'll be opening soon and the crowd here is … rough."

Connor was stricken silent for a moment. Perhaps, he had let his reputation precede him a little too much, and now it had gone to his head. The Soldier gave her a dismissive, uncomfortable smile, “No, it’s okay. You couldn’t have known…”

The man nodded his head in agreement with what she was saying, “I’m glad to put a face to a name as well. You’re pretty…. neat. Sounds good! Run me through what’s up!”

Connor seemed to recover rather quickly from the awkwardness before— a quirk of his prior profession.

Chloe swiftly ran Connor through the tasks of a bar-back, effectively ensuring that the bar was fully stocked throughout service and that glass and barware was collected to be cleaned. Truly not a difficult set of tasks, which Connor aptly performed through the night of service. Hours later, after the rowdy noisy crowd had dissipated and they were closed once again, Chloe surveyed the bar and was rather impressed with its state.

Typically, at this time, the bar was trashed, empty bottles and glasses everywhere, chairs overturned, tables sticky with spilt alcohol. But Connor had kept up with not only keeping her stocked for continuous serving, but also cleaned up through the bar. There was nearly nothing to be done and for the first time in weeks she thought she might get a decent night of sleep.

"Great work." She sighed as she moved away from the door and back towards the bar. "You pick up quickly." She complimented stepping up the bar to lean her elbows on it. "You'll be serving in no time!"

It had been a rough night as the bar was swamped with people either looking to have a good time or drown their sorrows in booze— mostly both. A part of him was saddened by the stories some of the drunken patrons had thrust upon him as he cleared away their empty bottles, tales of desperation and death. A lot of them just wanted to talk about how hopeless they thought the future was. One man grabbed Connor as he walked past, and told him that he decided to fight because of him before breaking into drunken tears.

It was all Connor could do to bury himself in the work and block out those moments. However, the bar was primarily lively with people playing beer bong and making a racket.

Chloe worked with admirable speed and professionalism, easily able to stomach some of the things that twisted at his heart; he surmised it was likely from her job experience.

At the end of the night, Connor was exhausted. The man wore a slick sheen of sweet and concentration, but he also had a satisfied smile, “Thanks, I worked hard. Feels good to finally be doing something again after so long. I don’t know how you’ve kept it up so long by yourself.”

"Necessity, if I'm being honest." Chloe smiled sadly and waved him over to the bar to join her. She slipped around the bar to get back behind it and removed two lowball glasses and set them on the bartop. "I was do this, or work for Temma." She wondered then if she'd said too much but pressed on. She took a bottle of non descript amber liquid from beneath the bar where the glasses had come from and poured two fingers into each.

"I didn't start out here, like most of the people here. Like you, I was brought in. I was holed up in the bar I worked at until I ran out of supplies and then I made a break for it here. I had hoped the place was still under government control, that maybe they could help evacuate me to … somewhere. At worst, I thought maybe the guards would help me." She shook her head, raising the glass to her lips and drinking the liquid in a single take. She hissed, setting it down again. "I did not expect to meet King."

Connor obeyed her beckoning and approached the bar as he watched her set the glasses down. He had nursed himself to sleep on a bottle far too many nights to really enjoy the drink anymore socially— especially after he shot the last woman he took shots with just a few nights later. The liquor wouldn’t taste like anything except cold, sleepless nights and terror. However, as she spoke he knew the drinks were a necessary component to this conversation.

The Soldier didn’t know a soul alive who wanted to be treated like an object for the pleasure of other people.

Connor straightened his posture and maintained a serious eye contact communicative of his deep interest. It was clear she needed to pour out more than just drinks tonight, and she had done a lot for Tanner. Truth be told, something in Connor wanted to know.

She continued on with her story, and Connor felt his throat dry out a bit. It was a common tale that normally ended in the traveler’s death. However, a bittersweet fate had let her live at a price, King.

Connor threw back the drink in one go, liquid courage he would need. A pregnant moment passed before he responded— his fingers clicking restlessly along the countertop, “I… was a soldier. National Guard. My unit got sent to Indianapolis to evacuate citizens— like you. They had us prioritizing people at first, but the chain of command broke down. We tried. Tried to get people out, but…”

The man trailed off for a moment as his eyes walked across a bar seeing a different scene cast upon the shadows of its empty rooms from the very pits of his mind. Connor heard the screams, his ears rang from year-old violence, his skin paled.

“I’m sorry. We should’ve been there…”

Chloe's mouth tasted like ash as Connor depicted what the early days were like for those in the military, or any station. It wasn't new, to her, there were a few other 'veterans', for lack of a better term that frequented the bar. She knew, or at least assumed, where his thoughts went when he paused and stared off into the universe. She'd heard the horror stories and counted herself among the lucky.

Without a word she refilled their glasses, a little fuller this time. Then lifted her glass to sip at the alcohol within, letting the burn in her throat fade away before she spoke. "You have nothing to apologize for. We were -and are- all just here trying to survive. I just worry how much of my soul will be left on the other end of all this." If there is an other end to this … she thought dismally, drinking deeper from her glass.

Connor threw the second one back just as quick– a wistfulness about his features as though a puppet controlled by strings. The burn filled him in places he couldn’t manage to get through on his own, mentally. He carried on in his thoughts for a moment, “You’re a good woman. This place just makes the worst of good people, and as long as you stick to your guns you’ll have some soul left at the end. You’re smart. You’re here– running this bar, and not out there with the rest. Just play your hand and you’ll make it out the other end of this okay. The rest of us… have blood on our hands.”

He thought to North. There was that man he shot for Tanner’s medicine. All those innocents they shot back in Indianapolis. “Contain the infection” they said…

Connor snapped back to them and felt the weight of the atmosphere shift under their feelings, “Hey, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make things like this.”

He cleared the heavy tone from his voice with a grunt.

Chloe flushed at the compliment, looking down at the bar top then at her drink. She swiftly brought it to her lips and downed the rest of it. She didn't know how to take the compliment, she received plenty, but they were easy to pass off. They were from drunk, malicious men (and women) who hadn't seen freedom since long before the dead trapped them here. But this? This was different. She felt her chest bloom with heat and it certainly hadn't been the alcohol warming her through.

