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

[Safton]

LINCOLN
Cabrera's room early morning after the fire

[TW: implied SA]

Collab Post with NanLia and Bullyboy Squad

​

Nari watched, unable to look away, as Cabrera pinned Xander to the bed. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she reached behind herself, grasping for Haewon and Minnie, trying to keep them away from the violence they were about to witness. Minnies pleading whispers pierced her heart; she wanted nothing more than to do what she asked, to make it stop.

Her body jerked as Cabrera turned his attention to her, adrenaline fought against fear; she wanted to run but to where? Where would she go trapped inside the prison? There was only one way to be certain the girls were safe, as certain as she could be under the circumstances: to comply. She went to him, in stiff shuffling steps sitting on the edge of the bed. Nari couldn’t stop a sob from escaping her lips as Cabrera ordered her to strip Xander, then herself.

She couldn’t do it right away, turning to watch Cabrera as he stalked toward their daughters, her chest tight, waiting.

Only when it was clear he was sending them off did she turn away, not wanting to see the look in the girl's eyes as they left. Nari turned slightly toward Xander, leaning down enough to grasp the hem of the shirt she’d given him only hours ago and tug it up over his head after he lifted his arms.

Xander’s restraint had faltered as Cabrera wrapped his meaty fingers around Nari’s chin, forcing her to turn and face him. The fact that he didn’t stop there, but went on to threaten Minnie and Haewon – in more ways than one – had the rage boiling up inside him, forcing him to briefly reconsider his stance on restraint.

He would endure any number of abuses and depravities if it meant keeping his girls safe. He had been more than willing to do so when the Samaritans had first arrived in force at Northview and that fact hadn’t changed in the slightest ever since. But everyone had a line in the sand… and for Xander it was the idea of watching Ignacio lay a hand on his family. Weak or not, half-dead or not, there were some fates worse than provoking Cabrera’s rage and the likely beating that would come with it. One of them was sitting idly by while his girls were threatened, bullied, or… taken advantage of.

It was Haewon who stepped up, saving herself and her sister – and possibly Xander, too – from what might happen next. As she led Minnie out, Xander had kept his eyes on his girls, giving them the smallest of nods just before the door shut. Then he turned toward Nari, repeating the gesture before lifting his arms as much as he could, jaw clenching against the pain as she stripped the shirt from his torso. He continued to help her, silently moving his body this way and that so that she could more easily remove the mismatched articles of clothing. With Haewon and Minnie gone, he was far beyond and concerns of modesty or privacy… his wife and Cabrera had both seen him at his most vulnerable.

Cabrera swung the door shut behind the girls and the thud boomed in the empty bedroom. He snapped the lock in place and was about to turn to the two on the bed when he remembered. Fucking camera. He was keeping that shit off but he turned it on before his departure. So it was giving feed to whoever was on the other side. Fuck! Hopefully nobody was there due to this whole mess that was the fire a few hours earlier.

Ignacio hastily approached the thing and hopped on an armchair before reaching up to the device by the ceiling, ripping the cables out of it. He jumped back to the floor, feeling goddamn heavy, tired. But he didn’t let them see it, straightening up and marching in their direction. “Stop undressing him, woman. Do I look like I want to fuck this mess.” He vaguely gestured at Xander's face.

Angry and frustrated he stopped before the two of them and yanked his gun from the drop leg holster. “Give me your hand.” He said to Nari and didn’t wait long, grabbing her hand if he had to. “Hold it.” He placed the grip of his pistol in her palm. “Hold it two hands and aim it at his head.”

Nari thought briefly that Cabrera would end the torturous onslaught when he ordered her to stop stripping Xander. It had been a show, right? For the girls, to keep them in line, to stop their rebelling. She’d toed the line, she’d done as he’d asked and had done everything she could to keep her family in line. What else could he want from her?

Her blood ran cold as he demanded her hand, placing the cool steel in her palm and ordering her to aim the weapon at her husband. The second he released her hand it sunk, the pistol too heavy to hold, too much for her to handle. “Please-” She started and then gagged, her free hand rising to cover her mouth.

The thought of handling the weapon alone had been horrific months before when Xander had first taught her to shoot the airsoft rifles she’d modified. Clearing the dead at the fences had always made her physically ill; this was too much. She dropped the pistol, the metal clattering to the floor noisily. A second hand joined the first and she rose from the bed, a desperate need to get to the bathroom.

Cabrera snatched Nari’s arm and shoved her ass back to bed. “You don’t get to excuse yourself. You gonna throw up? You do it here and you clean afterwards.” He snarled.

“You two think it’s a game. You think you can play pretend? It’s not a fucking game! She’s mine now. She made sure to seal her fate the moment she said it’s my kid.” He gestured at her stomach and continued whether she was sick or not.

“Next time one of you as much as speaks to one another,” he looked at Xander, “I’m going to shoot you in the head, man. I’m not fucking around. This is not a dick measuring contest. This is not me trying to intimidate you. This is a simple fact. And I want both of you to understand it.” He shifted back to Nari, staring intently. “Next time you two communicate? Next time I see it or worse, hear about it? I’m shooting Xander. And the blood will be on your hands, girl.”

He pulled away from them, leaving them on the bed as he turned to the bathroom. He slowed down on his way only to snatch a bottle from the bar. “Once I’m out?” He uncupped it and took a long long drag before exhaling sharply, glad for the bite in his throat and nose. “You better be gone, man.” He disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him.

​

​

 

[Namazu]

THE MEETING
Lincoln Prison - The MS13 Cell Block​

If Weston Samuel Jones Senior had been at Lincoln to see what was happening tonight under a sliver of a crescent moon, to see what his son was doing in this cell block run by a gang that looked and spoke very differently than he did, he would have had a lot of harsh words for his boy. Weston Samuel Jones Junior knew exactly what all those words would be, and none of them would be good. They’d start with ‘coward’ and ‘moron’, then devolve into words that Senior had often abused Junior with when he was younger. Senior would have something to say about Junior carrying on with all the men he’d been carrying on with (even if he did care about them, in some fucked up way). Something to say about all this sneaking around behind people’s backs (even if it was necessary for the greater good). And he’d definitely have something to say about the fact that, at least for a little while, Junior called a black man ‘boss’ (even if for a time it was the best choice out of a number of bad choices). Not because of what Marcus King did as a person, no sir - only because of what he looked like.

Fact was, Weston Samuel Jones Junior came from bad blood who would give no shits how many people King ruined. But today, Weston - the junior of the pair, the one verifiably alive, present, responsible, and somehow with some power in his hands - had Goddamn enough of being from the kind of bad blood that let evil perpetuate. The previously never-ending parade of that little voice in his head that had constantly been calling him horrid names, over and over again, was going to get silenced.

‘Coward, coward, coward’ was getting replaced with ‘I’m not letting this go any further’.

Weston hadn’t been a praying man for years. Oh sure, he went through the motions around his old man when he needed to so that he didn’t get the belt. But had he really said a word to God or Jesus or whoever the hell was listening? Not in a long, long time. Until now, that is.

Forgive the ones that I tried to trust, even if I shouldn’t have trusted them.

Weston sat on a metal lunch table in the middle of MS13’s empty cell block, facing the entryway with his back to the table. Elbows on his knees, fingers laced together as he leaned forward.

We didn’t have any hope here, but we were trying real hard to find it. Just a little bit of it. A little hope, a little happiness, something to hang our hats on, even if just for a night.

With unfocused eyes, he was staring in the direction of a dried bloodstain on the cement floor. Bloodied, like everything else in this prison, stained so badly no amount of scrubbing was getting rid of it. Tilting his head slightly to the side, he traced the outline of the bloodstain with his eyes.

People say you know everything, see everything. But by now, I’m convinced you don’t feel anything. Why? Because if you actually felt every ounce of suffering from every human on this planet, you would have destroyed yourself a long time ago.

It was bigger than the stain Valerie had left on the floor of his quarters - killed in a moment of anger that she might weaken his position. Smaller than the bloodstain Kenny left on the makeshift hangman’s platform they built in the pit - killed to make an example out of him.

Maybe you’re choosing to destroy us instead. Did you decide you couldn’t take it anymore?

Significantly smaller than the bloodstain Andrew left in the pit - killed because he was a threat, because every word out of his mouth was true. The Samaritans were monsters and poison.

Forgive the ones that didn’t have a choice.

Looking at his hands, Weston silently counted how many people had died at his hands, fingers moving slightly as he counted off in his head. When he got to ten, he restarted on his left thumb. He stopped at thirteen. If he counted his failure to save Dave - a death that may or may not be on his hands, that would be fourteen. Number fourteen was counted on his ring finger. Maybe in another life, another timeline, that ring finger wouldn’t have been counting off Dave’s death but would have been embraced by a wedding band instead. Weston wavered at fourteen, racking his brain and trying to remember. He knew there were more, but he wasn’t coming up with names. Hell, he was barely coming up with faces. Weston had lost count, and realized he couldn’t remember anymore how many people he’d killed. If that didn’t make him a monster too, he didn’t know what did.

Forgive everyone who is going to walk into this room, but not me. I’ll accept it if their blood is on my hands too.

When Weston heard the door at the entrance to the cell block squeak open, he sat up straighter, running a hand down his face and over his beard, then rubbed at the knees of his faded jeans. He was wearing one of his favorite t-shirts - the one with the hole in the side, where he was shot so many months ago. He never did get around to patching it. It felt fitting.

I’m only going to ask you for one thing. Just one thing, I promise. I won’t even beg for this to work, because it’s on me to make it work, not you.

The prison was damn cold, so he had a zip-front hoodie on over his shirt, but kept it unzipped. He’d been fiddling with a thread on the sleeve earlier in the day, distracted by the fact the hoodie was a dark woodland camo print. He smiled a bit as he stared at it, feeling Dave’s warm dog tags against his skin under his shirt.

When this goes tits up and I die, just please - put me in the same place Dave is. Heaven, hell, limbo, Bermuda. Whatever and wherever it is, I don’t care. That's all I ask.

As people started to file into the previously-empty cell block, Weston looked each of them in the eyes, nodding at them in acknowledgment. He waited a few minutes, letting people spread out how they wanted, taking seats at the other tables or finding a spot to lean. When Weston checked his watch, the face reading five after midnight, he cleared his throat and spoke.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet here tonight. I appreciate the fact you’re all here sticking your neck out for this.” Weston drew in a breath, making eye contact with everyone again. He wanted to memorize faces, since he wasn’t sure who was going to live through this.

“We’re going turkey hunting.”

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

 

[Crono]

On the road
Literally on the road. Almost within sight of The Refuge.
​

The white Toyota pickup truck weaved through the roads of a bygone time. A lot was cleared, Hughes suspected on purpose. But there were still plenty of obstacles in the roadways. It had been hours since their small group had departed the prison in the single vehicle, and they were almost there. Within the cab was the refuge leader Wren, who was occasionally giving him directions to the Refuge itself. As well as the pregnant Nari, and her adopted daughter Minnie. As well as Sapphire, someone Blake doesn't really know. "We're almost there right?" He asked glancing at Wren who'd been giving directions the whole way and had said the Refuge was just ahead, aware of Nari's discomfort and the need to use the bathroom more frequently due to the pregnancy. They'd had to make a few stops along the way, mostly for the sake of Nari's bladder. Blake was sat in the drivers seat, one hand on the steering wheel. His body had been tense and he'd been white-knuckling it for most of the drive. The Marine glanced at the rear view mirror a moment, checking on those in the bed of the truck. Four armed men that were sent along with them, Hughes couldn't help but be wary, despite the fact that they were Samaritan's. Briefly Hughes wondered if he had to worry about any of them, but if Ignacio had sent them with Nari he had to imagine they were to be more along the lines of 'trusted' guys. Still, Hughes didn't trust them himself, hence why he sent them to do grunt work.


It had been a long time since he'd been behind the wheel of a vehicle, and when he'd gotten into the drivers seat of the truck back at the prison he'd broken out in a cold sweat at first while waiting for the others. A quick and hard reminder of the day he'd come across the Samaritan's had slapped him in the face, a day that had been months ago but suddenly felt like yesterday. But Blake couldn't back out so he'd grit his teeth, put whatever Marine training he'd had in the past to ignore the distractions and focus on the mission, and it worked for the most part, he'd steadied out. And each time they'd stopped, he'd been quick to exit the vehicle and take a breath.

However now, after hours of driving he wanted out. Needed it, a moment to breathe again. For this trip to be done. And as the truck lurched over a hill and the sun glared into his eyes through the dirty windshield, the man winced, shielding them with his free hand. A sudden pop of the front tires caused the marine to stiffen uncontrollably as the vehicle shook from being driven on the sudden loss of tire pressure, for just a moment he was back inside the overturned truck, battered and broken. Someone's voice within the cab brought him back and he slowed the truck to a stop. Blake put it in park and slipped out of the truck. Wiping some beads of sweat from his forehead he stepped out of the truck, still getting his bearings. "Check the other tire." Hughes said through the open window to Wren. He heard the passenger door open and noticed Wren doing the same on his side.

After one deep breath the former marine looked towards the back of the truck where the other men were looking around the cab to see what was going on. "Spread out and keep an eye out." Hughes words came out like orders, it was second nature to him. Though the men all looked at him with some glares and a little resentment. Blake wasn't interested in any dead wandering up on them. The Marine brushed it off, moving to look at the tire. Crouching down he saw the slice in it, he'd likely ran over something sharp in the road full of hazards. Though as the man inspected the hole in the rubber he noticed it was a little too clean. As Blake's mouth opened to ask Wren about the other front tire he felt the familiar feeling of a barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head and the marine froze. Internally cursing himself for not checking his surroundings despite his discomfort in the truck, he knew better.

Miaow NanLia Not Meat Good_Morels​

 

[NanLia]

LINCOLN
Bar & Club​

Nights like this made Chole feel every bit her age. Older, in fact. Her feet throbbed with every step, her back had ached so long it was just a constant hum of heat behind her hips. She was weary to the soul and there was no sign of rest to come.

People had been staying in the bar and club later, drinking more; more often, more heavily. Closing time used to be kept up with strict adherence but with the ongoing problems around the prison, whispers of rebellion, of harder crackdowns. People went missing in the night. It was getting hard to separate the truth from the exaggerations. Chole had learned early on that people weren’t lying about the rumours they heard. Rarely did she come across a piece of information that was entirely false. Over-embellished? Certainly, but even those had a grain of truth to them.

Three days ago she’d been informed, in no uncertain terms, that the elite decided when the club and bar were closed for the evening. The interaction had left her frightened, truly terrified since the first time she had stepped foot inside the prison and had her ‘interview’ with King.

Now a handful lounged on a leather couch, listening to music so loud it ached her teeth. They called for more beer and shots, to be served, over and over again. Chole obeyed, not as though there was any other option. Everyone else had left and it was only them and her. She knew King’s protection still kept her safe, safe enough to be alone with the drunk men and no worry about them deciding that more entertainment was due, but that didn’t stop them from making suggestions on how she could better serve their next shot or the occasional roaming hand.

That all ended when Connor slipped in … or tried to.

He only ever arrived in the dead of night; partly because his house was just as long as her own and because he didn’t want people to know they were a thing. He worried they’d use her against him, hold her as leverage and she knew he wasn’t wrong to think it. When he stepped in, dressed in his casual wear, the chatting and laughing had stopped. The elites watched him, wary and curious until he cleared his throat and picked up a bucket. As Connor started moving from table to table clearing off empty bottles and wiping up spills, the elites went back to drinking. His ruse had worked; they believed he was just showing up for a shift and didn’t give him another glance.

After the elites had left she and Connor abandoned the remaining work behind the bar in favour of retreating to her cramped room tucked away in the storage area behind the bar. Chole all but collapsed onto her small cot and watched as Connor, the dedicated man that he was, moved around in the small space doing her nightly routine: he turned off the storage lights and turned on the strings of Christmas lights, lit a lavender scented candle he’d gifted her not long ago. And then man, as though he hadn’t spent an entire day working his shift and then pretending to work another with her, knelt beside the cot carefully unlaced her shoes, and set them beside his own followed by helping her out of the sticky, booze-soaked clothes and into a pair of clean boxers and a t-shirt; both his, of course.

Chole let the big man tuck her into bed without any protest, knowing very well if this had been a different reality she’d never have given in to being pampered. She’d once been fiercely independent and now the thought of existing without Connor was just a dark void; something that would never happen.

She felt the tension in her body slowly seep away as Conner wrapped himself around her, like a protective blanket, being her big spoon. She smiled to herself, happy to stay just as they were and needing nothing else. She could always tell when Connor started to drift to sleep; the weight of his arm over her became heavier, and his warm breath slowed on the back of her neck.

She closed her eyes and whispered into the night. “I love you.”

Aegis ​

 

[Namazu]

THE CELLS
Lincoln - Victor's Cell​

Eleven short scratches marred the cement surface on the second-to-the-bottom block of the right-hand side of Victor’s cell. Six feet by nine feet in size, cement floor and walls, no windows, a solid door with only a view window and a slot to pass through food or objects. Both only opened from the outside. There was nothing inside the cell save for a metal toilet fully secured to the wall and floor in every possible way, and a very narrow cot. The cot’s metal frame was bolted to the floor and wall. The mattress on it was thin, lumpy, dirty, musty, and it made Victor’s skin itch the first night he laid on it.

Victor had taken to sleeping on the cold floor instead.

One cement block above Victor’s attempt at timekeeping was marred with additional marks. Victor counted them once. Thirty-seven lines. Victor had no idea who had been in the cell before him. Chances are, they are dead now. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to spend thirty-seven days in a solitary confinement cell. He already couldn’t stand it, and he’d only been in here for eleven. He thought, anyway, he wasn’t fully sure he’d counted right. He added a mark every time he was brought dinner… but he was so hungry, he was getting the sense they were “forgetting” some days.

That’s exactly how he felt right now as he lay in the corner of his cell, back to the wall, using his arm as a pillow: Hungry.