She swiftly shook her head, capping the bottle of alcohol with a somber smile. "It wasn't you. It's this place and these people. It's hard to keep everything positive." She shifted her gaze back up to his, feeling her cheeks heat, she didn't doubt the blush was visible. "Anyways," She attempted to soothe the past feeling awkward. "I think we're done here, for tonight. Looks like we're in a good spot for tomorrow."

Chloe collected the empty glasses, setting them with the others that needed to be washed and returned to alcohol beneath the counter top. "Same time tomorrow?"

Connor whirled the glass in a circle as he watched the remnants of the liquor ride along the bottom of the glass. He listened to her speak, and it brought him some comfort to find someone else sensible and vulnerable– willing to be vulnerable. Weston had been a good friend to him. However, getting the man to talk about how he really felt was like pulling teeth.

The Soldier pulled his gaze from the glass and found himself locking eyes with Chloe– her face flushed as they stood staring into each other’s souls. He felt his face burn scarlet as he retaliated with a sheepish smile and a giddy chuckle. Connor cast his glance away from hers before things got too awkward for them, “I guess so…”

Connor surrendered his glass to her, “Yeah, same time tomorrow. I’m… looking forward to it.”

​

 

[Crono]

Lincoln
​

Hughes felt the small movement of Victors touching the wheelchair, the marine glancing at him as he messed with it. A questioning look on his face before turning his attention back to Nari. He'd seen the discomfort on her face after she'd crouched down, his face actively twitching in annoyance at himself. Blake you idiot. He'd known bloody topics weren't something she was comfortable with. But as per usual, his mouth got ahead of his head. It didn't help that after seventeen years in the Marine's and being surrounded by military and military family's, he wasn't very good at the normal small talk. It was part of the reason why he had a difficult time making connections with the typical civilian.

"Sorry Nari." He'd said after she'd spoken to Victor, using her name without the formality this time. "I knew better, and still brought it up." He crossed his arms over his chest with a soft huff as he considered the woman's question. "Some laps around the courtyard, then probably back to the dungeon." The marine shrugged his shoulders. While he was a lot better at walking with the prosthetic these days, he still didn't wander the prison much. Only when it was necessary or he needed information really. Hughes wasn't dumb, he knew if he got on somebody's wrong side he'd have a hard time not ending up on his ass when push came to shove. And he had a tendency to do just that. So he kept to the infirmary area for the most part. Plus he didn't like the looks he got as he roamed on his own. Blake turned to look to Victor to see if he had any other plans.
​

Namazu NanLia​

 

[Namazu]

LINCOLN​

Victor finally looked up from his attempt to play it smooth, frowning as Nari had such an adverse reaction to matters of blood. It struck him a bit odd that at this point anyone could be that squeamish. Just how lucky and sheltered had this woman been, to make this long while still being sick at the mere mention of blood?

Or was it the other way around? Was he too desensitized? Or were Blake and him just poor examples of what was normal? It was hard to say - and it was something he thought about a lot: whether he had changed too much while being trapped here.

“Probably about the same - a few laps to get some fresh air, and then back to the medical wing.” He didn’t call it a dungeon, but the whole prison certainly felt like one.

“Then… more of the usual. Checking on patients. Taking inventory. Reading. Being on hand in case anyone needs me. It sounds as monotonous as you’d expect.” He folded his arms over his knees and sighed, glancing off into the distance across the length of the courtyard.

“Unless someone decides to punch me in the face or threaten me with a knife because they don’t get what they want, most days are pretty much the same.” He should have sounded bitter or angry when he said it, but the only thing in his voice was acceptance. Maybe a bit of defeat, too. It was a bit of a heavy statement to just put out there during casual conversation that it must have sounded bizarre.

“Anything interesting for you, Nari?” He turned his attention back to Nari and Blake, as if he hadn’t said anything even remotely alarming.

NanLia Crono ​

 

[Aegis]

Three Days before the end of the Skip
Northview High​

The sun was beating down on Northview High as mid-morning drew in. The residents of the school were grateful for the running water Nari had successfully engineered. Work didn’t stop for high temperatures, the gardens still needed tending to and the animals still needed feeding.

Minnie hugged a bale of alfalfa to her chest as she shuffled her way into the rabbit pen, pushing the gate open with her side. She hauled the bale into the centre of the pen, tearing chunks out of it and spreading it to avoid any squabbles over lunch. She took an exasperated breath, brushing the strands of straw from her arms as she took a seat on the ground, surrounded by rabbits. Her bandages had been vastly downgraded in the past month. Now, most of her wounds were open to the air, slowly scarring over. The ones that were lagging behind were covered with a simple bandage. Pandora knew her well, there was no way she could be trusted to keep wounds clean while she was working.

She ran the backs of her fingers across the back of one of the male rabbits, separated from the females to prevent any unwanted pregnancies. He was her favourite. Though many of the babies were destined to be fattened up and used for meat, Momo was the father to most of those babies, and that was his role so he would be there for the long-run. She smiled as she scratched him behind the ear.

Tanner had been thrown in here against his will, and every day his spirit seemed to clash against the otherwise kind people surrounding him. Simply put, he had been in a mood ever since he had been ripped away from Connor. The repurposed classrooms of the school would never be as much of a home to him as the cells of the prison as long as Chloe and Connor were still back there, and even less so than the open road he had grown so accustomed to since the Zoms had taken over. The kids here liked him even less than the ones from the prison. Tanner knew they couldn’t understand him because they couldn’t understand the violence you have to embody outside of their safe little community, and for that he didn’t really like them much either. It didn’t help that he got along with some of the Enforcers who had come to replace the guard here, some dudes he had met on the walls of the prison killing Zoms. So, everyone seemed to think he was a Samaritan.

Well, there was one who caught his interest.

She always seemed to shy away from the other kids as well. It seemed her true friends were a couple of the older folks who must’ve already been here before The Samaritans took the place over, and now they were making do just like he was. For better or worse, she had started to become the sole object that took his attention here beyond the sky itself– which he would often gaze at for hours at a time.