His stomach was empty and sore. His throat and tongue were dry. His mouth tasted sour. He badly needed a cigarette. He reeked of sweat and general body odor. His skin itched. The bruises on his body were tender. His left wrist was sprained, but thankfully not broken. There was dried blood clinging to his face from his nose. They’d left him nothing to wear but his boxers. He was always cold. The only way he could stop shivering was to get up and move around. The first day or two he did jumping jacks and paced in his cell, but he pretty quickly ran out of energy to do that. Especially after he was beaten.

So, instead, Victor laid there and shivered.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he cried on what he thought was his third day in the cell. Or was it the fourth? Yes, it was true he knew what could happen if he were caught, if the plan went sideways. Intellectually, he was prepared. Or at least, he thought he was. Honestly, a big part of him just assumed he wouldn’t fail. He’d never failed at anything else before in his life - why would he fail now?

All because of a fucking child. Tanner.

As it turns out, he wasn’t prepared. Not at all. He wasn’t prepared to be interrogated or beaten or threatened, and he definitely wasn’t prepared to hear that Blake was going to be at risk too. But despite all that, Victor kept his mouth shut and stuck to his story.

Doing inventory. Run of the mill doctor things. Nothing suspicious. No idea who the rebels were. How could he? All he did was stick to the infirmary. The sick and injured didn’t talk much. He hadn’t heard rumors. Nobody made any deathbed confessions. Sedatives? Just reorganizing the shelf. The fire was hit to their supplies, with all the injured, he had to keep on top of what they had and didn’t have. With scavengers always out looking for food, medical supplies were getting bumped down the list of necessities to look for.

Victor didn’t ask about any of his patients. He didn’t want to give the Samaritans any reason to think any of the patients were in on anything at all, so he had to assume Pandora and the old woman were dealing with things in his absence. There was only one person he asked about: Blake.

It was the other thing he wasn’t proud of doing: He begged. It just sort of… came out, a little against his will, between punches stronger than he’d ever felt before, while he was sobbing and gasping and bleeding.

Please let me see Blake.

The cold, overwhelming horror that he was probably going to die here had snuck up on him, somewhere between being kicked in the stomach hard enough to make him vomit and having his wrist stomped on. It was terrifying. The human mind wasn’t meant to try and comprehend what death was like. The pain of the process of dying aside - which was plenty enough to fear by itself - but what happened afterwards? Would he just… cease to exist? Was it like sleep? But people only knew what sleep was like because they dreamed and then woke up to find time had passed. What happened when there were no dreams, and no waking up?

The fear of the afterlife hit him next. A lapsed Catholic at best, one who couldn’t keep attending church because he couldn’t stand the hypocrisy, the cover-ups, and the sins of his supposed betters, Victor didn’t really know what awaited him. Would he go to hell because he’d spent his Sundays sleeping in and watching football instead of sitting in a pew? Would the fact he found solace in Blake’s arms doom him?

Maybe. But could he honestly say he’d do anything differently? No.

Currently, Victor’s mind was on Blake again. The Samaritans had let Blake visit him once. One single time. It wasn’t enough, really, but it was something to hang on to. The visit felt too short and it killed him all over again when Blake was forced to leave. He could see it in the look on the other man’s face. Neither of them were sure if there would be a second visit.

Closing his eyes, paying no attention to the dark wet spots his tears left on the floor, Victor curled up and tried to think about Blake. Anything to keep the fear out of his mind - and to keep out the image of Tanner sneering at him.

Victor swore he’d get that little motherfucker once he got out, and make sure nobody found the brat’s body.

Victor was interrupted from his wandering thoughts of loneliness, fear, and revenge by the sound of footsteps outside his cell. He drew in a breath and held it, eyes snapping open to stare at the door.

Crono Bullyboy Squad ​

 

[NanLia]

SCAVENGERS
Flashback​

Neveah followed behind Denise at a crawl, keeping her distance from the other woman. If Denise were to get caught, Nev would have enough time to scramble back into hiding. At least that had been the hope but every time she took a step forward Jade was on her heels, stepping on the back of her worn-through sneakers. It consumed every ounce of her patience not to knock the girl on her ass and make her wait, leaving her as bait for the truck of yokels she was convinced would be returning.

She paused a few feet back from the door as Denise swung it open, straining to hear any sort of movement on the inside. The fact that it was just unlocked and open was not a great relief; if it had been closed and boarded up then she’d have a better idea of what to expect. People leaving their shit unlocked meant they either didn’t expect anyone to steal it, or they were worried about it getting stolen.

Neveah rolled her eyes and snorted in the back of her throat at Denise’s dramatics and let the woman wander into the darkness first - at least if she was shot she wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore. She turned to glare at Jade, pointing to the wall and waiting for the girl to get it. The last thing she needed was getting tripped up because the new kid was scared.

With Jade in place, she slid up closer to the door and waited for what she thought was a full minute before slipping into the doorway behind where Denise had gone, but slower - she couldn't tell where Denise had gone but slowly and cautiously moved toward the centre of the building, following the sound.

“Jesus Christ. Come here!”

Neveah paused, hearing Denise yell but not moving right away, listening for any other noise or voices. When she heard nothing she jogged toward where she’d heard the call from from. She better not be dragging me into shit…

She kept her head on a swivel, searching down aisles as she travelled forward for anyone else who might be present and ready to spring a trap. As she arrived at the front of the store she skidded to a halt, taking in the scene. At least now they knew where the screams had come from, what those fuckers in the truck were up to. Lips parted to comment when the second corpse spoke.

“Oh fuck.”

“For fucks sake.” She hissed, staring at the man as he stared back at them. There was near silence for several seconds, only growling moans of the chained dead and the occasional sneaker sole squeeze from somewhere else in the store; Jade attempting and failing to sneak to where they were.

The biter was swiftly growing in volume and Neveah shook her head. “You get him, I’ll deal with this one.”

She clicked the safety back on her pistol and slipped it behind her back tucked into the waist of her jeans. Nev slowly approached the dead man; he was still tied down but his limps were coming loose at the joints and it would only be a matter of time before he was free enough to move away from the cash-out.

Neveah stopped a short distance away and reached into her pocket, taking out her butterfly blade and flipping it open. If there was one thing she could be thankful for being an Enforcer at the prison … former enforcer, she had practiced dispatching the biters. This one was fresh, fresher than most that were free and wandering. Killing the brain would be harder to do because it hadn’t started to decay fully.

No, She thought. Not through the temple. Neveah crouched down in front of the biter. It growled, leaning forward in its restraints snapping at her. She chuckled softly, reaching up and grasping a fistful of the biter's hair, and swiftly brought her blade up beneath his down, through its throat, the length of the handle making it easy to push it far enough until it pierced the brain.

The biter sagged, silent and she sighed. The kill was hardly satisfying. She pulled the blade out and started to wipe it clean on the dead man's shirt, listening to Jade gagging and retching behind her.

Namazu Bullyboy Squad ​

 

[kaileaf]

THE MEETING
Lincoln Prison - The MS13 Cell Block
​

Maren strolled into the dreary cell block behind the other attendees, hands tucked into the worn pockets of her baggy cargo pants. Her appearance was largely uninterested, though she returned a small nod to Weston as his eyes met her's. It's tough to say if she necessarily respected the man. Truly, it was nothing all that personal, considering that Maren hardly respected anyone. If it was any consolation, she'd decided he was a decent enough person to follow for the time being, and a hell of a good means to an end. That was the most anyone would be getting from her.

The screech of steel scraping against concrete could be heard as Maren pulled up a chair. She chose one near the back of the room to lean back in with her arms crossed and her eyebrows furrowed a tad in what looked to be semi-annoyed waiting, reminiscent of a teenage boy slacking off in class.

Her demeanor remained constant as she listened to the big man speak. Even if it didn't seem like it, she was paying close attention. Figured it was important if she gave the slightest damn about what was about to go down.

Turkey hunting, huh?

Sounded interesting. Maren shifted in her seat, kicking one leg up so the side of her boot rested atop her knee. The smell of oil and exhaust infiltrated her mind, and right away she knew a way for her to be useful. "I'll fuck with their machines," She offered, lazily raising her hand in the air, not even outstretching her fingers all the way. It sounded more like a statement than a suggestion because let's be honest, of course she was going to fuck with the machines. If they were going hunting, they'd want their prey to be still, no? Besides, she couldn't deny that it would be a fun task. Most of the time, her job was to spruce up vehicles and get them back on the road. She enjoyed it well enough, seeing she'd been doing it for the past eighteen years, but it would surely be a treat to loosen up a few valves.
NanLia Namazu Bullyboy Squad Miaow Tool

 

[Aegis]

Lincoln
Chole's Bar​

Nights like this made Connor feel out of his depth. His mind teetered between the primal call of sleep and the scream of his heart to see Chole again; The Man's head bobbing up and down as he sat just around the corner from the bar in the shadows of the prison's dim halls. Lately, he'd needed to wait later and later until he got a chance to slip into the bar--Chole had let him know of the changes to the closing, and tonight was one of those that tested his very soul. He pulled his knees close to his chest and rested his chin atop them as his own warmth, insufficient as it was against the cold of the concrete, did its best to usher him to rest. Yet, every time the door to the bar swung open it gave him a jolt of energy that snapped his eyes open and every time that he peeked around the corner there was a distinct lack of Chole standing at the door to flip the sign to closed. Every time, tonight.

The first few nights were doable, but his patience was wearing sorely thin with each passing night of waiting.

The few hours they spent together at night were one of his few points of solace since any hope of reconciliation with Tanner had been dashed when he turned Victor over. Connor knew with a growing certainty when he looked at the Boy smile that whatever was left of the child he knew was long gone or too far buried. What was left was his failings as a parental figure and the whispers of the Samaritans; that guilt ate him when he had a quiet moment to himself. A moment like this. Right now.

Connor let out a silent groan that only served to deepen the creases of the frown in his face, and he spun around the to check on the door despite no signs of it having opened again and the continuation of the loud music blaring from within--not even good music. The Man crawled up the wall as his legs beckoned him back down, and he set off down the hallway with a delirious frustration in his eyes. However, he only made it a few steps before his judgement took hold again. Connor's eyes fell to his wrist where the watch of his father would normally rest--a thing he did without thinking many times, but where that had gone he didn't know. By his best guess, he had to be up in a few hours, and this was beginning to look like one of those nights where he'd sleep in his cell alone. What would he go in and say? 'Hey, fuck off I wanna spend a night with my girlfriend!'? That would go well given the typical patrons, surely.

The last of his wishes for the night blew away with a sigh as he went to turn away, but just then a few more people stepped out of the bar for the night. Hope. Desire. Connor hurried toward the door almost certain that those had to be the last of the party-goers. As he burst in, Chole was standing there before him. A smile crept upon his face as her presence burned away all the dark thoughts and a lack of sleep, but her face was one of mostly surprise as both their eyes followed over to the few 'guests' still in the corner. Their merriment had been interrupted by a face they were puzzled to see in here so late if at all. Despite his want to rush to Chole, Connor began to bus tables. It was something that he had plenty of experience with from his first few weeks here, so it wasn't unnatural to him and it was a necessity to keep up their cover.

----

After the bar had closed, the two scurried off into the back room--weary from long days that were to become longer even still. Chole collapsed into their bed without much of a word, but she didn't need to say anything. She gave him strength to do many things and a few more chores was certainly within that reservoir she had delivered him. Lights, candles, a change of clothes, comfort. Connor was as gentle as he could be moving about the room and in the care of his love, "Looks like you had quite the party today."

The joke drew a chuckle from himself as he peeled the beer-soaked clothes from her and replaced them with some clean ones from his drawer. Secretly, he snuck them into his hamper and he'd do hers before she had any ideas to stop him from chipping away at her daily tasks like that. It was no bother. It wasn't. Connor, in all that he was, belonged to Chole, and in his mind the least he could do was flip some switches and wash some clothes.

Stripping himself, Connor crawled into bed and the smooth warmth of her skin immediately sapped the tension from his muscles as he nuzzled into her. She smelled like beer, hard work, and dusty wood. It was a bar smell, a Chole smell. He didn't mind at all as he planted a kiss on the back of her head before letting sleep finally drag him under without even the energy for a 'goodnight'.

'I love you.'

Connor's eyes snapped open as his heart stopped--her words might've killed him. His breath caught into a low squeak as he stared into her blonde hair, and his lips drew into a smile. That was the first time those words were exchanged between the two of them. He knew, of course, that he loved her more than anyone in this world, but he had never known when was a good time to vocalize it, "I love you too. So much. You're my whole world behind these bars, Chole. I live for you. I'd die for you."

NanLia​

 

[Tool]

The Meeting
Lincoln Prison - The MS13 Cell Block​

Madison hated her body.

Getting here had been the most humiliating hour-and-a-half she'd spent in months, and that very much included being on the receiving end of innumerable sponge baths by brusque nurses who would really rather have been doing nearly anything else. Rolling around prison halls in a wheelchair would have raised too many questions, to say nothing of the NOISE. So, Madison had to walk. Ish.

Heavy on the ish.

Her body lived and did its best to contain her, but sympathy for its pains had slowly turned into aggravation, and then outright spite. Handy emotion, spite. Kissing cousin to anger and didn't THAT have a permanent place lodged at the base of her spine..... Still, Madison made it here and without attracting undue attention, despite the complicated scar on her face, the one functioning eye, and her slow, careful walk that leaned on things to propel herself forwards. Thankfully, Madison was a cop and accustomed to remaining unseen, when the occasion called for it.

As she walked, she realized she'd walked through the tarnished, battered world all her life, living and breathing her job until the separation between the two became as flimsy as wet onion paper. The longer she walked, the less of HER there remained, the more she would distill into nothing more that rage that walked, rage that bled, rage that breathed until it didn't. This was her soul and the world, unwinding. This was her heart in the stinging winter air.

Her feet were bare against the concrete, and the numbness didn't make walking any easier.

The Doc had been there, and then he wasn't. Just like Minnie. Just...... gone. The Doc was probably dead. Minnie had been taken...... somewhere. Two more who cried out for vengeance and asked with tearful voices not to let this happen to anyone else. No, Madison could no more turn away from what had to be done than she could will the world back into a state of grace.

The inkblot of her eye caught Weston's gaze and she gave him a single nod of understanding before making her way to a table. Madison couldn't help a sigh of relief as her ass kissed bench, and as soon as the exhalation passed her lips, she clenched her fists, desperately wanting to BEAT her body into shape but knowing that was irrational.

Weston had finally decided to hunt turkeys.

He thanked everybody.

A girl in the back Madison didn't know spoke up and declared that she'd fuck with Samaritan machines. Vehicles, presumably. In Madison's opinion, that was a tactic that had some worth...... but not guerilla style. Picking off a fighting force that numbered in the hundreds a handful at a time was only going to draw attention, get people tortured and killed. It would have been different if the rebels were out THERE, in the world, and able to do this at range so suspicions wouldn't have a VERY limited number of people on which to fall.

Besides...... as far as Madison knew, no one among the rebels had taken up the moral authority to look at that vast gradient that stretched from innocence to perverse villainy and FIND the line that separated the two so they'd know who needed to die. No matter how much people pontificated about shades of grey, waxed poetic about nobody being ALL good or ALL bad, Madison had enough practice with monsters to know there WAS a line. It was in that wide swath of moral grey in which she herself stumbled..... but dig hard enough and it was there. If she'd known who comprised the Samaritans, Madison might have felt comfortable taking on that burden onto herself...... but as it was, who among the Samaritans were just trying to survive? Who among them were victims themselves, or following along to keep loved ones and families safe?

Fuck if she knew.

With some effort, she unclenched her fists and put more attention into listening.

Ever since she'd encountered the biker gang after being on her own for so, so, so long, Madison could only remember a single human being who'd followed her advice, and that conversation had more to do with personal forgiveness than practicality. Madison was too out of the loop, and anyway, she wasn't about to kid herself; she was probably scrambled enough that she'd probably lost some mental acuity with that bullet. So, here and now, for once in her life, Madison kept her opinions to herself.

Here was hoping Weston had a plan.

Midnight dug its claws into the woman's arms, and miles and miles of road showed clear in the dark of her eyes.


@ Bullyboy Squad @ NanLia @ Miaow @ kaileaf Namazu

​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

LINCOLN
The Meeting
​

Toni was ready. His entire block was prepared for the special evening event. Even now when people trickled in, his crew was spread out along the route and at the entrance, keeping watch. They reported over the radio, informing him who was arriving and alerting him if they spotted anyone who shouldn’t be there. Toni’s life taught him to always be one step ahead, especially when you were gambling with the goddamn devil.

He stood with his butt propped to one of the tables, his arms crossed. White wife beater exposed his toned, inked up skin. It was tucked on the front with a heavy pistol nestled into the waistband of his baggy jeans. Its grip on the display above the fabric's frayed edge. Large buckle of a leather belt and the blue-white bandana wrapped around his forehead matched his trademark look. Even after the outbreak he used to stick to his gang’s colors.

Toni watched the woman walking on stitches enter their space and he let out a light laugher, tossing a glance to Weston. “Your Frankenstein girlfriend is here.” He had his doubts about the stray that Weston brought home one day. He vaguely remembered her from Northview but who the fuck was she? He didn’t know, Weston wasn’t exactly chatty these days outside of talking business anyways... But the boss said he knew her, so that had to be good enough. Even if she looked like she could drop dead at a moment’s notice.

Chole and her soldier weren’t there. Toni knew she was King’s loyal bitch for a while, gathering intel for him. Now she was with them. One of the heathens. But she couldn’t join them tonight to not draw too much attention—she was working nights. It was already a whole fucking ordeal to arrange the meeting the way everybody’s presence would make sense. MS13 had special kinds of entertainment available for anyone. For a price. Special kinds of hookers and drugs, shit like that.

As Weston kicked off the evening with his welcoming speech, Toni’s sharp eyes roamed the crowd. The mechanic chick was quick to talk. Ballsy. Fucking up their vehicles was one way to go about it. Or more like, one of the many things they’d need to do, coordinate, and incorporate in the same time frame. Lotta moving parts. Lotta opportunities to miss something. To fuck up.