Tanner had first spotted her from the roof where he was doing one of his normal sky-staring events and fantasizing about a life where he and Connor made it out of the prison and back out into the wild. She was wandering about carrying food for the rabbits. Now, the rabbit stew here had been delicious and more agreeable than most of the food he had gotten to eat at the prison– save Chloe’s drinks, so he was a little curious how they were kept. The boy watched her go about her duties, but before long he found himself more interested in her tasks. Tanner took a passive interest in her doings whenever he happened to spot her, and there she was again today like clockwork. The other kids had gone to play and the nameless girl had gone to work. Tanner really respected that.

The boy drew in a deep sigh and decided: today was the day he would talk to her.

Tanner crept his way down the floors of the school and over to the rabbit enclosure where he sat in silence for a few moments as she worked. Gosh, he hoped he didn’t look creepy, but he sat there staring at her for a bit as nerves suddenly clutched at his limbs like chains securing him to his position. Sweat began to grease his palms and he started to realize that it was TIME TO ABORT! His face flush with embarrassment, he went to turn away, but in that moment her eyes followed a rabbit’s bound toward him and their eyes caught one another. She couldn’t help but jump as she saw him.

No turning back lest he seem like a serial killer, “UH– hey.”

Time to play it cool! Tanner walked up and clutched the fencing with his fingers as he engaged her in the conversation.

Minnie smiled a little, fidgeting a little. It was just one of the kids the Samaritans had brought back with them. She hadn’t particularly spoken to any of them. She had never been particularly good at talking to people her age. Old people liked her. She was polite, she always smiled, she didn’t argue when she was asked to do things. She never made any trouble, she’d been brought up that way.

“Uhh– Hi,” She responded, lifting a hand to let the bunny beneath it hop away. She hesitated, quickly resting a hand on her arm and awkwardly rubbing it. The news of what had happened had spread around the school pretty quickly, but these kids were new, they hadn’t been there. To them, she was a freak with cuts down her arms and a wonky haircut. Plus, rabbits were cute. It wasn’t abnormal to find the kids staring into the pen. She’d normally wear a long-sleeved top to maintain some form of privacy but now the weather was growing warmer, it was harder to work like that.

She glanced back up at the boy. What the heck was she meant to say now?

Tanner took her in for a moment. She seemed as nervous if not more so than him, and it was clear that something had happened to her as of late. However, he figured the best approach would be to not ask about it until she brought it up herself, “I’ve… uh– been watching, and I notice you take care of the rabbits. I was kind of interested…”

The boy paused for a moment; his fingers gripped the chain of the fence so hard the tips of his fingers were turning red as though he was draining social energy from the metal.

“... in how you did it. I haven’t done much around here, yet. Well, except kill Zoms, but I think that just scares you guys.”
“You kill them?” Minnie piped up, her back straightening. She didn’t particularly show much interest in killing them herself, but she knew her family would likely want to protect her from that kind of thing. She’d killed a couple before, back before she joined the school, but it had been a long time. Even then, that was only as a last resort. He must’ve been tough to have to kill them every day.

“I just have to feed them every morning. We grow this stuff in the garden-” She began, picking up a handful of dried alfalfa, “-then we dry it out and I feed them in the morning and before bed. And I have to clean their pen, too, and make sure none of them look injured or anything.”

“Ah, can you only feed them… alfafafa. Allfallfa? No… Alfalfa. Yes, can you only feed them alfalfa?”

Minnie couldn’t help but laugh as he spoke, the first time she’d properly laughed in a while.
“They can have vegetables, too, but they have lots of sugar in them so it’s not healthy for them,” She explained.

Tanner scratched at the back of his head over the tongue twisting he had just done, but kept pushing forward regardless. She seemed very devoted to them with such a rigid schedule, “You must really love them, then. Taking care of them so much!”

The boy smiled a bit, but felt the energy of the conversation draining somewhat as the starting topic was essentially addressed.

“Uh, do you mind if I come in, and– uh, pet one?”

“Uhhh, yeah, they’re friendly,” She assured him, getting to her feet and brushing some of the shavings off of her trousers. A few of the rabbits dispersed as she moved in an attempt to avoid getting squished, scampering off to their piles of alfalfa. She headed over, opening the gate to let him in. Sure, Tanner was likely capable of opening a gate, but she didn’t want any rabbits slipping through, especially with that thing Cabrera was keeping in the batting cages.

Tanner stepped inside and brushed past her with a smile.

“So, how long have you been here? At the school, I mean.”

“A few months,” She responded simply, mostly because she couldn’t really remember. It had been a while and her memory was patchy at best, especially these last few months, so she wasn’t sure she was capable of doing the maths.

Tanner knelt down next to a pile of Alfalfa and held out his hand, but the rabbits didn’t seem particularly interested in him. Tanner didn’t feed them, watch them, or love them in the same way the girl did. While they weren’t fearful, they didn’t exactly get cuddly. The boy carried out a few more attempts to get their attention for a bit, but he didn’t want to press forward and try to grab one in case they didn’t like that.

Disappointment plain on his features, The Boy called back up to the girl, “So… I’m Tanner.”

Minnie stood back, watching as the rabbits remained weary of the stranger in their pen.
“I’m Minnie,” She told him, “They’ll be more friendly once they get to know you.”

​

 

[Miaow]

SCENE ONE
Northview
Approximately 2 weeks after the takeover
A collab with Bullyboy Squad ​

Xander had made Minnie well aware of the new non-human additions to the school that were waiting for her once she was feeling better. No gardening, lots of bed rest, regular dressing changes... Only if she followed those orders was she allowed to visit the new farm.

That day, she was feeling more energized than she had in weeks. She was back to eating regular meals, including extra helpings of meat to get her red blood cell count, and it seemed to be working. She was out of bed for longer, doing laps of the school, visiting Stan on the roof. She felt great!

Xander had given her the go-ahead. Yes, she could go see the animals, but no touching with her bandaged hand, and she had to wash her good hand with soap afterwards. Her family was busy, however, so she made her way down on her own, her arms still bandaged tightly and hidden under a long-sleeved top. The bruises on her face and body had transformed through what she believed to be all the colours of the rainbow, now settled on a toxic yellow and brown mixture as they entered the last stages of healing.

She passed through people working in the outside courtyard, purposely avoiding their gaze. If it wasn't someone she recognised, she wanted nothing to do with them. She shuffled between them until she made it to the home stretch. Past the batting cages, and...

She paused. There was a familiar gargling of blood and bile in the throat as her steps slowed. Had one of them gotten in? Surely everyone working nearby would have heard it, too, and they didn't see to care. She frowned, taking a slower, more cautious approach.

She found herself in front of the batting cages, staring at the face. That fucking face. She'd wished to never see that face again, yet here he was. Buster had promised he was gone. Gone gone, never coming back. She felt her knees buckle, correcting herself before she could fall. The way his fingers hooked around the bars of the cages, groping at her, made her want to gag. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears.

"I'm sorry." Cabrera's voice was firm but there was a note of apology. He approached the girl from the side. The last memory of Buster visible on the side of his jaw where he got hit on the morning after their raid.

"I know it's a nasty sight." Nate was fucked up. The face maybe same but beat, swollen, and decolored with old bruises surrounded by graying skin.

"If you're sorry then why is he here?" She asked, not taking her eyes off of the monster that stood in front of her. He couldn't be that sorry if he'd kept him around.

"Because he's a reminder for people what will happen next time someone tries to act the way he did."

Minnie frowned, fidgeting with her fists.
"Do it another way."

"I would." He slowly exhaled. "Back in the day I would. But times changed. Most of these men can follow the authority of strength and power but others need fear. To be forced to look at the consequences."

Minnie took a shakey breath. This man was in charge. Misbehaving could be fatal, for her or her family. She swallowed. As the creature clutched onto the mesh of the batting cage, the bitemark she had left on the curve of his thumb was on show. To the untrained eye, it would look like that was the wound that turned him.

"Is he suffering in there?"

"He was suffering when he was fighting for his life and lost the fight. Now he's no longer human and from what I understand he can't feel anything because his nervous system is not working, and he is as mindless as a virus itself." Or so he assumed.

Minnie took a moment to process that comment. Was she... disappointed? Her chest felt tight. Did she want him to suffer? She got to feel everything he had done to her in excruciating detail, but he was numb. She swallowed, her eyes fixated on the monster before her. It was like his arm was barely clinging on as he decomposed, the gashes she had left in his shoulder blade becoming deeper and blacker. She felt bile rising in her throat. She turned on her heel, her steps quick as she walked back towards the main school building.

Cabrera looked back at the girl, his forehead crested with concern. He would help them all. Not coddle. He would help them train for the worst while helping them build the best future for the young ones that they possibly could. Lincoln was the brute muscle of the new society, but Northview could become the little heaven, shaping young humans without constant violence.

​

 

[Crono]

First day of the timeskip - The day after the fight between Kurt/Arthur/Nate
Collab with Bullyboy Squad and Safton
​

Few hours after another small convoy left to do a large run for supplies and drop off the new prisoner - Greg Buster - at Lincoln, Xander was summoned to Cabrera's HQ. They set up a makeshift command center in one of the classrooms that they began filling with useful things like maps and devices. One of them being a radio patched to an antenna that someone installed on the roof come early morning.

Cabrera was discussing the plans with his architect that kept drawing the lines and shapes of the leader's vision in real time. Lunch food sitting next to them nearly untouched.

As Xander entered Ignacio looked up and the local could see the bruise where Buster punched him was already forming.

"Hey." Cabrera spoke in a neutral tone. He didn't come to Xander to punish him or anyone else for Greg's violent disrespect. And it didn't look like he planned to do that now. "Take a seat." He pulled off the table he was propping to, hunched over, and he glanced at the radio station seat.

He walked over himself and snatched the mouthpiece, pressing the button to speak. "Lincoln 9, it's Daddy, do you copy?"

The static crackled in the air before the voice came over. "Lincoln 9 to Daddy, crispy clear."

Cabrera pressed the button again, cutting off the background noise. "Good. Get her here." He looked to Xander and added. "You got five minutes."

He passed the device in his hand to the local leader and walked away. Obviously still in an ear shot when both of them heard Nari's voice flow through the static.

Xander approached the radio slowly, staring at the device as if it was a bomb. He had wanted nothing more than to hear Nari's voice for since the moment she had been taken away from them. But now he found himself struggling to summon the will to sit down and talk, especially with Cabrera looming over his shoulder. The Samaritan still bore a fresh shiner and Xander hadn't needed to be told how he got it... Buster had found his in. Good.

Xander took the mic from Cabrera and it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds in his palm as he finally dropped heavily into the seat. "Nari?" he choked out.

Then he heard her respond to him from the other end: calling out his name, asking if he and the girls were all right. Xander's resolve, the determination to not crumble practically evaporated as he felt his throat tighten. He could hear Nari's voice cracking on the other end. He had so much to tell her -- and hear from her -- and so little time. He was determined to make the best of it.

Five minutes was almost up when one of the enforcers entered the room with handcuffed Kurt in tow. "You wanted to see him, sir?"

Cabrera motioned his head at one of the chairs in the corner. "Sit." And he vaguely moved his hand in the man's direction. "Take those off." Kurt had to understand by now that if he did or said something really out of line he could end up meeting Nate again, but this time with his arms tied back.

Once Kurt was seated Cabrera leaned his butt to the table and crossed his arms, gazing at the man in silence.

Kurt rubbed at his right wrist after the handcuffs were removed, he'd glanced over and saw that Xander was there though handling a radio. Turning back to Cabrera, Kurt hesitated for just a moment before taking the seat offered to him.

"You're walking me around in handcuffs and Arthur's still in that cell." Kurt stated while slumping back into the seat some with a shrug while holding the other man's gaze. "So what's the plan here big guy? You said if we did your dirty work for you we'd be free." Though not in those exact words, not to mention only one person was supposed to walk out of that batting cage.