“Black is back.” Toni commented about the Samaritan Quartermaster. A son of the elite. His mother was dead but apparently she taught him well. He was part of the natural breed of men in power despite young age. One raised deep into it all. Just like Toni. Even if their lives were drastically different.
“His mother owed me. So he won’t ask questions if now and then I toss a few more numbers than usual. Ammo. Guns. I can get us some shit. Hide it old school style.” His lips curled into a crooked smirk. Back in his prison days inmates could be very creative when it came to contraband.

Laughter erupted among his men as one joked in Spanish about slipping firearms between Neveah's legs because she could take any barrel bore. Toni chuckled and gave his ex-girlfriend a glance but soon he focused his gaze on the two young people at the back, Theo and Haewon. Motioning his head at the girl, he drawled.

"Yo, where's your Mamma eh? Heard she's been cookin' up something tight before she pops with Cabrera’s bastard.” He heard rumors, he was pretty sure the kid could have been King’s.

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

 

[NanLia]

ON THE ROAD


Nari was on fire. Or at least she felt that way; every bump, every swerve, every single slightest movement sent agonizing jolts of pain through her body in every direction. The trip was taking longer than it was supposed to, most of it had been because of her. It had started as mild discomfort, and adjusting how she sat and where she leaned helped, but something changed somewhere around the one-hour mark. The baby shifted and then there was no stopping the discomfort that burned inside her belly.

She was desperate to relieve herself, suddenly and urgently. She was so grateful that Hughes was with her, that he was in charge of this trip; had it been anyone else she might have had the courage to ask for help, to ask to pull over.

The first few stops she’d done her best to try and hold out as much as possible but twice she nearly didn’t make it out of the truck. And then she’d attempted to find any kind of privacy but that led to one of the guards or even Hughes following her behind a building or wall. After the third stop, she’d given up trying to find somewhere out of sight and simply found the easiest place to go, using her jacket to keep herself descent.

She was thankful she hadn’t heard any of the men comment on her or their stopping frequency. These men were different from the Enforcers at the prison; though she was still trying to understand why. Cabrera had selected them personally and she vowed to discover why.

When she wasn’t focused on the constant need to relieve herself or the shocks of pain from sitting still for too long, she was occupied with consoling Minnie. The last few days had been a whirlwind of change for her and their broken family. The incident after the fire, what she and her sister had witnessed in Cabrera’s apartment, and then she’d been removed from the kitchen to work with her and Haewon and the other engineers and mechanics at keeping the prison’s upkeep.


She had to admit Minnie had accepted that fate far better than Nari would have thought she would, but she suspected that being closer to her older sister was comfort enough. Then the news about being sent to the Reserve with Nari and without Haewon. Even Nari had protested, the first actual argument with Cabrera she’d had since the High School. She’d fought not to leave at all - despite the fact that he believed she was in danger staying ta the prison didn’t change that she didn’t want to be separated from her family again!

Much to her surprise, Cabrera hadn’t threatened her, hadn’t gotten into her face and attempted to intimidate her, instead he’d relented, and he gave her Minnie. His argument for keeping Haewon had been plausible: The prison was falling apart and they needed all the hands they could and Haewon had been a quick study and excelled at learning the trade.

The first part of the trip Minnie was subdued, quiet and crying cuddled against her side. Eventually the girl’s curiosity broke her solemness and she asked about the Reserve. They chatted, hypothesized of what it might be. Maybe a farm, or a ranch. Maybe they even had horses. This seemed to perk her up a bit, the idea of open air and fields and the possibility of more animals besides Momo in her lap.

As the truck jerked to a stop, Nari was already unclipping her belt; she might not have the urge to go desperately but she wouldn’t miss the opportunity to at least try. If she had success they could hopefully make it the rest of the way without stopping again.

“Stay in the truck.” She told Minnie, opening the door and stepping out, dropping the few feet to the ground. “I’ll be right back.”




​

Miaow Crono Not Meat Good_Morels ​

 

[NanLia]

LINCOLN
The Meeting​

Neveah leaned against the bars of a cell near where the tables had been set up like a fucking podium for a political governor. Like he was here on some godforsaken campaign searching for votes. The choice of block had been a curious one, set up by Toni for everyone to convene here. Why he would stick his neck out like this was a mystery but she knew Toni well enough to know he was working on something.

At least there were only trusted Enforcers that came near this cellblock, those on their payroll. She’d seen their gang spread out through the corridors keeping watch; they needed to, after what happened not long ago, when that fucking I'm uncultured had shanked her guards and slipped away. She’d searched for Dutchess that night when their people were killed then rose to take down more of their people, all the way back to the elite rooms but by the time she’d caught up to the biker bitch her dumbfuck Enforcer baby daddy had arrived.

Since then Neveah had been keeping tabs on her but the scavenger lead was smart enough to never be alone. She’d even tried to get onto a scav team with Dutchess but she hadn’t left: She’d given marching orders to the rest of them and then went back to do whatever the fuck she did all day.

Weston started his show as predicted; thanking people for showing up. It made her want to gag but she held it in and did her best to look pleased. Not a talent she was very good at and she had to keep reminding herself to take the sour look off her face. Fucking turkey hunting? She couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. Why did men always think they needed to make up stupid analogies? Everyone here knew why they were here, even if it was never spoken aloud, it didn’t change shit.

She regarded the woman that spoke first, a new mechanic from what she’d learned, but not much else. Of course, the suggestion was to fuck up the machines, but did they think long-term? Never. Taking out a machine, like the generator, meant no lights for any of them, no heat, no running water. They weren’t planning on leaving this place standing.

Neveah knew who Black was, or at least who his mama had been before she passed; she was thankful to learn she was in Toni’s back pocket. This meant that supplies could be skewed in their favour, the rebels and the MS13 in particular. Her hard work out in the field would finally pay off.

She sneered at the hyenas standing behind Toni, tough as fuck until they were out of his shadow, then they didn’t have shit to say to her straight up. “Chupamela.” She waved them off, dismissing the idiots.

Namazu ​

 

[NanLia]

LINCOLN
The Cellblock
TW - VIOLENCE, BLOOD
​

Aurelio stood, looking down at the man who had once been an Enforcer at the prison. A frown settled on his features as the thought crossed his mind; he supposed the man was still an Enforcer, technically, though he would never work in that position again… and probably wouldn’t ever leave these cells.

As the man moaned in pain he turned in the cell and stepped up to the sink, turning on the water to clean the blood from his hands and from under his nails. One of the guards tapped on the door.

“Father- “ The guard paused, audible gagged before clearing his throat and trying again. “Father,” Elio didn’t look up from the sink as he lathered soap, it turned pink before he rinsed it off with lukewarm water. “I think we should get him a doctor.” The guard hesitated. “Unless…”

Elio straightened, turned off the water and took the grey-stained towel from the basin. He looked back at the man as he whimpered on his cot. “You know,” Elio spoke finally, glancing back at the guard. “I think he was telling the truth.”

“The truth?” The guard spoke, though sounded as though he only did so to avoid making Father Aurelio upset.

Elio nodded. “Hmm, yes, the truth. He wasn’t the Enforcer on duty when that family disappeared. The one with the truck and supplies, which means the information we got was bad.”

“How do you know?”

Elio glanced back at the guard, surprised by the question. “Most men, in my experience tell the truth once you’ve broken every bone in their hands; but even the toughest ones talk after their first kneecap is split.” He shrugged. “He didn’t change a syllable, the entire time. He wasn’t on duty.”

The guard shuffled beside him and audibly swallowed. “So … his teeth?”

“Hm?” Elio looked back down at the enforcer on his cot. “Oh, his teeth. Well, that was for me.” He smiled, turning to hand the damp towel to the guard as he meandered out of the cell. “It isn’t often I get free reign around here. Sadly, my only instructions were to keep him alive.”

Behind him, the guard followed and the cell door whined closed. “Now, a doctor then. I do believe there is one nearby…”

A few cells over the solid steel door was swung open and Elio smiled pleasantly to Victor as he sat up on his cot. “Good evening, Doctor Braaten.” He held his hands behind his back, clasped gently together. He made no effort to step inside the cell. “How are you this evening? I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Namazu ​

 

[Good_Morels]

FLASHBACK
On The Road​

Wren was practically shaking with excitement as he recognized more and more of his surroundings. It was a complicated feeling, considering the rebellion back at Lincoln and the fact he was still as much of a prisoner as when he left, but he couldn’t stand to focus on those aspects. He was going home. Not forever, he couldn’t stay until the Samaritan threat was completely gone, but it was a start. A great start. As soon as he got some privacy he could explain things to his people, they could start preparing for freedom, to fight back against their abusers. The reserve was small, but they were strong, with their help the rebellion couldn’t fail. At the very least, they could come to the reserve and start fresh, stronger, and able to defend their home. That was the concept, anyway.

He glanced at the girls through the rear view mirror as they drove, occasionally piping up with various aspects of The Reserve, but trying to hold his tongue and be respectful. They were losing a home just as much as he was getting his back. This wasn’t a joyous moment for them, and that was ok. They’d feel better soon, he was certain of it. They were safe, it was just a matter of time until they could get Haewon back and things would be good.

The pop of the front tires shot through him like a bullet as a heavy sort of dread sank over him. The Reserve was careful to keep the road free of debris, they didn’t need supply runs often but they knew as well as anyone the value of tires. He tried to force the thought away, but no matter how many excuses he came up with, it only rang louder in his skull.

They’re dead. They’re all dead.

He did as he was asked and got out of the car almost automatically. There was no sound. Even if The Reserve had died, nature wouldn't have cared. The insects would buzz, lizards and squirrels would stir up the leaf litter, anything, something would make a sound. He crouched by the tire to investigate with his hands while he looked around.

"Something's wrong-" He managed to announce before he felt metal against the back of his head.

A part of him felt so incredibly stupid for trusting Cabrera. Of course this was a set up, they didn't need him once they got close enough to find their way there.
He glanced into the car at Sapph and tried to will her to cover Minnie's eyes as he slowly stood up with his hands raised. He scanned the car with frightened confusion as he realized Nari wasn't there.

"Cabrera won't be happy if you kill me in front of his wife" He hissed, his voice dripping with venom. The voice behind him jabbed the gun harder against his skull.

"I don't give a shit what your boss thinks." A masculine voice behind him that sounded a little too forced snapped before grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. Before Wren could really evaluate what that meant, there was a series of gunshots and shouting.

On the other side of the truck, enforcers were shooting blindly at the trees. One of the four was already a headless corpse on the ground. Another screamed as an arrow buried itself in his eye socket, then the third took an arrow through his throat. The fourth finally dropped his weapon as a man in a ghillie suit came up behind him and held a knife to his throat. The man pressed Wren roughly against the truck and secured his hands with zip-ties as his companions did the same to Hughes, the other man being almost immediately thrown to the ground in front of the truck with a pistol pointed at him. Wren couldn't speak until two others opened the doors to the truck and grabbed at Sapphire and Minnie, at which point he began struggling again.

"She's just a kid! She's a kid leave her alone!" He shouted while he thrashed. The man behind him grabbed the back of his shirt collar and pulled him to the ground, granting Wren the chance to see his attacker. He stilled when he did. He couldn't be any older than sixteen, with messy blonde hair that poked out from the hood of his camouflage, hollow cheeks, and wide, terrified blue eyes. Somebody shouted to wait as the kid squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. Before he could pull the trigger, a hand grabbed his wrist and yanked it, sending the bullet into the dirt a few inches away. Wren flinched and curled away from the sound as the man gripping the boy's wrist stared at him.

"What the fuck, Al? You said to shoot if they fight back!" The kid exclaimed indignantly, tears welling up in his eyes. The man, a tan, muscular bearded fellow, wrenched the gun from his hands and knelt by Wren, a single scarred hand delicately brushing the hair from his face. Wren responded by rearing up and biting him, which sent a whole new wave of tension through the camouflaged men before the ma, Al apparently, raised his hand and called out. "He's not dead, he's not... Jesus, Wendellen, I.." He started laughing before pulling him into a hug that made Wren freeze as stiff as a board.

"Gonzales?" He asked, his voice sounding more like a frightened child looking for a parent than the broken leader he'd left him as. Alvaro Gonzales held him tighter as the boy standing over them started to cry in earnest, looking at his hands like he'd just killed a baby bird. Alvaro squeezed him one more time before helping him to his feet and cutting the zip-ties loose.

"Who's with you and who isn't?" Al asked before clapping a hand around Wren's shoulder and tugging him close once more. Wren didn't hesitate to explain.

"All of the women are, both adults and the little girl, they're innocent." He paused as he looked at Hughes, then looked away, trying to hide his guilt. "The men with the guns from the back of the truck are my captors. The man up at the front there is our driver, I don't know if he can be trusted. Things are... complicated." He settled on. The men in the ghillie suits immediately quit their rough treatment of Minnie and Sapphire, instead glancing towards the back of the truck and then covering both of their eyes with their hands while the one holding the pistol at Hughes dragged him back to his feet. There was another gunshot from behind the truck , followed by a thud.

Wren did not feel as bad as he thought he should have. Alvaro smiled sincerely before addressing his men.

"Right, dump the bodies in the woods and get the girls and the driver to the carts, don't rough them up anymore than you already have. The girls can get a cabin, put the man in the cages." He barked in a tone like a military sergeant before turning back to Wren.

"Welcome home, Walker."

Crono NanLia
Not Meat
Miaow ​

 

[silverwhere]

Black's Back
Outside in the Loading Bay
far, far away from the secret meeting​

Hatsu had planned to sleep during the ride back, but the driver lovingly jolted him awake when he plowed through a pothole. After that, there was no going back to sleep. The last thing he wanted to do was stay up and help unload the truckloads of supplies he and his team had finally managed to bring back. He doubted anyone was thrilled, but they had not come this far just to let someone else handle the job.

They had spent the last months sifting through an entire warehouse, separating the usable from the expired, the needed from the unwanted, and the trash from the treasure. Then, he made an inventory of what was there and his estimates of how long the supplies could last on a good day. Occasionally, Hatsu sent teams on the three-hour drive back to the prison, delivering crucial supplies like food and water-- especially after the acquisition of the high school. More people meant more mouths to feed, translating into more work for him. As the one responsible for organizing and distributing supplies, it was his job to ensure everyone got what they needed and, if they were lucky, a few of the things they wanted.

It took time and effort to adapt to the ever-changing situation, notably when he received the news that more children had been transferred to the school (may God grant Cabrera the patience of a parent of fifty or so kids), shifting their focus to securing childcare goods.

Imagine his pure joy and excitement when he learned that a horde had overrun the high school, leading to the project's abandonment and rendering most of his work a waste. Hatsu had high hopes that Cabrera could manage it, but apparently, those hopes were misplaced. Word on the street was that the whole incident was an assassination attempt, and he couldn't decide if he would be more or less frustrated if the attempt was successful and Cabrera died. At least then, all the wasted supplies wouldn't have been lost for nothing. Either way, it wouldn't change that they still had more mouths to feed (albeit a few less).

Now they were back home, and Hatsu finally saw what a mess the prison was becoming. As they rolled in, he noticed the red spray-painted "NO MORE KINGS" right by the entrance. Seriously? They could at least have made it something worth looking at by drawing a picture next to the propaganda-- it would have brought more attention and made it an actual piece of art. Regardless, Hatsu doubted King appreciated the "artwork" and was certain the man wasn't pleased.

The longer he thought about it, the more it seemed like things were on the brink of boiling over. Wasn't it just yesterday when the kitchen supply closet burnt to a crisp, adding more to his plate? He could only hope that the damage was minor, but it was clear that tensions were rising and something was bound to break. New arrivals had no allegiance to King; some were brave (or dumb) enough to test the waters. He hoped that none of the more senior residents were part of recent incidents, but he wouldn't be surprised if they were. Even loyal dogs can bite.

Before the truck could be put into park, Hatsu had already unlocked the door and climbed out, eager to escape the seatbelt and the cramped cab.

He hated road trips now more than ever.

He wouldn't return to the warehouse unless absolutely necessary. He trusted his team to handle the rest, bringing supplies back to avoid overwhelming the community with new resources all at once.

"Alright," Hatsu said, straight to business. "Let's just put things in their general area. We'll worry about organizing things properly tomorrow morning when we have more hands on deck."

The faster they finished, the sooner he could finally get to bed.

Bullyboy Squad (Mentioned)​

 

[Namazu]

FLASHBACK - THE SCAVENGERS
Somewhere in Ohio​

Denise was thankful Neveah didn’t bitch about this situation, or proclaim they should just kill both men. Orders still stood, regardless of how some people felt about having more mouths to feed: Bring back food, ammo, medical supplies, information, and - if useful and compliant - people. The Enforcers were the ones with more bloody marching orders.

And this kid? He sure looked compliant and non-threatening. Kind of a skinny nerd, actually, but ballsy for not crying his eyes out yet.

“Yeah,” she breathed out as Neveah volunteered to take care of the biter. Holstering her gun after a hesitant look-over of the other bound (and living) man, she pulled out a knife to cut away his bindings, ignoring the squelching next to her.

“Don’t run, don’t reach for a weapon, don’t do anything stupid.” She raised her eyes and stared at Theo’s bloody face, making eye contact to make sure he understood damn well.

“Where are you from?”

“Cl-Cleveland.” He stuttered, remaining stone-still as the woman cut him loose. Technically the answer was Hunting Valley, a suburb of Cleveland, but he didn’t think it did himself any favors to tell this lady he had come from statistically the highest-median-income town in Ohio. At least, before things went to shit. That place was as much of a shithole as everywhere else now.

“The guys who dropped me off might come back to finish looting this place. We were scouting. So we gotta move.” He flinched when the other woman next to him dealt with the biter, looking away from the sight.

“Fucking Jackson.” He muttered, then exhaled. “Him, I mean.” Theo felt the ropes finally go slack and his arms freed. He motioned with an elbow towards the now fully-dead body next to him, rubbing at his wrists.