"No, I said one would be free and that could be you." Even though last time Kurt was the one on the ground. "But not until I make sure you got your steam off last night and know how to play by my rules."

He grabbed the large plate with lunch and set it down on the desk near both of them. It was filled with slices of meat and bread that Samaritans brought and some pieces of the local cheese and vegetables. He picked a chunk of tomato and tossed it to his mouth, savoring the rich flavor. Once they'd build more makeshift glasshouses there would be much more of those gems.

"You're done chief?" He glanced back over shoulder, hearing that the radio went silent. "Join us."

It took Xander a moment to register that Cabrera had spoken to him and longer still to process his words and formulate a response. He had been utterly still, obviously emotionally drained in every sense following his conversation with Nari and had little left in the proverbial tank for verbally sparring with Cabrera and -- if need be -- Kurt.

Still, instead of turning down the offer, he found himself shuffling silently over to the table like one of the undead outside of the School to drop weightily down into the seat. He glanced down at the food, idly wondering how much of this had come from their own stores and if any of their people -- his people -- would be going hungry in order to fill Samaritan bellies or line Samaritan pockets. Under any other circumstances the thought would make him fill a certain way: outrage, maybe. Righteous anger, surely. But right now he just looked and felt... tired.

It made sense, Kurt realized. There was little doubt Cabrera knew about Cox and who was responsible, not to mention his tussle with North. He likely wanted assurances Kurt wouldn't try to take any revenge.

Kurt looked at the plate that was set down, his stomach responded almost immediately. For a moment he thought it might be some sort of test but it didn't stop him from reaching out and grabbing a slice of the meat and taking a bite, savoring the flavor of it in his mouth.

When Xander joined he watched the man, who was silent and seemed drained. Kurt still didn't know exactly what was going on but it wasn't difficult to get the gist that the Samaritan's had occupied the school. He didn't envy Xander's position in the least now.

Kurt swallowed the bite of food and turned his attention back on Cabrera, "I'm not about to forget what happened with Miyu. But I won't lay a hand on your men while they're here if that's what you want to hear. That's if they can keep their hands to themselves." Kurt said plainly a light jab over the Nate situation, then took another bite of the meat.

Cabrera watched the man without showing if any of the words got under his skin. He glanced between the two. "I want you to tell me why I should let you out of the cell." He addressed Kurt before shifting to Xander. "And you tell me why I should keep him locked or supervised."

The question felt like he was back in the real world applying for a job. Kurt grabbed another piece of meat after finishing the first, "Maybe you shouldn't." The man said with a light shrug. Though the thought of going back into the cell wasn't appealing. Not only would there be too many memories of Miyu visiting, but since she was gone it meant he'd be more alone than ever. "But I'm willing to do my part. I'll do whatever shit job you give me." Kurt bit into the food, it was really one of the few things he could offer. Then his eyes settled on Xander wondering what the man would say.

Xander couldn't help but snap back to some sense of alertness as Cabrera addressed he and Kurt both. He was probing for information: making Kurt be his own advocate while Xander played the parole officer. It seemed more than likely that Cabrera had done enough sleuthing to find out what had happened between Kurt, Harry, and the rest of the School prior to the Samaritans' arrival. Was this a legitimate query for input from each man, or a test?

Hard to say. Knowing Cabrera, it was probably a bit of both.

Xander glanced up from his plate where he had done little more than push his food around as Kurt spoke. His response was... pragmatic, as was expected. But it was hardly unfair. Despite the rough patch the man had been through with their community, it was clear that he and Miyu had been close if nothing else. Xander had talked to the man on more than a few occasions while he was detained, determined to see the monster who had nearly murdered Cox.

But that's not what he found. Interrogations eventually led to interviews, which eventually led to some vague resemblance of small talk (even if it was only Xander doing the talking oftentimes). They weren't friends or anything resembling it... and it would be a stretch to say that he trusted the man. And now Kurt's fate lay in his hands.

Feeling four eyes on him, Xander cleared his throat. "He's not worth the resources to guard," he stated, his tone neutral as he met Cabrera's gaze. "We had him under lock & key for a while and he didn't give us any trouble... even when he could have."

Cabrera snatched some more meat from the plate. "Good." He threw it to his mouth and chewed while walking for the table with some makeshift blueprints unfolded over the wooden top. "You're going to earn your stay from now on, Kurt."

He glanced at the guard. "Take him to Angel. They'll pick a job for him."

Then Ignacio tossed a glance to Xander. "Bring that plate here, chief. We got stuff to talk about. We'll make this place big and pretty for your wife's return." He didn't specify when it would happen.

Kurt narrowed his eyes at Cabrera's words. Unable to help but notice a lack of mentioning anything about the particulars or whether he was actually free. Still the conversation closed and the guard was quick to follow the orders and directing him out of the room. Kurt knew he'd find out soon enough.

If nothing else he had more freedom than he had the last few months. What he'd even do with it was a different question entirely.

Xander was mildly surprised that Cabrera took his advice at face value, but frankly that wasn't something he could afford to mull over right now. He watched as the guard stepped forward to guide Kurt from the room, but his eyes immediately snapped back to the Samaritan leader as the man spoke up again.

He somehow knew exactly which buttons to push. Xander didn't bother trying to hide how the mere mention of Nari had gotten his full attention... but he also knew better than to ask when that return would happen. If Cabrera hadn't told him outright, Xander wouldn't be getting the information. He was beginning to understand bits and pieces of how this game was played. And he was willing to play along. For now.

The schoolteacher stood up, jaw clenched, gathering his plate into his hands and shuffling out from his seat to take up one closer to Cabrera at the opposite end of the table. He took a deep breath before muttering, "What did you have in mind?"
​

​

 

[NanLia]

LINCOLN
​

Nari waved off Hughes’s apology. Really, more exposure meant ths was becoming better at reacting, or not reacting, to the thought of blood and gore. She had next to no exposure within the prison. At Northview, she forced herself to help defend and clear the perimeter, even if it made her physically sick to her stomach. The only positive thing she could speak of for being here was that she hadn’t seen the dead in months, save for those that prowled the outer perimeter of the yard, which she’d avoided at all costs.