“They beat him, killed him, and left him here because he tried to take someone else’s cigarettes. There was an argument about who claimed the pack first. Wasn’t the first time. So… they got rid of him.”

“And why did they get rid of you?” Denise asked, standing up and backing away from the young man. She kept her knife out, just in case. With a grunt, Theo slid himself back up to his feet, one hand pressed gently to his nose.

“I tried to run off. They’re a bunch of fuckin’ nutcases. I didn’t want to be the next one to die for some stupid reason.” Theo reached for the metal bar he’d been tied to, steadying himself.

“Look, either let me go and I’ll be on my way, or if you got decent people with you, I won’t object to helping.” Theo took his hand away from his face, frowning at the blood, then looked between Denise and Neveah.

“Name’s Theo. And, for whatever it’s worth these days, I know computers. I’m also an okay shot, and got a green thumb.” Denise raised her eyebrow, silently questioning him.

“Weed’s hard to grow if you don’t know what you’re doing.” Theo grinned.

Sighing, Denise looked between him and Neveah, then motioned for him to follow.

“You can start helping by helping load up food. I’ll go get the truck.” She turned to leave, pausing a moment to give Neveah a look.

“Don’t touch him.”

NanLia Bullyboy Squad ​

 

[Namazu]

LINCOLN
The Cellbock​

The sight of a priest at his door made Victor’s heart drop to his toes. The only reason he could see why a priest would get sent to his cell was because he was going to die, and someone thought to have the man give him his last rites. Victor continued to hold his breath as he sat up, scooting backwards along the floor towards the cold, itchy cot. Heart racing and unable to breathe, Victor felt tears prick at his eyes and escape, clearing trails down his face as he pulled his knees to his chest. He didn’t really know the man, but presumed he was the prison’s chaplain. Every prison had one, as far as he knew. What an unlucky bastard, being stuck here with these people after the world ended.

For a few long, silent heartbeats, Victor didn’t - and couldn’t - even speak. He kept expecting the man to step in and explain to him that this was the end of the line. That some horrible death awaited him. Something slow, painful, humiliating, and public. He imagined being hauled out to the pit, beaten, then made to dangle at the end of a rope. What would happen if Blake was in the crowd, forced to watch? Or worse, strung up next to him - deemed guilty by association? Fear and anger mixed in him and kept him paralyzed to the spot. It was a battle just to breathe again and find his voice.

“What do you want?” He croaked out, looking up to Aurelio.

NanLia ​

 

[Namazu]

LINCOLN
The Meeting​

This was a very, very new experience for Theo.

An actual prison - just like in the movies, but worse. Bars on the doors, tiny cells, control points everywhere, hallways scuffed from shoes and blood, a burned-out kitchen and cafeteria. A makeshift bar and nightclub (of all the damn things to slap together). An infirmary as pathetic as a school nurse’s office. They even somehow had a damn whorehouse. He hadn’t seen the pit yet, but he’d heard rumors.

This place was awful and he should have ignored Denise’s orders. He should have bolted. Not that he really had a choice at any point, not since the Samaritans found him.

Sitting in this meeting though? This was the first thing he really felt like he had a choice in since he got here. Sitting on a bench, one leg folded under the other, oversized hoodie he’d flitched from the laundry room keeping him warm, Theo had been playing with the drawstrings at the neck of the hoodie. He had to remind himself not to chew on them out of nerves, since he had no idea who wore this before him. Laundered or not, that would be gross.

“Haewon and I had an idea. Nari too, she helped us put these together.” He nodded to the girl nearby. “Radio jammers. It’ll stop your radios from working. Now, downside is, it stops everyone’s radios from working - sending or receiving - not just their’s, but ours too. No way to separate out the two, unfortunately. The range isn’t really big but we can hide them around the prison where other people won’t find them. This way, King’s enforcers can’t communicate with each other. It’ll be awhile before any of them notice anything is wrong, and by the time they do? They can’t call for reinforcements.”

Theo gave the group a bit of a smug grin. He had a feeling most people in prison wouldn’t have been able to figure out how to do all that.

Bullyboy Squad NanLia Miaow Tool ​

 

[Miaow]

SCENE ONE
Lincoln - The Meeting
​

Haewon had done her best to get to the meeting before everyone else, which was easier said than done now she was back to working in the engineering workshop. Pandora had wanted her to get back on her feet, make sure she didn't get bed sores or muscle atrophy by lying in bed all day... but she didn't think she meant walking to and from work, across the majority of the prison, every single day. She was lucky enough to have been shot in the opposite leg to her arm, making a crutch at least of use to her. She hobbled down the corridors, her crutch clicking along the tiles with each step.

As she slumped in her seat, she rotated her good elbow, her armpit sore from the crutch. She leaned it up against her chair, her head tilting back as she caught her breath. Fucking hell... She used to be so fit. Madison literally gave her a nickname based on how fit she was. She was scaling walls and rugby tackling rabbits. Now, she was a bumbling mess. She huffed, sitting back and watching the rest of the group file in...

She decided to keep quiet for the majority of the meeting... Maybe she could have some plausible deniability or something. Yeah, I just stumbled in and heard them talking about radio jammers... then built all the radio jammers... I'm just as much of a victim as everyone else! As Toni decided she had to participate, she let out a dejected sigh.

She could smell Toni's intentions a mile away. Rile her up, that was what he did to half the prison. Make little digs about things he knew you were insecure about... Your cowardice, your wonky nose... your unfaithful mother. She was, of course, aware that her mother had been nothing but loyal to Xander... but she wasn't allowed to say that out loud. Plus, taking the piss out of her "mother" felt like she was getting back at her for... whatever it was Nari had done this time. Getting sent off to a cushy reserve while she was left to do the dirty work was suspect number one.

"She's gone to a specialist birthing spa... Hot tubs, foot rubs... the works," She responded, arms crossed across her abdomen as she leaned back in her seat. She wondered if Toni would even understand Nari's master plan... though it was fairly simple. Radio jammers, jam all the radios, including their radios. Shitty for the rebellion, shitty for the Samaritans, too. She adjusted her arm in her sling as Theo laid out the basics of the plan. In reality, it was more complicated than that. If she could pull a radio jammer out of her ass, she would, but they were gonna have to build that shit...

"We'd just have to figure out another way to communicate," She responded with a one shoulder shrug.

Namazu Bullyboy Squad NanLia Tool
​

 

[Miaow]

THE ROADTRIP
Blackwater Creek Nature Reserve​

By the time Minnie made it to the truck, she was numb. It was like... when you'd been doing the same drugs for so long and they stop working, so you need something more, something bigger to get the same response. Cabrera, the Samaritans, they'd been clawing and bashing at her nerve endings for months, and now... she couldn't really feel it anymore. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She still felt it, every little verbal dig, every sudden movement, every hand Cabrera laid on her mother's swollen stomach... but she simply couldn't do anything about it. No more crying, no more lashing out. No more anything.

Unfortunately, being the smallest of the group, she was destined for the awkward middle seat, her feet straddling the center console. Momo started off in her lap, sulking over his separation from his new friends... and the lack of hay in the back of this truck, but as the journey continued, her body slumped, and Momo laid across her stomach and chest. She didn't really want to cuddle Nari... well, she certainly wouldn't admit she wanted to. She didn't really want anyone to touch her, but she knew she'd regret squeezing every last breath out of Haewon and Xander before she left. She and Nari had somewhat overcome their differences after Minnie had been shot. It was a surprisingly good opportunity for her to air her grievances. Nari had given her the whole I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed... act, which just pissed Minnie off more. Of course she took the first opportunity she was given to escape... she didn't get to fraternize with the higher ups, eating their fancy foods and wearing their fancy clothes... The last time Minnie got new clothes was when she bled through her last ones. Sure, it had to suck to be in a relationship with Cabrera, even if it wasn't actually real... but it didn't stop the niggling resentment, gnawing away in her chest. Though they'd moved past that argument, Minnie wasn't exactly in the talking mood, her lips firmly sealed throughout the ride.

As she dozed off in the precarious middle seat, her body slumped to the side, her head on Nari's shoulder. Momo was like a weighted blanket on her chest, her arms loosely curled around him as she slept... until the trunk juddered and ground to a halt. She jolted forward, sitting up as she cradled Momo's butt so he wouldn't slide down her abdomen. She watched the two men in the front seats share a short conversation... She wanted to think it was just a rock or something, a particularly sharp rock that they'd hit at an awkward angle, popping the tire... but she knew how far fetched that sounded. In the world as it was then, it had to be a raid.

Minnie frowned as her mother spoke, watching her scramble out of the vehicle.
"Mom--" She murmured, though she had already disappeared from view. She swallowed, glancing over to Sapphire. At least someone had stayed behind... She unbuckled herself, shuffling into Nari's seat to try and get a look at where she'd gone, though she could make a pretty good guess. As she peered through the glass, she saw Hughes, a gun held to the back of his head...

"There's people--" She told Sapph, keeping her voice low as she tucked Momo into the footwell of Nari's seat. She wondered if she could hide somewhere... she was small, but not that small. Before she could consider that any further, the door swung open and a hand grabbed her by the collar. She winced, clutching to the wound on her side as she stumbled out of the vehicle. She felt like only a bystander for the next few moments, watching as Wren was thrown to the ground.