Both Hughes and Victor mentioned taking a walk around the yard before heading in for the afternoon and the pair seemed close. She wondered if there was something more there… The thought was quickly abandoned as it was neither her business nor her desire to intrude, she was just … bored.

“I think I’ll spend the day out here.” She smiled sadly. “It’s been really quiet in the family ward the last few weeks. I think they moved a bunch of the orphan trends out to the adult wards. I guess they were old enough.” She shrugged, disagreeing but having no place to speak. “Now I just feel weird sitting around watching families with their kids.”

She glanced at Victor, a thought crossing her mind, and her lips parted to speak, to ask a question of him about her own predicament but she quelled the desire. She didn’t know who she could truly trust here and the last thing she wanted was to give Cabrera and the other Samaritans any further ammunition to use against Xander and her home. She forced a smile before standing, brushing off her pant legs. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Crono Namazu​

 

[NanLia]

LINCOLN
​

Chloe groaned as the tiny hammer on her clock banged away on the bells. She reached out in the fog of her sleep, attempting to silence the annoying noise and only succeeding in pinching her fingers between the hammer and bell. She hissed, stuffing the injured digits between her lips and forcing her eyes to open fully before attempting to silence the clock again. She sat on her tiny cot, starting at the second hand as it made its trip around the face of the clock. She wanted to stay in bed, and wanted a day off of ‘work’. She wanted her weekends back, where she could lounge in bed with a coffee and read, and snooze until she felt like getting up.

She inhaled deeply and set the clock back down, drawing back the thin sheets and forcing herself up.

* * *​

Within a few minutes she was up and dressed, her small ‘home’ little more than cardboard walls erected in the back of the backroom of the bar but it was hers and had been since she’d been put in charge of the bar under King's command.

She glanced back at her tiny cot mournfully before shifting the false wall aside and slipping out she gathered a few items she could recall they needed the night before from the storage room before heading out to the bar proper. She knew Connor would be arriving soon and wanted to be ready for the day.

Chloe found a coffee waiting for her on the bartop, the little styrofoam cup with a plastic lid. She smiled slowly, believing that maybe Connor had arrived early and dropped it off, gone to get breakfast for them both - something he’d done in the past. She set aside the bottle she collected and grabbed up the cup, flipping the lid and drinking deeply. She closed her eyes and savored the taste but when she opened them again she noted the little folded paper where the cup had been - it must have been left beneath it.

She frowned as she opened the paper and read what had been scrawled across it. Suddenly the coffee tasted sour in her mouth. She swiftly stuffed the scrap into the remaining liquid and disposed of both in the trashcan. The last thing she needed was anyone seeing the note and cursing whoever had left it there! If Connor had found it …

Aegis​

 

[Aegis]

LINCOLN
Chloe's Bar​

The monotone click of the hand of an alarm clock was the only sound that echoed in the chambers of Lincoln this early in the morning-- save the occasional snore or the scuff of shoes as people made their nighttime routines known. They had lulled The Soldier into a pseudo-hypnosis that rendered him both concious, but consumed in destructive thought. Connor hadn't slept. Not a wink. He sat on his cot in the refurbished cell staring across at the little impression Tanner had made in his cot after the few months they had shared this room together. Now, that same cot was a cold spot in the room as if possessed by a specter of grief and sorrow that dug its parasitic teeth in the man's spirit and will. It drained him slow leaving his eyes darker and more somber with each passing day.

Sleep was the one thing anyone had to themselves around here-- much like the Army. Sleep was your private time. Sleep was your control. Sleep was your world unbound from expectation.

In the end, his expectations haunted him. Connor spent the days working, the evenings hitting the gym, and his nights contemplating where he went wrong. Even as his body screamed for the release of rest he sat hunched on the lip of his cot with an unbreaking gaze upon Tanner's still-jumbled blanket as if he was going to come back from the bathroom at any moment now, but-- of course, he wouldn't.

The Prison had stabbed into his veins and was slowing draining his soul like the drip of blood into an IV bag.

The one saving grace of this situation was Chloe. Her smile-- her laugh, they would take the edge off on the worst days, but a dull pain is still pain nonetheless. The Soldier just couldn't find the right time to communicate and he hoped she hadn't noticed his withdrawal too much. After all, he hadn't gotten her coffee in a while, hadn't been there to greet her with scavenged snacks, hadn't stayed after to talk to her for more than a couple minutes.

It had only been a few days, yet it followed him like a lifetime of misery.

Connor was but the hands on an alarm clock: marching forward in an endless endurance of time until one day he finally stopped. He was but the passing of moments. A measure of the here and now. The clock rang out, and Connor smashed it into a silence that signaled the time had come to pull himself from the edge of the cot and get to work. It was lucky the Army had taught him that so many years ago...

* * *​

Connor cut through the last hallway leading up to Chloe's Bar. His eyes bagged and darkened with the brutal reality of sleepless nights spent agonizing. His gaze was grim and hostile as he bumped past a few of the people in his way, but none of them seemed to challenge his mood. The Man stumbled up to the corner and propped himself from the wall; his head had been spinning ever since he stood up and he felt his eyes roll a couple times. Connor pressed on. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Finally, Connor made it to the door.

The Soldier pushed it open with a twist of the handle and the press of his entire forearm across the center. Connor couldn't muster the energy to press with his arms, so it left him with no choice but to lay his weight into it which left him stumbling through the doorway and into the center of the bar. It looked like Chloe had just throw something away as his weary countenance finally raised his neck from floor to eye level, "Mornin'..."

She seemed bothered. Face pale. It was only like this when something serious had happened. Connor had seen her brush off threats and promises like it was nothing from some of the patrons, but sometimes things seemed to eat at her in the most random moments-- like now.

"Everything alright?"

NanLia​

 

[Namazu]

&

FLASHBACK - JUST BEFORE THE END OF THE TIME SKIP
Collaboration between Namazu and Bullyboy Squad ​

Toni descended the stairs into the depths of the prison. His footsteps echoing off the cold, hard walls that seemed to loom over him. The air was thick with the scent of mold and wet concrete, the odor clinging to his clothes and filling his lungs with each breath. The eerie silence accelerated his pulse and he flinched as the faint lights clicked on. Illuminating the center of the boiler room.

Just a stupid basement. Ridiculous.

The air grew thick with the smell of fuel and oil as he neared the bottom of the steps. He could hear the gentle drone of machinery in the distance, like a soft and steady hum. Vega stopped in the middle of the large space and scanned the area. To get a good idea about the place before meeting whoever he was designated to talk to.

The midsized room was dominated by the boiler and other similar necessary machinery that had kept the prison running, before the biters and now, at a standard that was... if not comfortable, at least up to code. Most of them, anyway. The yellowed lights hanging from the ceiling cast most of their light into the center of the room, where one would feasibly need the most light for any work to be done here. Unfortunately, that meant the corners of the room were left to the shadows.

For a short but agonizing amount of time, the room was quiet save for the hum-and-clunk of the boiler. Something somewhere turned on, ran for a few seconds, and turned off again. All the usual sounds, but nothing giving away any sign of any other person being down here.

Not until there was a soft click of a pistol being readied from a shadowy corner behind Toni. With all the other humming noises down here, it would be easy to miss. So would the glint of something metallic as it caught the light.

What was far more noticeable, though, was the voice that followed as someone stepped out of the shadows.

"I didn't know you had your license for working on boilers, Vega." The voice behind Toni drawled out quietly.

Toni didn't know what it was that rose hair on the nape of his neck. But he could nearly feel something watching him. Boring into him, dissecting. Fuck.

Toni spun around at the sound of the voice, his heart racing as he reached for the gun. The piece came free in a smooth, learnt motion, but he never raised it to aim. He lowered the Glock slowly, muttering "Chingado…" Meeting the man's eyes he put the gun back and curved his mouth in a sly smile that didn't make it to his eyes.

"Ain't the boilers whatchu come here for, jefe." He shrugged his upper body like a boxer readying for a fight, facing the man. "Waiting for someone special?" He cocked his head like a dog, flanking the man like he did that on instinct.

Weston kept the weapon in his hand - not his usual semi-automatic handgun either, but that cursed gun that King had given him months ago - but he didn't aim it at Toni.

"C'mon now, you know I don't speak Spanish." Weston grinned, leaning casually against a cool-to-the-touch tank next to the boiler with one shoulder, opposite of the hand that held his weapon.

"Maybe I'm the one down here to do some work, hrm?" He studied Toni, taking measure of the man. "Maybe I need someone to do some work around here. Something difficult."

The tatted-up Latino didn't take his eyes off the man and the gun. He walked back like an anxious dog waiting for an opening to snap his jaws, unsure what to think.

"May-Be." He spat the word like a curse. His upper spine crooked forth a notch like he was perpetually ready for a scuffle. Was Weston there because he got a tip from a rat? Or was Second in Command really as crazy-ass as those pendejos Toni was working with? The Latino stopped in front of the man, right before Weston. His big, brown eyes betrayed nothing other than cool calculation and a glint of curiosity. He reeked natural confidence but his heart beat faster.

"Want me to suck yo pito or something?" He said it like it was nothing fun yet nothing terrible either. Just a task. Like many he had to do in prison to survive back in the day when he was locked up as the only Mara Salvatrucha member in his unit.

"What'emma get for the difficult job, boss?" His heavy accent coated or distorted half of his English words.

Weston chuckled at Toni's question about sucking him off. "That's what we got the whorehouse for, remember? Though, be careful what you say around the meat. They have a habit of talking to King." There was malice in the way he referred to Temma's whores as meat, a certain sharpness that betrayed maybe more emotion than he'd otherwise want to let on.

"No, I had something else in mind for you. It might take awhile, but you'll get your reward. How does freedom sound?"

Toni was smart around the hookers, treating them just as what they were. Entertainment. But he snatched and filed away the way the man spoke about the whorehouse. Interesting.

Toni leaned his side to the piece of equipment the other was propped against. Balancing on the edge of Weston's personal space. Face twisted in a smirk. "I'm hungry." He spoke in the thick, ghetto twang. "So how 'bout a seat at the table instead?" Someone would have to run the place once King was done. A Council maybe? Toni didn't know much about politics but he wanted in.

"Ah, sitting at the adult's table instead of the kid's table, huh? What makes you think you'd be useful?" Weston looked Toni up and down again, watching the way he moved - crawling around like a hungry animal, not like a rational man. Weston could use this.

Toni licked his teeth, scanning man's face. "You."

"What does that mean?" Weston raised an eyebrow, not having expected that answer. He expected grandstanding and dick-swinging.

Toni sneered and pulled away from the machine, standing in an easy stance. "You want me." He blatantly stated.

"Whatever the difficult job", he mimicked quotes with inked fingers, "I am yo cholo." He tilted head to the side. "You need me now, you gonna need me later, no? And I am done with scraps."

Rubbing his fingers through his beard, Weston thought on it a moment, then gave Toni a shrug-nod. The inked man did have a point. And, if he died in the process? Oh well.

"Fine. You want a job? I want you to head to that high school, and be my eyes and ears. Keep tabs on what's going on. Everything that is going on. Who's really in charge, what goes on day to day, what the morale is, headcounts, who gets along, who can't fucking stand each other, everything. Even what Cabrera is doing with all his time out there. If someone so much as takes a shit, I want to be informed of it. I don't care how you do it, but there are two conditions. One, don't kill or hurt anyone at that high school if you can help it. Especially kids."

He paused a moment, studying Toni's face, letting the quiet hum of the boiler fill the room.

"Two, don't kill Cabrera. He's mine."

High School? Was that the shit Cabrera set off for? That fucking… it sounded pretty fucking hard to pull off. Toni licked his teeth again and hummed in response. Processing. Thinking.