"STOP IT! We'll give you whatever!" She yelled at the gunman, struggling against the walking bush that held her, "Just take it and leave!"
She wasn't sure whether the older man had taken her pleas to heart as he yanked the gunman away, her body jolting as the bullet fired into the ground. She calmed her breathing as the men spoke, and hugged, wondering whether the younger man really did have something to cry about... Maybe the reserve wasn't as cushy as it sounded, particularly if this was how they greeted their old leader... assuming these were reserve people.

She flinched as one of the men in a ghillie suit covered her eyes, shoving his arm away and stumbling a few steps forward. Wren may have been open to cuddles, but Minnie wasn't letting any of them touch her.
"They're from the reserve?" She asked Wren, clutching to her injured gut. She was making extra sure these men were friends before Momo made his grand reveal...

Bullyboy Squad Good_Morels Crono Not Meat
​

 

[NanLia]

LINCOLN
The Cellblock

​

The silence dragged on, as far as Elio was concerned, as the doctor cowered in his cell and made feeble attempts to get as far away from the doorway as possible. He looked terrified and truthfully Elio was thrilled to see it. He considered then that he might inquire to King about making the good doctor talk. He’d been successful with the enforcer, despite not getting any other names, the lack of information spoke more truths; the culprit who had set that family free was still at large. And, most importantly, the rebellious individuals were not above getting their hands dirty and letting innocents pay the price.

That last piece of information was of key importance; there would be no prisoners, no quarter and no hostages in this internal war and Elio knew he would need to tread cautiously to keep himself from either side.

He waited and waited and waited for the good doctor to speak, and at one point looked meaningfully at the guard posted in this part of the prison. Perhaps the doctor was a mute? Or that someone had foolishly taken his tongue?

Finally, Victor spoke but didn’t answer his question or comment about the interruption. Elio frowned. Rather impolite fellow, isn’t he? “I’ve come to seek your assistance, it appears one of your cellmates has had an… accident and is in need of medical assistance.” He stepped back out of the threshold of the door, turning to the side to make room for Victor to step out.

“If you’re willing to provide it, that is. If not, I am certain I can ask that little intern to come down in your stead, Panda or some such.”

Namazu ​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

The Chole's Bedroom
​

The night’s stillness exploded as the door slammed open, sending shards of wood flying. Four figures in black tactical gear surged into the room. Their flashlights seared through the darkness, blinding the couple with too many lumens.

“Wakey wakey!” One hollered. Connor knew that voice. It was one of the enforcers. A SWAT-wannabe motherfucker who was an ex-correctional officer. More-bark-than-bite asshole who loved riding on a power trip. He swung his favorite second dick shotgun towards the bed while another ex-CO snarled commands.

“Get up! Get the fuck up!” He threw the covers off of the couple. “Hands on your head and face to the wall! Now!” The intruders didn't wait, dragging the man and woman off of their mattress, shoving them face first into the wall while bending their arms back at a cruel angle.

Cabrera entered as they were pinned, his once-friendly demeanor now ice-cold.

“You’ve been working with the terrorists. You’ve betrayed your King and the whole community.” His gaze swept over Connor and Chole before locking onto her. “You will give us your rebel contacts if you want to see this man again.” He stepped closer, growling into her ear. “Or you can resist and I will take your fuckin’ eyes out so you can’t see shit.”

With his curt nod, his men ripped Chole from the wall, about to march her out. No more pit fights, no more mercy.

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

 

[Namazu]

LINCOLN
The Meeting​

Weston nodded along as the group chimed in. Madison was quiet, acknowledging him with just a nod, and it made his heart hurt seeing how much effort it was for her to just get here to the meeting. But she came anyway, clenched fists and all, and he was glad for it.

At Toni’s comment about his Frankenstein girlfriend, Weston shot the tattooed man a look. “Back off. Also, check your safety before you shoot your dick off.” He motioned to the pistol in the waistband of Toni’s pants. He considered adding that it was the only redeeming quality the man had, but kept that one to himself. This wasn’t the time or place for that kind of shot. They were here to work together, not get into petty fights, and the last thing he needed to do was pull a Minnie and out the guy in front of his men. He wasn’t that much of a petty bitch. He ignored the comments from the MS13 hanging around and whatever they were joking about, for once actually glad he didn’t know any Spanish beyond taco and gracias. Which, in and of itself, was fairly telling of his grasp of Spanish.

His attention also turned to Haewon and Theo as they spoke. The idea of jamming radios was a good one, though admittedly there was danger in disabling their own communication. No doubt the kid was right though - they were all using the same radios, the same frequencies. It was just going to be the cost of the plan.

“Okay, well, if we’ll be without radios that just means we need to be coordinated enough up front to not need them.” Rubbing at his beard, Weston eyed the group. There were a few faces notably missing. Clearing his throat, he decided to take the opportunity to update the others.

“We’re missing a few guys tonight. Victor, the doctor, was going to get us sedatives so we could take down a few guards nonviolently. Or at least, non-lethally. Connor was working with him as a distraction and lookout.” He paused for a moment, chewing on his lower lip and glancing down at his hands as he folded him.

“Both got busted by King’s men. At this point, we’re going to have to assume both are either in a cell and not coming out, or dead already. Connor’s woman Chole got nabbed too. If I was a betting man, I’d say Hughes would be in the same boat if he weren’t on the road to the Reserve. Hell, that might be what is waiting for him when he gets back. Guilt by association. If any of you were close to any of them, I suggest you get used to the idea that you might see them in the pit - if you see them ever again, at all. This is a very real reminder as to what we’re up against here.” Weston paused, looking as many people in the eye as he could get to meet his stare.

“You’re all well past the point of being able to back out, and well past the point of being able to trust anyone outside of this room. Just keep that in mind. Speaking of trust,” Weston turned his attention to Toni.

“Can Black be trusted?”

Maren could disable vehicles. Haewon and Theo would disable communications. Toni, via Black, could get weapons and whatever supplies they needed. The MS13 would be their extra bodies for making sure this worked. They were down at least two key people, which was a setback they absolutely did not need, but they’d deal with it. They didn’t have a choice.

Weston turned his attention then to Madison. “I know you’re still recovering, so I’m not going to press you to do anything you’re not…” Able was the word on his tongue, but he had a feeling if he said it, she’d kick him in the balls the next time she got close enough for it.

“... Confident in, plan-wise. But you know I always want your input on this shit. You didn’t ever hesitate before to kick ass and take names. So if you got any more of those kick-ass-take-names-plans filed away in there… do share.”

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

 

[Namazu]

LINCOLN
The Cellblock​

The way the priest said accident sat poorly in Victor’s mind. If someone really had an accident, and if someone truly cared about seeking medical help, they would have done it with a little more urgency. Or, more likely, they’d have gone to Pandora who had the entirety of the feeble excuse of an infirmary to access. Victor had… his bare hands, and knowledge. That’s it. And right now, those bare hands were shaking, cold, and dirty.

Noting that Elio didn’t even know Pandora’s name and called her a little intern, Victor knew this man wasn’t about to fuck around for a second longer, and if he didn’t move, he’d probably be the next one to need medical assistance. Clearing his throat, he climbed to his feet, reflexively wrapping his arms around himself as he stood, taking a few steps closer to Elio.

“I’ll help. Take me to him. What happened?”

NanLia ​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

LINCOLN
The Meeting
​

Toni stared at the big man Jones, his tongue itching to spit out a fresh batch of curses. Fucking gringo. Back off or what? He chuckled but couldn’t help flick a glance to the piece aimed at his crotch, making sure the safety was on.

“Nah, hell nah, bicho can't be trusted.” Toni shook his head like he couldn’t believe the question even came up. “He’s been his mamma's boy his whole life so now all he got left is King daddy. But he don’t know shit. And he'll keep his mouth shut about any favors, he ain't gonna cross me.”

His gaze followed Weston’s, landing on the battered woman. Toni huffed, pushing back from his seat. He let his arms drop, and his body naturally slipped into that cocky swagger like he owned the place.

“Yeah.” He circled them, his eyes locked on Madison. “What the ugly pirate gotta say, eh?”

Was he fucking her? Toni glanced at Weston then back at the woman. Yeah, he was hitting that. Or why else would he take that chick in and be all up in her business? Cause he was a good boy scout now? Right. Guess he was. Riding the path of revolutionary redemption for the greater good. Or to sleep well at night. Yeah, Weston thought he was better than them. Better than Toni. Surely that fucking nazi ink under eagle tattoo told a different story. Toni at least didn't lie to himself that he wasn’t a scumbag. And he wasn't pretending his game was anything but about profit and staying alive. Like any smart vato should be doing these days.

Toni’s walkie talkie crackled, the same with a couple others in the room, the ones belonging to higher ups like Weston and Naveah. ”Weston Jones. You're summoned to King’s quarters.” The words were repeated a couple of times until someone would respond or the female assistant on the radio got tired.

Toni looked over to Weston, narrowing his eyes. “Da’fuk he wants at this hour? Booty call?” Some MS13 members sniggered but Toni wasn't smiling. He looked dead serious.

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