"Ye want me to just watch that town but don't fuck with the people?" An easy task... maybe. And Cabrera was off limits. So he had to be smart about it all. Toni wasn't the type to bend under pressure. Unless bending over was beneficial enough.

"Oh yeah? Whatchu gonna do with 'em?"

"None of your fucking business what I'm going to do with this information, or those people. If you have to kill someone to keep your cover from being blown, do it. Just not Cabrera. Do what you need to do to get it done." Weston scowled. "If you're not smart enough to figure this one out, I can always find someone else. There are plenty of hungry assholes ready for something more than scraps."

Toni's eyes narrowed, cresting the double teardrop tattoo at the edge of his eye. His face contracting into a mixture of arrogance and defiance.

"Ain't nothin easy in this life, no? But I'll get it done, ese. Cabrera is all yours, ain't gonna mess with that shit. But this stunt? I pull it off and I'm yo mano." He offered his ink covered hand to seal the deal.

"An equal." The devil horns on his chin stretched with a wide smirk.

Relieved that Toni wasn't going to ask more questions - at least right now - Weston took the tattooed man's hand and give it a quick, firm shake. "A deal's a deal." He grinned back. "Let me know if you need anything for this. I'll find a way to get it to you without raising suspicions."

Toni's lean hand squeezed Weston's for a moment too long when the man tried to retract his. There was something hiding in the Latino's doe gaze. A promise of competing his side of the deal and a promise of violence if it was to be broken by the other. But soon Toni let go and rolled his shoulders like he was flexing and shrugging at the same time. "Will do. Just gotta get on the next convoy. Shouldn't be a problem."

"Good man. I don't think I need to repeat myself when this conversation doesn't leave this room. If-" Weston stopped, whipping his gaze towards the doorway as he heard something. He paused for a moment, holding up one hand to Toni in a motion to be quiet.

There it was again - the sound of a footstep on stairs. They had to act fast, and there was no way they could simply leave the room.

"Follow my lead." He grabbed Toni by the shoulder and shoved him up against the boiler, forgetting to think about the fact its tank might be hot. Standing right in front of Toni, he forced the man down onto his knees. "Sorry. Just play along." He whispered quietly, reaching down to quickly unbutton and unzip his jeans. He didn't move to whip out any body parts though, he just stood there frozen, waiting.

Barely a moment later, the door opened with a quiet click. One of the enforcers - a low level nobody that Weston couldn't remember the name of - stepped through, weapon in one hand and flashlight in the other. A bit carelessly, the enforcer took a few steps into the room.

"A little goddamn privacy here, man?" Weston called out first before leaning to the side to poke his head around the side of the boiler. He had one hand on Toni's head, the other still hanging on to his unbuttoned jeans. Confused, the enforcer took another step forward before looking down at Toni.

"Oh. Uh. Oh. S-Sorry boss." The enforcer awkwardly stuttered, taking a quick step back.

Toni grunted as his lean frame hit the scorching pipe of the boiler. He hissed at the heat searing through the thin fabric of his tank top, recoiling and bumping to Weston who was suddenly in his personal space.

The younger man's gaze darted to meet the superior's eyes. His instinct was to grab the knife tucked in his waistband, tension crackled in the air between them. But instead his body went into automatic mode, playing along.

The pressure of Weston's hand on his shoulder triggered a flicker of a memory. He dropped to his knees, once more feeling the grit of the concrete floor beneath him. The sting of cold metal cuffs on his wrists. The sickly-sweet stench of cheap beer mixed with sweat and semen. His mind raced back to that dark room, the men who surrounded him like vultures, the hands that pawed at him, the voice that commanded him. He could feel the weight of their bodies on top of his, back then smaller frame, hear the sound of their labored breathing, and taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

Yet, it was nothing but a flicker.

Toni grabbed Weston's hand when the man was unzipping and he put it at the back of his tattooed skull like an invitation as he leaned in close.

The moment he heard the surprised enforcer, the inked Latino sharply pulled away from the older male, coughing and panting like he just sprinted a mile. His gaze drifted up to meet his fellow's as he loudly spat aside. Blend of anger and shame twisting his expression.

As soon as Toni leaned away - to his credit doing a very convincing act - Weston turned a bit and mimicked the motion of tucking himself back into his pants, audibly zipping up his jeans for the sake of the enforcer. Wiping his hands on the back of his jeans, he stepped out from behind the boiler more fully, making sure that pistol was tucked securely under his belt.

He looked the enforcer up and down, giving him one of his signature death-scowls.

"Investigating a noise, huh? Yeah, you didn't see anything down here. Just a pipe rattling." He idly rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand before stepping into the enforcer's personal space. Weston was slightly taller than the other man, so he leaned down just a bit to meet the man eye to eye.

"Got it?"

The enforcer quickly nodded his head, mumbled an apology, and scrambled his way out the room and back up the stairs. Once the guy was gone, Weston exhaled, moving back to where Toni was and offering him a hand up.

"Sorry, I couldn't think of anything else."

Toni didn't take Weston's hand, getting up swiftly from the floor as soon as it was safe to drop the act. "Bullshit." He brushed off his baggy pants like they were a part of an expensive suit, avoiding the others' gaze for a second until he looked up. Trying to shake off the residual sensations. Masking any trace of vulnerability with a hint of humor in his tone. "You just like playing it rough, aye."

Despite his nonchalant behavior, Toni's heart was still racing. He knew he couldn't risk getting his rep fucked over by toxic gossip.

"Whatever. Doesn't matter." Weston uncomfortably avoided answering that question, only looking at Toni briefly before looking away and at the closed door. This was awkward for Weston too, but admittedly Toni was probably put in a worse position here.

"What matters is nobody got shot, and that fucker ain't going to say anything about what he saw. Not if he knows what's good for him. Besides, who hasn't snuck off to some corner for a quickie of some kind?"

Toni straightened up, studying the man's face. He caught the discomfort and chuckled at the words. "He ain't gonna talk." If he would, someone would later find the guy with a slit throat.

Passing Weston, Toni's bare arm brushed against man's side. "I ain't never here." He drawled and headed for the stairs.

​